The Morgan Holler Horror & T.B. Rattle
An Upcoming Old Gods of Appalachia Campaign from The Mystic Syndicate
Fall, 1925. The leaves are turning. The coal trains are running. The days are getting shorter. And somewhere back in the mountains, there are stories sensible people know better than to investigate.
The Mystic Syndicate (TMSynd) is heading into Appalachia for our next campaign: The Morgan Holler Horror, an Old Gods of Appalachia game set in the autumn of 1925.
For this campaign, TMSynd wants Appalachia itself to be more than the backdrop.
We want the mountains to be a character.
And while TMSynd will be running the campaign, I'll be sitting on the other side of the table as a player, taking on the role of a man uniquely ill-equipped to leave well enough alone:
Thaddeus Beauregard “T.B.” Rattle, the newest reporter for Crawford's Weekly out of Norton, Virginia.
The Appalachia Behind the Fiction
TMSynd is approaching The Morgan Holler Horror a little differently from a standard fictional setting.
Some names will be changed where the story requires it, but we're not planning to replace every real community with a fictional equivalent. When our characters move through the region, they'll be traveling through a recognizable Southwestern Virginia, Northeastern Tennessee, Eastern Kentucky, and Southern West Virginia.
For The Mystic Syndicate, that choice is personal - Our people are from this region.
These aren't simply convenient mountains in which to set a horror story. They're places connected to our families and their histories. That gives us an opportunity to draw upon something deeper than a fictional map: the communities, occupations, beliefs, hardships, humor, superstitions, and stories that belonged to the people who actually called these mountains home.
Enter Thaddeus Beauregard Rattle
And this is where my character enters the story.
I'll be playing Thaddeus Beauregard “T.B.” Rattle, the newest reporter for Crawford's Weekly out of Norton, Virginia.
At least, “reporter” is what the editor hired him to be.
Rattle considers himself a newspaperman, investigator, photographer, interviewer, civic watchdog, amateur historian, student of local folklore, and—when circumstances demand it—
“Special Correspondent for Unusual Occurrences.”
The newspaper has never given him that title.
Rattle has nevertheless had business cards printed.
T.B. is somewhere north of fifty, though his exact age seems to vary depending upon who's asking.
He's thin, wiry, extravagantly mustached, perpetually overdressed, and seldom seen without his battered bowler, bow tie, waistcoat, reporter's notebook, camera, and Crawford's Weekly PRESS badge.
Over one shoulder hangs a scarred leather reporter's satchel containing notebooks, pencils, county maps, newspaper clippings, a folding ruler, magnifying glass, several pieces of chalk, pocketknife, flashlight, matches, a pocket Bible, and a silver flask prominently engraved:
FOR EDITORIAL EMERGENCIES
He also owns a cumbersome camera and has recently acquired a portable typewriter.
Rattle treats the camera like a witness.
He treats the typewriter like artillery.
Rattle's Philosophy of Journalism
Rattle believes a newspaper has one sacred obligation:
Find out what happened.
Not what the railroad says happened. Not what the coal company says happened. Not what the sheriff would prefer happened. Not what the town's wealthiest citizen has paid everybody to believe happened. And certainly not what twelve frightened witnesses have mutually agreed they didn't see.
Rattle wants to know what actually happened.
He's not hunting ghosts.
He's not hunting witches.
He's not hunting monsters.
He's hunting stories.
That's probably worse.
If three miners disappear, Rattle wants their names.
If the company says they deserted, he wants to know who saw them leave.
If nobody saw them leave, he wants their payroll records.
If the mine superintendent tells him there's nothing unusual about the abandoned shaft, Rattle wants to know why there's a new lock on it.
And if an eighty-year-old woman tells him not to go up Morgan Holler after sunset...
Rattle isn't going to laugh.
He's going to open his notebook.
Look over his spectacles.
And ask:
“What happens after sunset?”
Which is probably how the trouble starts.
“I Know Jack.”
Mechanically, Rattle is a Speaker built around talking to people, asking questions, reading motivations, making connections, and convincing people that this ridiculous mustached fellow carrying a notebook has every right to be standing wherever he's currently standing.
His Focus is Knows Jack.
That couldn't fit a reporter much better.
T.B. knows people.
More importantly, he knows people who know people.
A brakeman who knows what came through the rail yard Tuesday night.
A courthouse clerk who remembers an unusual deed.
A miner whose brother worked a shaft the company claims never existed.
A deputy who knows which report disappeared.
A telegraph operator who saw a message she wasn't supposed to see.
A preacher who knows why a particular family hasn't attended church since 1912.
A gravedigger who distinctly remembers burying somebody whose name just appeared in this morning's newspaper.
Whenever somebody asks how Rattle obtained information he shouldn't possibly possess, his answer is always the same.
“I know Jack.”
“Jack who?”
Rattle closes his notebook.
“Exactly.”
Follow the Story
If The Morgan Holler Horror sounds like the kind of tale you'd like to follow, you're invited to come along for the journey.
Follow The Mystic Syndicate (TMSynd) at TheMysticSyndicate.com for campaign updates, characters, stories, and everything else we're uncovering along the way.
For those who want to go deeper, you can also join us on The Mystic Syndicate on Patreon, where we'll be sharing more from behind the scenes as the campaign unfolds.
The year is 1925. Fall has come to the mountains.
Somewhere beyond Norton, the road disappears into Morgan Holler—and T.B. Rattle has already started asking questions.
Come follow along.
After all...
Some stories are buried for a reason.
T.B. Rattle intends to dig.
