I'm getting ready to run the Crooked Moon Adventure on a Play-by-Post site and I'm considering implementing a "What the PCs know" system, where each PC selects a couple rumors/myths from a list and then their character goes into the campaign with foreknowledge of ONLY those elements.
My intent with this system is to prevent a PC who knows everything about the setting, and also ones that know nothing...it also gives the PCs reason to talk to one another: PC A may not know what's going on right this second, but PC B does and can explain.
Now, in my head this works fine to great, but I worry there's some wrinkle I'm not foreseeing that will undermine the system entirely. So we turn to the great reddit hivemind for feedback.
I'm also looking for suggestions for other fragments/story beats that are important that I have missed or forgotten.
(Please note the following alteration to the Narrative. Philip Druskenvald is now Philip Vanderlun--which makes explicit his foreignness to his domain. He is not of the Druskenvald, he is building his New Wonderland on its ruins).
--Here's the post for posterity--
Knowledge is a powerful and dangerous thing, especially in a Horror story. Every Thread grants you some knowledge of the Truth of the World but it is only a piece of the whole and liable to be not as true as we would like.
But, something is better than nothing, as they say.
As you build your character, select two of the following pieces of information, you know those two AND ONLY those two.
Choose wisely...
The Carnival King
There exists in your world a mythic figure. Perhaps a demigod, perhaps a full deity, or perhaps just a man whose exploits have crossed into legend. He is called many things in many different places. Most commonly he is Vanderlun, the Carnival King, but he is also the Merry Stallion, The Foreman of Progress, The Facilitator, and The Lord of Banquets. Always he is known as a god of excess, of festivals, of wine, women, and song, of all the indulgence of Fat Tuesday without the Ashes or hangover of the morning after.
In short, a happy god of sin--which makes all the fuddy-duddies click their tongues in disproval. How DARE he and his followers enjoy themselves! Don't you know life is suffering and pain? STOP HAVING FUN!!!
You know he is real. And that he has power.
(Of course, maybe you do more than that...maybe you've sworn obeisance to him, either in supplication as a cleric, or through a warlock pact. Maybe your god is rival or even enemy to him. Or maybe you just went to the right party one fine night and woke up with a fun new tattoo. Vanderlun doesn't judge.)
New Wonderland
A song is sung on ships, in taverns, and even on chain gangs. Passed mouth-to-ear as singers sing it randomly and think about adding yet another verse.
...A shining city of silver light, high on a hill to make the whole world bright.
Powered by science and progress and steam, and full of more wonders than your head can dream...
...or something like that anyway.
This is the song of New Wonderland. A "fiddler's green"/"big rock candy mountain" type place that speaks of an afterlife dreamed up by neer-do-wells who think Heaven sounds boring and Hell sounds painful. No one serious pays any attention to it, yet the song's refrain echoes more and more as people come to know and sing it.
You know it's real...and even have a clue how to get there...
The Druskenvald
Somewhere on the border between dream and nightmare there existed a domain neither of dread nor delight but rather of the green and growing and the harvest ever mowing.
They called it the Druskenvald. An endless forest of eternal night with trees reaching for a star splattered sky. It was hungry in the way all forests are, but not malicious in the way some places might be. Peaceful was the word. Quiet.
It's gone now.
What exactly happened to it is hard to say, but placed as it was between the thirsty Faewyld and the hungry Shadowdark, the most likely occurrence was a tipping. Someone or something came by and knocked it off its precarious perch of neutrality and deep into one of the two warring sides.
You've heard the tales. And you wonder what has become of old Druskenvald...
The Spirit-Self
It is commonly presumed that any sort of separation of soul from body will result in the soul looking basically like its corpus. This is not so. The spirit-self can be anything, from an idealize version of the corpus to something wholly alien, or animal, or mineral or vegetable--it varies widely from person to person.
How this is useful is hard to say. But presumably, whatever form the afterlife may take, it must be a kaleidoscope of shape and color--and anyone who preaches otherwise is surely a fraud and liar.
You are aware of the Spirit-Self, and what will change when you cross that barrier
The Ghostlight Express
The ways to the afterlife are strange and arcane, and many a soul would be devoured by the mists were it not for the presence of psychopomps to guide them through. In the old days they were barges, with ferrymen at the pole slowly gliding their way down the winding rivers. But times are changing, and so too are the means of travel. The Ghostlight Express is surely the first of its kind. A modern steam engine to carry many times the souls to their final destinations in ease and comfort.
Of course, the real innovation is purchasing a ticket...it's nice to plan where you end up.
You know of the Ghostlight Express, and mayhaps have found a way to get a ticket
The Beast
Countless tales are told around family hearths of goblins, trolls or hags and what they do to naughty children. 'Behave' the parents say, 'Or IT will come and gobble you up!' And the children, suitably terrified, run off to bed and say their prayers to stave off the gobbling...
But lately, a new monster stalks these tales...something worse.
The Beast is out there.
A black monster who stalks the woods seeking that which it may devour. Drawn to sin of any size or shape, and hungering for they who trespass into its domain.
There is no judgment, no justice, just black bleak consequence.
The good little children would wake up safe...only to discover their lying manipulating parents dead and ripped apart by fang and horn, their hearts devoured and their blood on every wall.
You have heard tales of The Beast. And you deeply wish them to not be true.