Shadow of the Beast

Somewhere in the Steel League, 5889:

“So your town is cursed, you say?”

“A demon or god makes its burrow beneath our town. It rises once a year, and everywhere it’s shadow falls turns as cold as the bitterest winter. The Natives use to placate it, somehow.  We've been less successful."

“Have you tried to kill it before?”

“Several times--and failed. Other hired adventurers. The old meat locker was made into a makeshift tomb if you’ve like to see--”

“That won’t be necessary. Two questions, Mister Mayor: Do you have enough in the town treasury to cover our fee--and do you have any dynamite hereabouts?

New Year's Day

Then the weird codger just smiles under his beard and says:

“Take it easy, fella. It’s just a yarn.”

And that’s when you realize you were holding your breath. As you let it out slow, it occurs to you that there’s a murmur of “happy new years” around and somewhere the pop of a champagne cork, and there’s a dame standing close with a creased brow and disappointed pout because you didn’t kiss her at the appointed moment. The moment you just missed ‘cause you were listening to some old man’s story about the end of the world.

You take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. The strange spell seems to be fading with the old year, but you still have to ask: “So what happened. How’d the world get saved, anyway?”

The old man strokes his beard. “It just so happens that Father Time prepares for this eventuality. He knows that the agents of entropy will try to take advantage of the changing of the year, to try and force a premature end to time. He has a plan...”

The new year is born at the center of a maze--almost a giant puzzle box, really-- outside of time and the material plane. Here the new born year can’t be strangled in its crib before temporal custodianship changes hands. All sorts of nefarious forces send their champions to seize it or kill it, true, but Father Time has his champions, as well. He can choose anyone, but it’s often adventurers that make his list. His temporal champions must brave the challenges of the achronal labyrinth and present Father Time's hourglass sigil to the multidimensional titan that guards the neonate year.

Finishing your second glass of champagne, you say, “Guess the good guys won again, huh? I’d be glad to meet one of those guys that saved the world. I’d by ‘em a drink.”

The old man shrugs and puts on his hat like he’s going to leave. “Well, the thing about that is, none of those brave souls ever remember what they did. The maze is outside of time. Everything that happens there occurs in less than an instant and outside of causality as we know it here. No, I’m afraid none of them has any idea what they accomplished.”

With that he turns to walk for the door. He’s only gone a couple of steps when he stops and half-turns. “Unless, of course, someone tells them.” And then he winks.

“Happy New Year, friend.”

On New Year's Eve

On New Year’s Eve, the people of the City prepare themselves for a celebration, unaware of the danger--never guessing that more than just a year might be ending.

The eikone Chronos, Father Time, lies near death. His hounds howl in their tesseract kennels and his imbonded servants, the bumbling giants of old chaos, Gog and M’Gog, blubber at his bedside. The old man--the old year--will die at the stroke of midnight.

In the Heavens, the angels gird for war. They double the host in shining panoply that guard the Celestial Gates and patrol the ramparts of paradise. They prepare for possible siege.

In the streets of the world, the soldiers and made men of the Hell Syndicate push bullets into magazines and check the action of their guns nervously. There’s the scent of blood and brimstone in the air. There may be war in the streets.

At the final collapse at the end time, the last singularity pulses omninously. It's vibration plays the funeral dirge of the cosmos; negative energy propagating backwards through time. The beat carries the slavering existence-haters of the Pit and the mad form-refuseniks of the Gyre dancing into the world for one last party.

The material plane draws, moment by moment, closer to the knife-edge of continuation and dissolution. And the clock ticks down.

(to be continued?)

'Zat You, Santa Claus?

I hope everyone has a great holiday....

...here are a couple of Christmas pin-ups to help spread the cheer.

All Your Holiday Favorites

In the tradition of yearly holiday television special repeats, I thought I'd revisit a couple classic Christmas-themed posts.  If you've never read 'em, they're all new!

When it's Yule-time in the City, Father Yule may need the help of stalwart adventures.  Find out why.

Speaking of versions of Santa Claus, there are a lot of them from the silly to the....well, somewhat less silly that might be used in gaming. See what sort of adventure may occur when Santa Claus comes to town.

Happy Thanksgiving

I hope everybody has a good holiday and doesn't spend it running around, particularly to escape arrows.

Veterans Day

In honor of Veterans Day here are a few of comics' stellar servicemen...

Where else to begin, but with Sargeant Joe Rock? The Rock of Easy Company fought his way through World War II--and beyond.  Brave and the Bold #108 had him teaming up with Batman to take on the Devil.

Captain Simon Savage may not be as well known as Sgt. Rock or Sgt. Fury, but he also led an eccentric commando squad known as the "Leatherneck Raiders." Those soldiers knew how to surf--which puts them one up on the Howlin' Mad Commandos.

Captain Ulysses "Gravedigger" Hazard outdoes them all.  He overcame polio and racism to become a one-man special forces unit and even led Easy Company briefly--but only after he broke into the Pentagon just to prove himself!

Happy Veterans Day to all the nonfictional veterans, too.

Happy Independence Day!

A good Fourth of July to all my fellow Americans. I hope everybody enjoys the holiday.

While you're enjoying it, do yourself a favor and check out the very British Small But Vicious Dog B/X-WFRP hack from Chris at the Vaults of Nagoh. It's grim atmosphere might be a useful corrective to all that July sunshne and merriment.

Remember John Prester

Watching fireworks on a festive night in the month of Swelter, a visitor to the City might be asked: “Do you know the story of John Prester?”

It’s a trick the locals pull on tourists. The truth is no one remembers John Prester--not really. You sometimes feel like you know it. Or knew it--but it only lingers there almost on the tip of your tongue, just beyond memory’s reach. It’s a good story, that one; you just can’t recall.

There are hints, maybe. Are the fireworks just simple celebration, or do they carry some other significance? Surely there’s something to the giant puppets paraded through the streets--the “Mugwumps” with their motley dress, straggly goatees, stovepipe hats, and leering grins? What about the wooden toy guns the kids mock shooting them with? And what about the tune played by the street musicians and marching bands? Who doesn’t hear that with a twinge of deja vu?

When did all this start, anyway? When did John Prester and his crew save the City (surely that’s what they must have done) or nearly destroyed it (well, that’s a possibility, too)? Maybe it hasn’t happened yet and the celebration isn’t the ghost of a memory but the sign heralding what’s to come?

Ah well, let the City raise a glass to John Prester, anyway, whatever he did--or will do. A bastard bold enough to almost get remembered deserves that much, right?

The Gore Between the States

I’m off work today for that most archaic of state holidays, Confederate Memorial Day. So in honor of the day, I thought I’d highlight one of the most gameable of movies alluding to the Civl War. I refer, of course, to Herschell Gordon Lewis’ Two Thousand Maniacs!

For all of you who’ve ever said to yourself: “It’s too bad Brigadoon isn’t a gore film”--well, this move's for you. In brief, a group of Yankee tourists head down to the South, but get tricked into the out of the way town of Pleasantville. There they find themselves the guests of honor at the centennial commemoration of the town’s destruction by Union troops. “Guests of honor” in this case meaning victims of torture in the hayseed townsfolk’s sadistic picnic games. Two of the tourists manage to escape and return with the local sheriff, only to find the town has disappeared.  It was destroyed 100 years ago! The townsfolk, meanwhile, wait elsewhere and look forward to their next celebration in 2065.

Beyond the obvious horror usage, towns that appear on schedule can be used in any sort of setting. Fantasy surely, but science fiction could work as well with a suitable technobabble explanation. The inhabitants could be pleasant--but really, what would be the point in that?  Orcs, vampires, zombies, Confederate zombies--all good candidates.

Of course, there’s another fun group that returns “when the stars are right.” There’s no reason why New England should get all the Lovecraftian fun. Adding a touch of Cthulhu gives extra meaning to “the South shall rise again!”

The Luck of the Little People

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

In the City, there's a day when fountains are dyed green, a parade is held, and a great deal of alcohol is consumed (which is to say, somewhat more than usual). This celebration was brought to the New World by immigrants from the isle of Ibernia, a land under the rule of Grand Lludd.

Since before recorded history, Ibernia was the home of a race of pygmies known to later invaders as the Little People (a name the People themselves alternately reject or grudgingly accept). The Little People used the celebration to honor the Green Man, a mysterious eikone or pagan god of the natural world, who in some way helped them wrest control of Ibernia from savage giants (similar to hillbilly giants, at least in the legends) who dwelt there.

Waves of invaders, these bearing iron weapons, drove the Little People into underground homes and fortifications. There, waited out the invaders they couldn’t repel--and often ultimately assimilated them. A succession of Lluddish monarchs, from the earliest days of the kingdom through the rule of the Gloriana, down to the most recently decanted iteration of Her Preserved Majesty, Victoriana, have made that difficult. The magic of the Little People, cunning as they are in the art of illusion, has been no match for the doctors thaumaturgical in service of the crown.

To escape oppression, and poverty, the Little People immigrated to the New World, including City.  There many came to live in the crowded slums of the neighborhoods of Hardluck and Hell's Commot. Things weren't particularly easier there. As newcomers they were considered undesirables--viewed as drunken, and over-emotive. Some of these stereotypes remain, but over the decades they have made a place for themselves in New World society.

Over time, life in the New World has led them to grow taller (like the Dwergen before them), and most people who claim ancestry in “the old shires” aren’t remarkably short at all (though some pygymy families still remain). Whatever, they’re height, they care the pride of their people, and their yearly celebration with them.

Prez's Day

I missed the real Presidents Day, but maybe American Presidents-Might-Have-Been have their own separate day? There are a lot of these guys, as a quick look at tvtropes will reveal, but one of the craziest is America’s first teen president--Prez.

This idea was the brainchild of writer Joe Simon (most famous for his work with Kirby--solo he gave us Brother Power the Geek) and artist Jerry Grandenetti. The series is predicated on the notion of a Constitutional amendment lowering the age for eligibility for office (which may have been inspired by the 1968 film Wild in the Streets). The upshot is a teenager gets elected, and who better than a earnest and idealistic kid from Middle America whose mother even named him “Prez” ‘cause she thought he’d be President one day?

Prez Rickard served for 4 issues. An unpublished story appeared Cancelled Comics Cavalcade #2. Prez also had a continuity-busting crossover with Supergirl.

President Rickard had an evenful time in office. There was a U.S.-Russia chess match resulting in chess-based crime, and an act of war by Transylvania,  with vampire bats as a bioweapon.

Then there were domestic threats. Prez's attempt to outlaw firearms (as one might expect) earned him the ire of a group called the Mintueman--and an an assassination attempt. From this misadventure, the young president learned peace and love weren’t the answer to everything.

Prez’s tale was told again in Sandman--recast as a sort of modern fairytale which fits the material nicely, even though the original comic was more goofy than anything else.

So let’s take a moment this Un-President’s Day to remember Prez: The First Teenage President of the U.S.A.

Love (and Sex) in the City

The City has a holiday analogous to our Valentine’s Day, celebrated in the winter month of Gelid. Hearts’ Day, or Lovers’ Day, has its origins in ancient, pagan fertility feasts, and is a time when wise thaumaturgists know the powers of the eikone Doll are at their strongest. Her manifestations walk the earth, manipulating the lives of humans to induce love--or at at least lust or passion.

People who don't directly interact with Doll, tend to commemorate the day by exchange of heart-shaped cards and gifts with their sweethearts.  Male adventurers, like chivalrous knights in stories, are known to vow to win some prize or achieve some great deed for their inamoratas.  No doubt the tendency of adventurers to imbibe in large quantities contributesd to this behavior.

In general, sexual mores in the New World resemble our own world’s in the first half of last century, though the presence of magic has led to some differences. Coercive magic or charms, for example, are technically illegal in most jurisdictions, but such laws are infrequently enforced. People tend to be somewhat cautious about taking drinks offered from strangers, and the most prudent wear some sort of minor charm as a defense. Luckily, most such magics are of short duration and tend to only have a shallow emotional effect.

Prostitution is illegal in the City and in most places in the New World, but that doesn’t stop it from being commonly practiced. Higher class prostitutes tend to employ thaumaturgical or alchemical aids to enhance their appeal, and the pleasure of their clientele, particularly those of exotic tastes. Some of these enhancements are extraplanar in origin, coming from the lust laboratories (and sometimes the pain dungeons) of the Hell Syndicate.

Unwanted pregnancy is, of course, a concern. The usual barrier methods of contraception are known. Purely biochemical female contraception is understood in theory, but is at this point not feasible. Alchemical or thaumaturgic methods exist, but their use is nontrivial as the dosage must be varied based on astrological influences and the like, so failure rates are high.

Venereal disease also looms large. Healing magics can ameliorate the effects, but prevention remains the best policy. Militaries, in particular, view this as a serious threat to readiness, though different nations address the problem differently. Some promote abstinence, while others have instituted programs of education, provision of condoms, and alchemical monitoring.  In the Great War, some particularly fiendish (though not terribly effective) attempts at biological warfare used prostitutes carrying alchemically-wrought infections to strike at enemy troops.

Happy New Year!

Young 1927 looks all business.  2011...we'll have to see.

Happy Holidays!

I hope everyone has a great holiday....

...here are a couple of pin-ups to help spread the cheer.

It's Yule-time in the City

In the City, the ancient Yule season is marked by visitation from two preternatural entities. During these twelve days--spanning the end of the month of Aforeyule and the beginning of Shiver--forces of light and dark, law and disorder, do symbolic (and sometimes actual) battle in the wintry night.

The first is of these entities is a beloved bringer of joy. Old Father Yule brings gifts to children--and rarely, adults in dire need. Not every act attributed to him is really his--tradition has gift-givers acting in his name--but the results of his actions have been seen, and the being himself encountered, too many times to be discounted. What exactly the red-robed, bearded presence is is matter of conjecture. Some hold he’s merely a powerful (and eccentric) thaumaturge, but most believe him to be an eikone, perhaps the transformed remnant of a forgotten, pagan deity, saved (Oecumenical Hierarchate averrs) by the power of the Redeemer.

Old Father Yule is a jovial fellow--unless someone tries to bar him from his rounds of gift-giving. Then, they find his mastery of the winter elements, and control over the flow of time, make him a formidable foe.

The second entity is neither beloved nor a bringer of joy. The Grumpf is a horned, furred, goat-legged humanoid, with a long and mobile tongue. The Grumpf punishes the wicked (it is supposed), but also generally creates mayhem and chaos. He runs or rides through the City, or jumps across roof-tops, frightening people and animals in the process. He damages property (particularly that of churches) in minor ways, and yells elaborate and improbable obscenities. Most seriously, he occasionally snatches up lone, and (it should be said) mostly ill-behaved, children and switches them in public view. He sometimes does the same to young ladies he finds alone--though he tends to threaten poor girls with this torment more than he actually follows through.

The ill-behavior of the young girls so menaced has never been definitively established.

Adventurers have occasion to interact with these two entities. Every year, some make a game of pursuing the Grumpf through the City. He’s occasionally been driven away for a night or two, but despite much swearing of solemn oaths (and much swearing, in general), he’s never been vanquished.

Father Yule, on the other hand, is a target of less noble interests, and sometimes comes to adventurers for aid. The Hell Syndicate never interferes with Yule, but some unbalanced, lone evil-doers seem to have a peculiar fixation on undoing the holiday. Often the adventurers Father Yule summons to his service are ones that others might say were in need of a moral lesson of some sort.  Father Yule's intentions in this regard remain mysterious.

Some have suggested that Old Father Yule and the Grumpf are actually twins--or perhaps even two sides of the same entity. A force of balance, briefly unyoking order and chaos to make a holiday more memorable-- and strange.

Solstice

21 WYRDSDAY.  Winter Solstice * * * Four days before Yule * * *  Since colonial times, City-dwellers from the Northern Old World, including the Old Money Dwergen, pass a bribe to the constabulary so they can practice midwinter mummery by dressing like goblins and other bogies and capering around bonfires in public places.

- From the Almanac of the City 5888: “Accommodated to the Five Baronies But May Without Sensible Error Serve for the Entire Metropolitan District, the Greater Hegemony, and Even Points More Distant”

An ancient Winter Solstice legend among the people of Northern Ealderde holds that the night belongs to Bertha, Queen (also called “Grandmother”) of the White Women--the cast-out witches of the North. On this longest night of the year, the Dwerg-folk would huddle near their hearthfires, their windows shuttered tight, while Bertha and the White Women ruled the night, accompanied in their revelries by goblins, boggarts, and other malicious beings (now extinct). Woe came to any good-folk they caught outside. They either died of fright, or were torn apart by the celebrants in ecstatic frenzy.

The Northern folk developed an apotropaic ritual, wherein they disguised themselves as the various humanoids and malign spirits they feared so that they could pass among them without harm. Today, many people of Northern Ealderdish descent honor their ancestors on the Solstice by dressing up in costume, getting inebriated, and partying.

It was been noted once or twice--though not given much attention--that a somewhat higher number of disappearances and murders occur among the revelers on this night. The inevitable result of drunken foolishness surely, except that more than one shaken and haunted-eyed murder has claimed they had no control over their actions when they committed the deed--indeed many claim no memory of the event. Many of these assaults are committed against complete strangers, so that there is no discernible motive.

And then what are we to make of the few people every year who claim to have glimpsed a pale crone, clad in white, moving silently among the crowds? And the fact that many having this experience require brief hospitalization for inconsolable fear, boarding on hysteria, afterwards?

Santa Claus is Coming to Town

For a venerable holiday icon, Santa Claus sees a lot of action. Could the Easter Bunny conquer the Martians? I think not.

Not only does he best alien invaders, but he teams up with Merlin to whup Satan in this 1959 gem, which could only come from south of the border. Frank L. Baum (of Oz fame) retcons Claus into Oz lore, and has him Santa raised by a wood nymph, educated by a council of magical creatures, and gifted with immortality. The Japanese thought that was so cool they made an anime about it with the appropriately anime-ish title Young Santa’s Adventures (Shounen Santa no Daibôken).  In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Santa Claus (or Father Christmas across the pond) shows up in Narnia to give the Pevensie kids the magic items they need to beat the White Witch.

Claus isn’t always the good guy, though. The far future of Futurama has a Santa Claus robot who takes down the naughty with extreme prejudice. The DC Comics anti-hero, Lobo, under contract to the Easter Bunny, goes after a badass Santa who’s abusing his elves.

All this makes me wonder if Santa Claus makes many appearances in gaming. Sure, most of these appearances are somewhat comedic in nature--but too comedic for Encounter Critical, or even Old School D&D? I think not.

John Stater gives us cool yule magic items, and a certain red-clothed demigod in NOD #6. Has anybody else had Santa come down the metaphorical chimney of one of their games?

Happy Thanksgiving

Hopefully nobody has to stalk their own turkey like this Pilgrim maiden...

Veterans Day

It's Veterans Day, and I'd like to commemorate some of the lesser known--but no less brave--men and women who've served their country in uniform--however tattered or non-regulation those uniforms often seem to be...

What special forces squad would be daring enough to go after Hitler?  Well, the same one that served in every U.S. conflict from World War II to Vietnam--and did it their way.  I refer of course to Sargeant Nick Fury and his Howling Mad Commandos!

They say you can't pin a medal on a gorilla (see, they're doing it right there on the cover!), but I say: why not?  So what if he doesn't meet the grooming standard?

War's ugly and so were they--but they got results.  And their name's alliterative.

And of course, who could forget the Warlord, formerly Captain Travis Morgan, USAF.  He proves the old adage, "old soldiers never die, they just become Sword & Sorcery heroes in the hollow earth."

All frivolity aside, I'll put one nonfictional veteran on the list.  U.S. Army trauma surgeon, and my best friend from med school, T (née Tara):

Happy Veterans Day!