Author: shortymonster

I promise, this is the last of the crew, and I’ll do something different next week.

It is well known that a handful of years ago, Lucius’s countrymen invaded the city state. Lucius did what a lot of ex-legionaries did and strapped his armour on, grabbed his shield and gladius, and went down to the docks to help repel the invaders. This made it a lot harder for the invading army than they would have liked. The packed and winding streets meant that it was near impossible to maintain unit discipline, and the fact that the people fighting them were often wearing the same armour made it very dangerous indeed. On several occasions units fell to pieces for minutes at a time before regrouping to take another stand. This carried on for hours.

Lucius was there, and almost died defending his adopted home from the soldiers of his past existence. So was Gaius, but on the other side and totally unaware of man who might once have called him a brother, and who would one day do that very thing. In the final hour Gaius’ unit was once again pulled apart and scattered. The invading army had not expected so much resistance, especially since their government had deep pockets and had bribed at least a couple of watch cartels to back down from the fight, or throw in with the invaders. The city folk were not going to go down easy though.

When Gaius looked for his fellow legionaries they were turning tail and heading back to ships that were already burning in the docks, and he was surrounded by city folk. It was all over, far quicker than it had any right to be. But he was far from an idiot, and knew his options were limited. He had already spotted others from his home land fighting against him, wearing armour that matched his own. All it took was swiftly pulling his double crossed belt off and dropping it before anyone noticed, and he should be fine. The belts were new, only issued to the rank and file three months ago, and set the invaders apart. Then he just started shouting abuse at his fleeing comrades. He knew less than a handful of words in the language of the city, but jeering and insulting seemed to be the order of the day.

For the next week he survived by theft and intimidation, taking food and money as and when he could, but trying to keep himself from being noticed. Luckily, it was men from the northlands who were taking the brunt of the city’s distrust. Many of the watch cartels who had sided with the invaders were made of men from the snowy north, and as such they were hounded and abused in the streets, many taking the worst possible punishment for such betrayal.

Eventually Gaius was caught with property that did not belong to him, and had to run through the city to escape being brought in front of the law. His lack of understanding of the native tongue would certainly do him a disservice, and could easily lead to him being uncovered as an invader. So he ran until cornered, and then fought. It took longer than it should have done until he realised that he wasn’t fighting men in uniform, but what looked like dock hands and barge-men. He was still outnumbered though, so asked for mercy.

Luckily for him, one of the men spoke his language, and after a few minutes hasty translating, the situation was explained. Well almost, Gaius knew he was still in danger so fabricated the truth somewhat, claiming that he had peeled away from the invading force as soon as they had landed, and had been hiding since then, stealing to stay alive, not trusting that the legions wouldn’t return. He must have been convincing as the men led him away and fed him in a watering hole called the Silver Skrite, The food was terrible, and the beer worse, but he made a couple of friends, and even got some dog’s body work to tide him over.

It was never going to be enough to keep him going though, and before long he was asking for other better paying jobs. And then one night, he found himself back in the Skrite, stood in front of an ex-legionnaire and a red headed archer, getting told what would be expected of him in the criminal cartel known as the Lethain Umbruc. He has since worked side by side with the crew, trusting to his guile to keep them from the truth, and struggling daily with the idea that he is know a career criminal. There may never be a way back for Gaius, but as long as he keeps the crew on side, he should be safe.

Using Gaius in a game.

•  Gaius is a big lad, barrel chested and broad across the shoulders. Any criminal gang would be happy to have him on side, and he has spent many a year in the legion training to be a soldier. Useful for almost any game.
• If you’re using the crew at all, he’s a well respected member, but quieter and less prone to drinking than the others. Probably for fear that alcohol might loosen his tongue and cost him his secret.
• If the players have it in them, they could offer him a way out in exchange for information on the cartel.
• Gaius is the only member of the crew is not a criminal by choice, but by necessity. To cover up for this, he has become a master con man, capable of fooling some of the sharpest minds in the cartel. If something pushed him far enough, he would be a force to be reckoned with as a master criminal.

Being the only progeny of one of the city’s richest families meant Red had a very easy life early on. If she had been born a son, her most pressing concerns would have been finding a wife and not frittering away the family fortune. It was not the case though, and her father doted on her magnificently. Everything she wanted was provided, every whim acceded to, no matter the cost. When she expressed an interest in her family’s business, her father Gregor, was more than happy to take her under his wing. She was invited to all the best parties, and paraded around like a prize heifer to all. Lellandra was not happy being treated like this, and pushed more and more to learn of what her father did.

As in all things, Gregor gave in to her will, and began teaching her about imports and exports, hoping that she would soon grow bored and move onto other things, as she had done after spending a summer determined to learn how to use a warbow. He was partly correct, but not in the way he had hoped. She grew bored with figures and mules, and started to wonder how her father made as much money as he clearly did from such ventures, when the profit margin was low, and the risk factor high. She began asking the wrong kinds of questions, and angered Gregor with her curiosity. The the right questions started; finding out just who her father dealt with, and how the profit on his illegal activities could be increased.

By this point she was in too deep and Gregor saw no other option but to bring her fully into his business dealings. For two years, she was happy with her life, enjoying the thrill of it all, without ever thinking about who the family was hurting to make its money. She started coming up with schemes of her own, and Gregor encouraged this; her freshness meant paths to riches that he had blinkered himself to through years of treading the same path. On more than one occasion, she joined in on overland trips to ensure no problems prevented coin from finding its way into the Vespera coffers. Until of course, it did go wrong.

She knew how important this was, and how much money it would make. More than that though, just how many enemies her father would make if he failed to deliver what he had already taken payment for. She wasn’t ready though. Her warbow was barely a help, and her lack of experience in leading men meant that the guards scattered as soon as they knew what was going on. Lellandra had no choice but to do the same, or die. She fled her city and became “Red”, took a job with a conjurer that was set to travel the continent. Her father wouldn’t think to search for her in the company of a Wizard, but she hoped he thought of her as dead in the ashes of his caravan. Although she was his beloved daughter, in matters of business, he was ruthless beyond measure.

She had seen the anger in him, and heard tales of business dealings gone sour, and his former partners’ bodies being found after unimaginable horror was visited upon their physical form. She was far from sure he would not do the same with her for letting him down, and so chose not to risk encountering him. IN her time away from her home, she devoted many hours of practice to the warbow, hoping to never again be let down in a fight because of her confidence outweighing her experience. She Also picked up a thing or two about magic, and wields what she calls the “Heart’s Fire” to a deadly degree. She has yet to learn total control however, and risks herself – both mind and body – whenever she uses her gift. The more destructive force she unleashes, the greater her chance of harm.

Only two years ago she moved back to the city, but kept away from the high born and business districts. Gravitating instead towards the waterfront docks and taverns, it didn’t take her long to fall in with the Shadow cartels. She has the criminal credentials to lead a crew of her own, but prefers to stay working with others, in the hope that this will keep her away from her Father’s attention. So far it has worked, but who knows what fall out to expect if the two should ever cross paths again.

Using Red in your game.

• Like the last few, she is a part of the Lucius crew. The closest in fact to a second in command, as she has a lot more experience than most, and being born to the city, knows how it works.
• It is possible for player characters to be hired by either Red or her father to pull off a job, and the conflict of interests could easily spark a plot line all of its own.
• And of course, they could just be hired by the father with the express mission of hunting down his daughter after rumours start to fly about her return to the city. This would bring the players either against a formidable enemy in the shape of Red, and even more so in the form of the crew, and the Cartel as a whole.

Another member of the Lucius crew, and I thought I’d give you a magic user of sorts, this time round.

In his home country, summoning a Daemon to do a job is normal. People who can do so well are highly prized, but almost half the population have the ability to bring forth smaller denizens of the other realm to work for them. What is key though, is that they are not bound into servitude. Instead a deal is struck, and they are paid for their labours in a matter agreed upon by both parties. Sentient Daemons are afforded all the rights of other sentient creatures, first amongst those is that they shall not be bound into slavery of any kind. They walk freely amongst the cities, and some of the more powerful beings even attain office in government. But, having such a powerful creature bound to your every whim, would make a man powerful indeed.

Drona began summoning daemons when he was but a child, and quickly revealed an aptitude for the craft. He was given all the schooling required and in his early twenties was already regarded as one the most highly gifted Daemonologists the college had produced in living memory. He continued to push the limits of his craft, but quickly realized that those whom he sought to bring into his world were too powerful to be contained, or too clever to be bargained with.

As a man of fierce pride, he was often frustrated by these impositions on his talent, so he began to devise ways of containing such beings in a manner that would allow him to stay in control. In deep caverns in the desert that surrounded the cities of his homeland, he created wards and controls that would bind such creatures to his will, turning them into instruments and tools, removing from them the freedom to act as they saw fit. For several years he worked secretly and with each success, saw to push further the boundaries of what was thought possible by the rest of his order.

It was his pride that was his undoing though, and in the end an entire city would pay for his sins. He never saw the cracks in his defenses, believing himself to be the superior to any Daemon that he could summon. Adramalech Daemon-prince of swords was something that no Daemonologist had encountered before though. In human terms, he would be a God to the Daemons, taken from a realm separate even to that of the Daemons that had been summoned in the past. How Drona stumbled upon it is a question for another time, but one which haunts him still. The Prince quickly shook free the bindings that had held other Daemons, and walked the sands towards the light of the city. Drona did what he could, but almost every life was taken before Adramalech was brought to his knees. The most powerful of Daemons that Drona had so far summoned were all brought to bear on the being, and eventually it was weakened enough to be banished.

The city lies there still, haunted by creatures allowed free reign due to the scars left in reality by the battle. And Drona was left a shadow of his former self, mind addled by the fight. He left his home land behind and looked for new shores. When he arrived at the city, he saw few daemons, and those that walked were bound, and of limited power. As he tried to ply his trade he suffered abuse at the hands of the city dwellers who trusted not the power of Daemons. It was a member of the criminal cartel who saw the chance for profit in his gifts.

He was given run of the sewers beneath the halls of the cartel, and put to work. Although far from his prodigious best, he has recovered somewhat and has proven useful indeed in summoning creatures at the will of others to aid in their criminal endeavours. And still he works beneath the city, reclaiming his lost knowledge and testing his mind against others who live in realms not of his own.

In appearance Drona looks considerably older than his 32 years. The battle against Adramalech was hard on his mind and body, and he appears to have aged by at least two decades more than he should have done. He wears the robes of his old order still, but by some strange twist of fate, his skin is not as dark as the others who were born to his desert culture, instead looking more Mediterranean than Arabian.

Using Drona in your game.

• As mentioned before, if Lucius is a part of your game world, then Drona will be a part of his crew. Although they do not get on at all. Lucius does not trust the Daemonologist, and abhors the idea of living creatures bound into slavery. His boss knows Drona’s value though, and has forbidden him to act on his mistrust. Drona knows this well, and constantly pushes Lucius’ buttons.
• As a solo antagonist, Drona could be a main villain to a campaign all on his own. He can summon powerful beings, but may not always be able to control them.
• He is also very knowledgeable indeed about his craft, and if others are using Daemonic means to harass the player characters, his advice is easily sought. Although it may not always be trusted.

I’m afraid the regular readers here will have to indulge me on my next few posts. I had a great time last week writing up Lucius, and I have since been working out some other members of his crew. What follows is the first of several that all work with the disgraced Legionnaire. After the description there will be a small section on how to work them into your current game, if you have need of such a character, and I will make sure that each can stand alone if you don’t want to take the whole set.

The first thing that stands out about Stalland is his height. Not because he is a giant of a man, as so many are who come from the Northlands, but because he is actually closer to the average height of any other city dwelling male. This makes him particularly short by Northlandish standards, but everything else about him is so obvious from that cold and empty region, that none doubt he is from where he claims. The long blond hair and brown beard, often with precious metals and gems wound into them, if he is not expecting a fight, are almost enough to give him away. Add to that the fine hand axe hanging from his belt, and the picture is almost complete. His build makes him look a little shorter, being fairly heavy set, with a barrel chest and a stomach that almost matches, means those close to him can be overheard calling him such nicknames as “half-pint” and “little brother”.

Only those whom he respects get to talk about him like that, and he is quick to respond to anyone else who thinks they have a right to insult him as such. Unlike his relatives to the North, he will not quickly draw steal and seek to insert it into his foes, instead he will disarm with this quick wit. Stalland is a poet and raconteur of the highest order, and in almost every instance can leave his tormentor at a loss for words and the subject of such carefully woven scorn that they will retreat rather than allow themselves to be mocked even more.

Sadly not everyone is so delicate, and it is at this point that his usefulness to the criminal cartels comes into play. In a flash he can throw two small hand axes with unerring accuracy, and swiftly follow them with a charge, his hand axe leading the way. Although he looks a little portly, and his style of living does nothing to help matters, he is still in his prime and fights like a beserker once he closes on his enemies. swinging his axe brutally into them, he also kicks, punches, and bites until they fall before him.

Once the dust has settled, even his closest friends know to give him some room to catch his breathe, and will do nothing but make sure his tankard is full and wait for him to compose himself. Within a few moments, all will be back to normal, and apart from some blood spatters, it is as if nothing has happened. Stalland will continue regaling the crowd with stories of his home land, breaking into fine verse with his melodious voice and making all the serving girls weak at the knees with nothing but a smile.

When there’s work to be done, Stalland uses his silver tongue to great result, holding his own with professional confidence tricksters and talking his way through locked doors and into bedrooms, all so that money can be made. His reluctance to draw a weapon is both a blessing and a curse, depending on the situation. There are times when subtly is required at all costs, but once he has been pushed too far there is little to be done to stop him in his rage. At other times swift and merciless brutality is all that is required, but without the rage taking him, Stalland’s poetic soul can often stay his arm. All that being said, he is still a very useful person to have involved in any criminal enterprise, and his friends within the cartel, and specifically inside his crew, are always happy to defend him, regardless of his faults.

Bringing Stalland into a game.

• If you are already using Lucius, then the job’s been done for me!
• If not, then Stalland is happy to be paid for his work as a bruiser on any job. As a GM, just don’t forget that he is not always to be relied upon.
• In any bar fight, there’s a chance that Stalland could be involved, maybe even the instigator. Fighting against him will be a very hard challenge, as he is an experienced warrior with a beserker’s temper. Once calmed down, he will seem like a different person, but the damage he has done to other patrons, is not something easily ignored.

Born to an army camp whore, he had few options in life other than to join the outpost garrison he found himself at as a young man. Scrawny and ill suited to military life, he did the bare minimum required to get by without too many punishment lashings, and quickly did everything in his power to make his life as easy as possible. With a quick wit, and a sliver tongue, he ended up in the Quartermaster’s employ, and made firm friends with the old and grizzled legionnaire. The old Bear could see no wrong in his young charge, ignoring the missing supplies – putting it down to book keeping errors and the innate trustworthiness of the the rest of the corp, rather than the pilfering of young Lucius.

This carried on for a few years, and by accident more than design, Lucius picked up the basics of soldiering, all the while stashing money for when he would one day leave. Although that day was always on the horizon, Draco had a comparatively easy life, and was raking in money at the expense of the army, while the Bear’s blindness became physical, rather than emotional, and allowed him even more opportunities for thievery and black market dealings. And of course, he pushed his luck…

Selling armour to the enemy was always going to be risky, but the rewards were just too good to pass up. When his officers saw a barbarian horde screaming towards them wearing armour of the XVI legion strapped inexpertly about their persons, questions were asked. It wasn’t just the loss of equipment though, lives had been lost as they struggled to defeat an enemy that on previous encounters had fallen easily. Draco was going to die for his crimes, and he knew it. The night before his execution, he was ready to repent his sins, and would of done if the Bear hadn’t saved him. With a small pouch of coins, and dressings for the wounds inflicted during his questioning, Lucius was smuggled out of the camp in the dead of night.

Sadly, the fact that had been saved, meant he never learnt the lessons he should have done about right and wrong, and as soon he found his way to a major city, he quickly made contact with the a shadow cartel, and started putting his talents to use. His quick tongue got him a crew of confidence tricksters in no time, and before long they were talking their way into the purses of the city’s most respected community leaders. No Robin Hood style robbing from the rich to give to the poor for Lucius and his crew; they took money from wherever they could get it, targeting the wealthy and naive who listened to various sob stories.

He also found that even his basic training meant that he was the equal of most street toughs in the city. What they had on him in the way of size and strength, he more than made for in speed and precision, mixed in with a fairly healthy dose of dirty tricks. Through his years in the city, he has become strangely proud of his time in the army, and although he had his legion tattoo covered up fairly quickly, he still carries a legion approved short sword on his belt, and dresses in the style of his homeland. He even goes so far as to repeatedly correct people on the proper pronunciation of his name: Sounds more like Luke than Lucy, just so you know. Pretty big talk from a man who can barely read.

When not working hard to screw over his marks, he can be found in waterfront taverns within the territory his guild controls, and is always up for a drink and a laugh. Just be wary of trusting too much that he says, as he is so very rarely not planning his next move. Pretty much the only thing that curbs his relentless spirit is the understanding that it doesn’t pay to shit where you eat. If you live or run a business within his guild’s territories, then you’re pretty safe from his machinations. There are other people, in other jobs who come round to take “insurance payments” from the locals. This means that to those who live and drink nearby, Lucius and his crew are considered stand up fellows, and they will more often than not be happy to provide alibis when asked.

Using Lucius in your game.

There are two simple ways to bring him in as major player, and they both depend on where the player characters fall in the goody guy/bad guy spectrum.

• His confidence tricks are wide ranging and often long in their execution. this means that every once in a while, a mark might start to get suspicious, and ask for help. if the player characters are more hero than not, it would be easy for them to be hired to investigate whatever scam you have Lucius currently pulling.
• Of course if the players have a criminal past themselves, Lucius would happily hire them if needed. Since they’re not part of his crew though, he would have no problem double crossing them and leaving them to hang if things go wrong. Only his superiors within the cartel would really be able to convince him against such a course of action, so if the PCs are in with the cartel then they might just be safe.
• And if you don’t want him as a major player, he’s a great source of information about dockside rumours and criminal activities, and if offered a part in a job already on the cards, could be convinced to lend a hand. But see the above point about his inherent trustworthiness.

Image by inklou

To his patients, he is known as a generous soul. Offering medical care to the rookeries of the east end, and only charging what the patients can afford. This has earned him a stellar reputation, and even the criminals of that vice ridden den leave him alone, never knowing when they might need his help themselves. In the worst parts of London, stabbings are common, and blunt trauma even more so. All this good will comes at a price though, and when a patient dies on the slab, the body rarely goes to its final rest in piece., instead becoming a subject for Heathcote’s current project.

Heathcote has other plans for the flesh you see, and in his spare time he melds it with the latest in Neo-Victoriana technology. His goal: to create the perfect the worker. His years of working with the dregs of humanity has blighted his outlook on his fellow humans, and he now believes that the best course of action is to take those less fortunate and make them a part of the machinery of industry in a way that has never been attempted before. He replaces bone joints with hinges, internal organs with pneumatics, and anything else he can think of that will create a human being that will never need to shut down, as long as they keep taking on fuel. No more sleeping. Maybe even no more death at all.

It has been quite some time since he reached the limits of his experimentations with dead flesh. These days he is more than happy to pronounce dead the victim of a violent crime whose life is better ended before it perpetuates the cycle of violence that brought him before the Doctor’s knife.  In his own way, maybe Heathcote thinks he is doing good works. One look into his cellar would probably convince even the most generous of souls that that is far from the case though. The body will still be alive, and used in the most depraved ways that science can muster.

His failures are thrown into plague pits or the dark waters of the midnight Thames. Those he considers a success work with him still, perfecting his craft to create more workers. Although he considers them a success, he has yet to create a being that survives for longer than a month. And even the most long lived of his creations begin to rot before they finally succumb to entropy. Even though he disposes of those that fail him in the end, the smell of corpse flesh still fills the well lit cellar. His man-machines decompose while still breathing, a side effect of the strange chemicals that they must have running through their systems to allow muscle and brass to work together in a mockery of harmony.

How then does this generous man of the people afford to work so industriously at his passion? The medicines that Heathcote hands out are far from cheap, so he needs other ways to supplement his income. When not being a beacon of charity for the down at luck residents of a few city blocks, he works the whore houses. Great at dealing with cases of the clap, and many other things besides, this pays very well indeed. And for the madam who can’t pay, well the good Doctor is happy to take his pay in trade. His work in the less reputable of brothels has brought him into contact with some of London’s finest. Although to maintain that status, they would prefer if their presence at such establishments remained out of the public eye.

By cultivating relationships with such individuals, Heathcote has acquired a small but formidable number of patrons, including some of London’s Fathers of Industry. Most of these gentlemen eagerly await a final product that they will be able to put to work in their many factories, and are already pushing their members of Parliament – in both houses – towards changing labour laws to allow for such vile treatment of their workforce.

Bringing Dr. Heathcote into a game.

Depending on the social level of the game, there are a few options to bring in the despicable Doctor.

• He could be attempting to blackmail a friend of the players. A friend who seeks their help in blackening the name of Heathcote so that his word will be worthless should he choose to speak out.
• If the PCs are of the criminal classes they could come into contact with the Doctor as he sews closed a wound or two. this could either lead to being hunted by Heathcote after they discover too much about his other activities, or being hired by him to bring in more specimens or even steal large quantities of mechanical supplies.
• Local charities trying to achieve a betterment in the lifestyle of the working classes could across his patrons who are fighting to relax the already far from stringent labour laws, and thus discover his connection with industry, and quite what it means to the people whom he operates on.

After a long run of plot seeds, I’m going to be trying something a bit different for a while, and write up some character inspiration for you all. To start with I’m going to rock something from my current genre of choice, Cyberpunk. This one is written with CP2020 in mind, but there are plenty of other cracking settings out there that showcase the future shock just as well.

If you would see Blaze working away, you’d think he was just a bit of a douche. Sat in a high end coffee house, with a light blonde pony tail lank against his back, and thick rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Under them a thin looking mustache and pitiful goatee. His fingers tapping away on a deck that looks deliberately vintage, for no good reason, while he sips his coffee. Looking closer though, and a few other things start to become obvious. He’s had surgery at some point, and both eyes have been replaced with cybernetic augmentations. Deep scars on his face have been corrected as well as possible, and the piece of crap deck is hooked into a fully functional cyberarm, with strands of living flesh stretched tight over chrome. His clothes seem heavier too, and that’s because they’re all as well armoured as money can buy.

There is definitely more to this Netrunner than meets the eye. Raised in a traveling family, he quickly made a name for himself as a “the computer dude”. And when he got the chance to ditch the wanderers and strike out on his own, he grabbed it. It didn’t take him long to realize that out in the world, there were two types of hackers. Successful and long lived ones, who usually never left their parent’s basement and weighed about the same as a mid size town car, and brave ones who joined a gang and terminally found out that skills with a deck were no match for someone with a gun. he wasn’t going to let that happen.

Instead of putting all of his money into the latest technology and firewalls, he bought biotech adrenal boosters and combat chips. Spent money made from hacking on armour and a hand cannon he couldn’t lift until he got his muscles laced with steel. It held him back in terms of becoming a kick ass Netrunner, but made him friends who were looking for more than a keyboard jockey. It also didn’t take him long to fall in with a bad crowd.

It all started with a job going south, ad the crew he ran with getting blackmailed to do some less than kosher jobs. Blaze saw that he could make a lot money from jobs if he shelved his morals, and just got the job done. This caused more than a hint of friction between himself and the crew, so he did something about it. With a well laid plan detailing how they would take out their blackmailers in place, the crew moved out. What they didn’t expect was that Blaze had tipped the authorities the wink, and with the villainous activities that the crew had performed sent the feds, everyone was taken down in one fell swoop. Blaze was a free agent, and looking forward to working for himself.

Since then he has masterminded more than a few jobs, but freelanced even more, working for the highest bidder and making contacts all over the place. His skill behind a deck or with a plasmatic revolver in hand make him valuable indeed, and he has been instrumental in human rights violations all over the globe, as well as ripping off corporations, governments and charities as well. True, he’s made some enemies, but a call to the right agency can often see them shipped to a penal colony somewhere warm and lacking in Wi-Fi access points.

Bringing Blaze into a game.

There are a few possibilities for this, the simplest being that any team that goes on a run will likely face another team sent against them. Blaze is a great jack of a few trades in this regard and he uses the fact that he doesn’t look like a combat character, or dress like a bad guy, play to his advantage. He will take his time and think about when best to attack, and has no qualms about bringing in others to do the dirty work for him.

There’s also the possibility that he is a mastermind of a job involving the players. Either hiring them on to do something that seems innocuous but casts long and dark shadows, or blackmailing them like he himself was to do something particularly unpleasant. Either way, he should be played like a reasonably charming easy going kind of chap, keeping the truth of his nature hidden for as long as possible. He knows that he can get better results if people think that they’re doing something for the right reasons even if their methods are deplorable.