Warlord Wednesday: Have a Nice Day!

Even in Hawaii it's Wednesday...Let's re-enter the lost world with another installment of my issue by issue examination of DC Comic's Warlord, the earlier installments of which can be found here...

"Have a Nice Day!"

Warlord (vol. 1) #55 (February 1982)

Written by Mike Grell (Sharon Grell); Penciled by Mark Texiera; Inked by Mike DeCarlo

Synopsis:Morgan, Tara, and Shakira ride toward Shamballah. They’re enjoying the warmth of Skartaris’ eternal sun after their time in the Terminator. Morgan guides them toward the merchant road which will run through the kingdom of Kaambuka, ruled by his friend, Ashir, on its way to Shamballah.

Coming over a rise, they’re surprised to see a full-scale battle going on. Troops laying seige to a fortress throw themselves against it and, again and again, are turned back. Morgan’s in for another surprise when he sees that the defeated army is under the command of Ashir!

They quicken their pace to catch up with him. Ashir greets them, and promises to tell them what’s going back in his palace, over wine.

Later, Morgan fills Ashir in on what has happened since they last met. Ashir asks if Morgan is finally giving up the adventuring life to go back to Shamballah with Tara. By way of an of answer, Morgan reminds Ashir that he gave it up. Morgan changes the subject to Ashir’s recent troubles.

Ashir tells him a gang of bandits seized control of that watchtower they were at earlier. Sitting on the trade route as it does, the bandits have been able to use their position to exact tribute from all the merchants passing through. The result is that trade has been disrupted, and the merchants are looking for other routes. Ashir’s forces have made three attempts to retake the fortress, but each time they've been repulsed.

At that moment, a servant girl brings in Tara and Shakira, who were apparently found fighting in the courtyard. Ashir tries to sweet-talk each in turn and gets rebuffed by both ladies. Ashir makes a second try at Shakira while Morgan talks to Tara. He tells her he’s got to help Ashir one last time, then he’s done. Just one more time. Tara acquiesces.

As Morgan and Ashir walk off arm in arm to plan, Shakira confronts Tara:

Later, Morgan and Ashir ride at the head of the army returning to the fortress. Ashir asks Morgan if he’s sure this plan will work. Morgan assures him “this one’s in the books...sort of.” Ashir wonders, as well, what the runes mean. Morgan’s answer is cryptic.

The bandit guardsman in the tower is surprised by what he sees left at the fortress’ gate:

The bandit leader is uncertain what to make of it. He supposes its a peace offering of some sort. Someone suggests they take it inside, but a door on it raises the possibility men may hide inside. The bandits decide to burn it instead.

They set it ablaze. The whole gang has quite a time watching, and perhaps ridiculing the hapless men that might have been hiding inside. So good in fact, they don’t pay attention to the backdoor of the fortress--and that’s where Morgan and Ashir’s forces strike. When the leader and the majority of his force come running back, they find the fortress has already fallen into their enemies hands.

After the bandit's defeat, Tara and Morgan make ready to leave Kaambuka, but Shakira decides to stay behind. She says (cryptically) that she’s seen Shamballah at the height of its glory, and she has no desire to see it otherwise. Tara and Morgan bid their friends good-bye.

On the way back to Shamballah, they pass the burned out place of the woodcutter who helped Morgan warn Shamballah of the Theran invasion. Bodies litter the ground, and Morgan summarizes the retreating Therans must have exacted revenge. Morgan is sure the man’s family had gotten out safe, he recalls the man had a son--not knowing the man’s adopted son was his own son, Joshua.

Morgan and Tara enter Shamballah’s gates to cheering crowds. In the crowd, is a young, red-haired boy wearing a curious armlet--a wrist watch...

Joshua.
 
Things to Notice:

• Texiera's version of Ashir wears armor.
• Is Ashir really hitting on Tara right in front of Morgan? 
• Again we get a reference to Shakira's familiarity with Skartaris' past.

Where It Comes From:
The title of this issue relates to a ubiqitous phrase of the seventies--particularly when associated with the smiley face.  Wikipedia has an overview here.  Morgan's knowledge of the classic smiley and its association with the phrase is an anachronism given that he's been in Skartaris since the sixties.  Bernard and Murray Spain didn't put the two together on various novelties until 1972.  Maybe he saw it on his brief visit to Machu Picchu?

The history of the smiley face as a symbol is also well-covered on Wikipedia--though no mention is made of Trojan smilies.

Morgan's trick is, of course, inspired by the Trojan horse used by the Greeks during the seige of Troy in Homer's Illiad.  Besides the shape of wooden device being different, Morgan also (wisely) chooses not to climb inside his Trojan Smiley. 

The Trojan rabbit sequence from Monty Python and the Holy Grail also gets referenced.  Texiera's rendition of the guardsman who first sights the smiley face looks a fair bit like the taunting French knight from that film.

Rider of the Weird West: The Merkabah Rider series

In the mood for some good Weird Western fiction? Well, hit the trail with Edward Erdelac’s Merkabah Rider series and you’ll get it from both barrels.

The titular Rider is a Hasidic Jew and an initiate of mystical order known as Merkabah Riders. The Rider roams the post-Civil War Old West, combating supernatural evil with his esoteric powers and knowledge. He’s armed (and armored) by a coat full of magical talismans, mystic spectacles (etched with the seal of Solomon), and mystically engraved Volcanic pistols--particularly effective on the astral plane.

The first volume in the series is Merkabah Rider: Tales of a High Plains Drifter.  It's composed of a series of short-stories or novellas, with the glimmering of an overarching plot running through. Over the course of the stories, Rider combats a Canaanite god, a demonic tornado, and the denizens a house of ill-repute where Lilith herself is the madam.

The stories have a lot of real world mythological and occult detail--interpreted through a unifying mythos--but all of that only serves to enhance the pulpy action. In this way, the stories are perhaps most similar to Richard L. Tierney’s Simon Magus short-stories--though those have more of a Cthulhu Mythos bend (though that’s not entirely absent from the Merkabah Rider, either).

Another nice element is the little homages and sly references Erdelac drops into the yarns. There’s a direct homage to Howard’s “Kelly the Conjure-Man” (based on a real Texas legend, according to Howard) and “Black Canaan.” Some real world historical personages show up: note the real name of “Sadie” given in “Nightjar Woman.” There also other details mentioned throughout that I suspect are references to famous Western films, as well.

So much material that could vaguely qualify as Weird Western is largely “everything and the kitchen sink” steampunkian monstrosity (not that there’s anything wrong with that), but the Merkabah Rider stories have a versimilitude about it them that comes from riffing off real world magical beliefs and placing everything in a real world context.

So check out High Planes Drifter, and its sequel Merkabah Rider: The Mensch with No Name--and I sure a third book in the series is on its way. They’d make great inspiration for Stuart Robertson’s Weird West rpg, and others I’m sure.

Revenge of the Tiki Spirit

In the islands of the Tranquil Ocean (particularly in the Pyronesian chain), the natives create carvings of roughly human shape. Their shamans coax powerful spirits to inhabit these statues, and they become objects of veneration for the tribesmen.

The spirits of these idols are typically elemental in nature. Given the number of volcanic isles, its not surprising that fire elementals are the most common, though wind and water are also found. Many of these elementals are quite powerful, though their bonding to the statues gives them certain weakness. Some require sacrifices to maintain their powers. Bound to a physical object, they can be removed from their island homes by moving the statues. They may be compelled to serve the possessor of their statue, though they will look for ways to free themselves and avenge their enslavement. They may be placated by minor acts of veneration, but the exact nature of these rituals varies from spirit to spirit.

The spirits are always at least large elementals, but they differ from others of their size in being bound to the statues. Though wooden, the statues can’t be destroyed by nonmagical means, unless the elementals are slain beforehand.

art by Keith Tucker

 I’m at a conference in Hawaii this week, so my presence on the blogosphere and my posting may be lighter than usual, but this post seemed particularly apropros.

They Like You for Your Brains

Bored with your monsters? Tired of the same old thing? Here’s a couple of mechanically-unchanged stalwarts with a shiny new finish:

Moon Men
Mysterious beings that appear by night and move silently to feed upon the minds of humans. Moon Men appear as tall humanoids whose heads are hidden beneath gleaming, featureless domes. These scientist-sadists rarely make any attempt to communicate, and treat other sentients with clinical detachment, as if they were mere cattle.

These are good ol’ mind flayers--because tentacles are so last year. The only change would be to dispense with the tentacle attack--or maybe keep it and have pseudopods emerge from a Moon Man’s liquid metal head. With that option, they might literally eat brains, but otherwise its the mind they’re after, not the meat.

Though the picture is Mysterio, the name was inspired by a pulp hero with a similar look.

Brain Parasite
“The brain was in a serious state of liquefaction. Only the brain-stem had any discernable structure. A puncture in the back of the skull likely indicates where the creature insert its venom...Yes, that’s the thing in the preservative vat there. It was completely invisible--or more precisely, simply, unseen--on the victims back until it was killed.  And by then it was too late.”

These reskinned intellect devourers look like the zanti from the Outer Limits and act sort of like the mutant spiders from Metebelis 3, the titular Planet of the Spiders in Doctor Who. I imagine they inject some sort of a toxin into the skull, dissolve the brain slowly, and suck out the sweet, sweet juice over time. 

The Art of Illusion

Beyond the “scientific” sorcerers of the Thaumaturgical Society and the hedge hex-workers and folk conjurers, there exists another group of magic-users in the City. Illusionists (as they style themselves) bridge the gap between real magic and stage performance.

The origins of the arts of illusion are obscure. Thaumaturgical scholars suggest it developed as a way for low-skill sorcerers to earn a living, while illusionists hold it developed from ancient mystery ritual practices in Ealderde given to mankind by a pagan trickster god. Illusionists claim (much to the irritation of their thaumaturgical rivals) that several historic mages revered by thaumaturges were actually illusionists who pulled off big tricks. However it began, illusionism seems to have first been practiced as a form of thievery, usually as part of a confidence game, but gradually developed into a performance art.

Illusionists know powerful spells, but their repertoire is mostly limited to those that deceive the senses in one way or another. They combine the use of real thaumaturgy with the use of sleight-of-hand and other stage tricks. Economy of magic is their goal; They look down on the obvious displays of thaumaturgists.

Illusionists, it's said (by illusionists), take a solemn oath not to reveal their secrets (magical or legerdemain) to non-illusionists. They claim that there exists an international Brotherhood of Illusion which enforces this pledge--though evidence for the existence of this organization is hardly above suspicion as fabrication. Certainly, an Illusionists Guild exists in the City, but the theatrics and misdirection surrounding it make it impossible to know its true size or influence.

Warlord Wednesday: Sorceress Supreme

Let's re-enter the lost world with another installment of my issue by issue examination of DC Comic's Warlord, the earlier installments of which can be found here...

"The Sorceress Supreme"

Warlord (vol. 1) #54 (February 1982)

Written by Mike Grell (Sharon Grell); Penciled by Mark Texiera; Inked by Mike DeCarlo

Synopsis: Returned from their sojourn in the Arctic, Morgan, Tara, and Shakira approach Castle Deimos, unaware of what’s been going on inside. An exhausted Ashiya slumps in a chair and complains to Faaldren how Jennifer’s insatiable hunger for magical knowledge has been taxing her to the limit.  As if on cue, Jennifer calls “Mother!” again--for that’s the guise Ashiya has employed to gain her trust.

Jennifer is trying a variation on a spell and wants her "mother’s" aid. Ashiya tells her she would like to do some learning herself. She wants to know more about the Atlantean machines in the laboratory. Jennifer assures her she already knows all of that--and again insists on her help with the spell.

They’ve only just finished the ritual when Ashiya’s raven spy flies in to tell her visitors are approaching the castle. Ashiya goes to prepare a welcome.

Morgan rushes across the draw bridge and into the castle, eager for news about his daughter. Instead, he’s surprised to be greeted by Rachel, his dead wife. Morgan goes to her, so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t bother to question how it could be. He pays for his credulousness when Ashiya blasts him!

The portcullis falls. Shakira pushes Tara inside to get her out of the way, and quickly changes to cat form. Her head is caught, but she avoids being skewered.

Though knocked to his knees by Ashiya’s blast, Travis Morgan isn’t down. Gritting his teeth, he rises to face the woman in his wife’s guise. She blasts him again and again, but he staggers forward until his left hand is around her throat and his sword is in his right.  Morgan squeezes:

Morgan raises his sword, swearing Ashiya will pay for her charade. At that moment, Jennifer rushes in with a cry. She blasts her father aside. Ashiya yells for her to kill Morgan.

But Jennifer smiles wickedly and summons her powers. “I didn’t save you from him,” she says. “I saved you for me.”

Ashiya intends to serve no mortal, and so the two engage in a magical duel. In the direct contest, Ashiya soon bests her former student. But before Ashiya can finish her, Jennifer fires one last blast which appears to miss. In fact, she’s energized the Atlantean machinery around the old witch. When Ashiya gathers her power, she's engulfed by the machinery’s energies.

Morgan gets to his feet, wondering what the hell just happened. Jennifer causes the portcullis to rise, freeing Shakira. Morgan goes to his living wife, Tara, and takes her in his arms.

After everyone has exchanged stories, Morgan and companions prepare to leave. Jennifer says she won’t be joining them. There’s much learning left for her to do in this place, and Faaldren has agreed to stay with her. She tells her father to content himself that she’s found a place in this world of his. Tara reminds him that Jennifer is no longer a child--he gave his time with her to someone else. Morgan knows she’s right.

And so, father and daughter part again--each taking up a new life in Skartaris.

 
Things to Notice:

• This is the first issue Jennifer appears "in costume" within the issue.
• Shakira's near brush with portcullis-death isn't even commented on. 
• Jennifer seems to know before Ashiya's betrayal that she isn't her mother.  She seems more calculating in this issue than she will later appear.

Where It Comes From:
This issue's alliterative title was probably borrowed from Marvel's Doctor Strange, who's known as the Sorcerer Supreme.

WARLORD WEDNESDAY BONUS: Check out this Warlord fan art from Felt.

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!”

Black School

photo by Geoffrey Dunn

In the days when the City was only a village crowding a fort at the end of Empire Island, there were rumors of a sprawling house, beyond the glow of the village lights, built in single night by devils at the command of a cabal of evil Ealderdish sorcerers. The sorcerers came to this place in a swamp in a wild land to open a Black School--a Scholomance--to tutor what students would come in the dark arts.

Some stories say some natural disaster (an act of God) destroyed the school, while others say a group of righteous adventurers razed it, and a few hold it just disappeared, as if hell reclaimed it. No one really knows for certain.

What is known is that the place where the Black School once stood was eventually engulfed by the growing City and became the area called Scholo. Whatever industries that have tried to take hold there--from farms, to brothels, to sweatshops--never seem to last for long. The area seems strangely prone to fires, and strange accidents.

The only thing that lasts in Scholo is magic. As other enterprises have dwindled, magic book shops, alchemical supply stores, and the offices of cut-rate thaumaturgist-for-hire have thrived and grown to crowd Scholo’s streets. Thaumaturgists live here, too--mostly young would-be up-and-comers, and old has-beens and never-wases. They practice their arts in small, threadbare apartments, and congregate to trade secrets (and lies) in a few small cafes and bars.

On almost any night, if you sit in one of the bars long enough you’ll hear mages talk about the Black School. They’ll say it appears some nights of the new moon, in that old park where nothing has ever been built and nothing but twisted and blighted tress grow. Some brave souls have gone in, the story goes, and found it bigger on the inside--and growing larger all the time with creaks and groans. Amid its many rooms are libraries full of occult and sorcerous lore.

It’s a tempting destination for those young up-and-comers, but the old timers remind them that most who go in never come out again, and those that do have emerged haunted, shattered men, prone to suicide, and unable to remember any but barest details of what they experienced there.  What fragments can be gleaned from them suggest malign ever-shifting architecture, sadistic traps, strange hauntings, and halls stalked by a half-real creature--never fully manifest on this plane--that pursues intruders.

Thor and Wonder

I saw Thor yesterday and thought it was good--though I wonder if “good” superhero films have gotten common enough that I’m no longer impressed by mere competence. I do know that the formulaic elements of the “successful comic adaption” are beginning to wear thin.

So anyway, Thor drapes the Iron Man frame with interesting enough characters, a von Daniken-Kirby "gods from space" rift, and some cool action. It was in this second part, though, I was a little disappointed in their choices, given the source material they were working with.

One of the most interesting things about Thor the comic (and one of the things I think would be most interesting to steal for gaming) is the mixture of mythological elements and Jack Kirby’s crazy sci-fi-ish design. The preponderance of evidence in the comics doesn’t make the Asgardians just extraterrestrials (or even extradimensionals) who were mistaken for, or gave rise to, legends of the gods of Norse myth--they're people who we’re told and descended from a guy who got licked into existence from ice by a giant cow and who endure repeated cycles of the end of the world. And it’s a world where Odin zaps Jane Foster with a fairly technological looking wand to turn her into a “goddess.”

What Kirby started with the Asgardians in Journey into Mystery--and developed to its fullest “are they aliens, gods--or both?” fullness in the New Gods at DC--is a science fantasy blurring of traditional definitions, a thread only Grant Morrison, among all of Kirby’s successors, seems particularly interested in exploring. Kirby seems to be saying that in this modern world, tech should be as much part of a god's trappings as ever-full flagons and flying goat-chariots were in the past.

Check out this scene:

A somewhat bug-eyed monster alien-looking troll captured and carried in some mechanical contraption, guarded by warriors in retro-futuristic armor, against a backdrop of strange planetoids.

Or how about Kirby’s vision of Asgard:

A pulp sci-fi future city on an asteroid floating in a romanticized cosmos with a very literal rainbow bridge connecting it to the rest of the universe.

Obviously, some of this stuff might have come across as silly on film--maybe some of it teeters on that edge as it is. The movie makes some gestures in this direction with some of its design, but it also is very insistent about Einstein-Rosen bridges and its implication that the Nine Worlds can be seen with Hubble. The point (well worth remembering for gaming I think) is that the oft-quoted Arthur C. Clarke line that "any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic” doesn’t have to mean that the wonder and strangeness must be stripped from either.

Sounds of the City

A soundtrack sampling for the City and the Strange New World:

Bright Lights & The City: "Sing Sing Sing" by the Benny Goodman Orchestra

A dust-up in a gin-joint: "Odd Ones" by the Seatbelts (Cowboy Bebop)

Magic-usin' dames is always trouble: "I Put A Spell On You" by Nina Simone

Foreboding in the Dustlands: "Ben Searches the Junkyard" By Jeff Beal

Here they come--get ready: "Tiger Tank" By Lalo Schifrin

A cheerful traditional in the Smaragdines: "O Death" by Ralph Stanley

Nothing ever happens out in the sticks: "Murder in the Red Barn" by Tom Waits

Entering a mound in Freedonia: "White Lightning" by Charles Bernstein

There's an old preacher who they say can perform resurrections: "Ain't No Grave" by Johnny Cash.

I guess we all knew it would come down to this: "The Verdict (Dopo la Condanna)" by Ennio Morricone

Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Canageek who nominated my blog for Stuffer Shack's "Rpg Site of the Year" contest.  It was an honor to have even be nominated in the company of a number of great sites.

And--while I'm at it--thanks to everyone else for following, commenting, and reading.

Don't Eat the Worm

In southern Zingaro, bottles of cheap local liquor are often garnished with a worm. More accurately, this is a larva of the astral moth, an insect (if the stories can be believed) with a peculiar life cycle.

The succulent whose juice nourishes the larva and is used to make the liquor is said to be the remnant of a goddess that pre-Ealderish Natives believed fell from the stars. It’s juice was believed to enhance fertility and passion, and bring vivid dreams.

Legends suggest that the larvae that make it into the distillate aren't dead but merely quiescent, waiting to begin the next stage in their life cycle. Eating the worm produces a pleasant, mildly hallucinogenic experience--but also allows the larva to continue its metamorphosis inside the etheric body of the consumer.

The astral moth will emerge from the host in d100 hours (saving throw halves duration). From a few hours after ingestion until that time, the host’s suffers a different effect from the following chart every 2d6 hours:

1 - Wisdom temporally reduced 1d4 points
2 - Character becomes convinced they have obtained some deep insight into the nature of the universe, but find it impossible to convey in words to others (15% chance they actual have)
3 - Character experiences 1d4 paroxsyms of uncontrollable laughter (similar to hideous laughter) lasting 1 round, interspersed with periods of relatively normal behavior.
4 - Character experiences visual hallucinations like scintillating pattern (as they had 7 hit dice)
5 - Character goes on an ethereal jaunt--or perhaps (50% change) they only believe they have.
6 - Character experiences powerful deja vu giving an insight bonus of +5 similar to moment of prescience.

Once the moth emerges, the host returns to normal, though is quite fatigue and not good for much of anything for a period of hours.  The moth, its etheric wings shifting through colors and patterns like a liquid projection lightshow, flies off to the Astral, taking some imprint of the character's psyche with it...

And a Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Warlord Wednesday: The Sorceress' Apprentice

Let's re-enter the lost world with another installment of my issue by issue examination of DC Comic's Warlord, the earlier installments of which can be found here...

"The Sorceress' Apprentice"

Warlord (vol. 1) #53 (January 1982)

Written by Mike Grell (Sharon Grell); Penciled by Mark Texiera; Inked by Mike DeCarlo

Synopsis: Immediately following the events of last issue, Soviet soldiers rush out of the helicopter toward the wreckage of the MiG--and straight into the swinging blade of the Warlord. Despite their guns, they don’t stand a chance.

As Morgan pulls his sword from the last one, he sees the ‘copter taking off. He runs for the vehicle, and leaps toward it as it climbs. He manages to pull himself in the open side door. The pilot is shocked to see a guy with a sword coming toward him--and probably even more surprised when he’s tossed out of the aircraft.

Morgan takes the controls. He heads in the direction of the Terminator and the inner world of Skartaris, flying low to the ground to avoid radar.

Meanwhile, back in the former Castle Deimos, Jennifer Morgan still stares blankly and doesn’t respond to Faaldren’s attempts to communicate. She has began to wander around on her own, and often goes to the room full of Atlantean technology. It’s there that a visitor to the castle appears--Ashiya, the witch.

Faaldren tries to keep her away from Jennifer, but she just blasts him aside. She tells him she doesn’t plan to hurt Jennifer, but to help her--and then Jennifer can return the favor. Ashiya knows that Jennifer comes from a world of machines, and she wishes Jennifer to teach her the use of Deimos’ Atlantean machines. In return she’ll teach her magic.

But first, she must release Jennifer from her current state. Ashiya enters her mind and sees the moment Deimos used his power to numb her mind. She removes that moment from Jennifer’s memory--but that leaves her frightened and childlike. To calm her, Ashiya uses her magic to take the form of someone Jennifer will feel safe with--her mother.

Jennifer’s trust thus gained, Ashiya begins to teach her magic. In a montage, we see the two women exchange information about their two worlds--while Faaldren looks on at times with worry.

Meanwhile, Morgan thinks he’s flown far enough to be out of radar range. He gets a little altitude to find out how far he is from the Terminator. He catches sight of the glow of Skartaris’ sun! Before he can celebrate he sees he’s dangerously low on fuel. He tries to set down, but it's too late. He crashes.

Morgan’s again on foot. He hears hoof beats behind him and twirls around, anticipating danger...

It’s Tara and Shakira! Morgan tells his wife that Deimos is dead--once and for all. The three turn and head home.

Things to Notice:

• This is the first issue not drawn by Mike Grell.
• Though she isn't credited, it has since been revealed that issues #53 through 71 were written either whole or in part by Sharon Grell, Mike's then-wife. 
• Ashiya makes an awful big assumption that just being from America circa 1980 would give Jennifer any expertise with ancient Atlantean technology.
• Jennifer is "in costume" on the cover, but never appears that wya in the issue.

Where It Comes From:
The title of this issue is utlimately a modification of the English title of a poem by Goethe, Der Zaubererlehrling--The Sorcerer's Apprentice.  In 1897, Paul Dukas wrote a symphonic poem based on it, which in turn provided the music for a sequence of the same name in Disney's Fantasia (1940).

Dice Were Rolled

This past Sunday the gaming group I play in (not the one I GM) got together after a hiatus of...well, I can’t remember exactly. A long time, at any rate.

Again the party stayed one step ahead of the law, getting a wrongly accused noblewoman (strong on giving orders, weak on helping out) to another city where she had a safe-house. What are our motivations here? If we were after money, a detour through a dungeon solved that problem. Loyalty to the noblewoman’s cause? Doubtful--at least for the thorough-going rogues among us.

I suppose, our motive was: adventure! And that we got--though sometimes in a Keystone cop kind of fashion, admittedly.

A few highlights: A brawl on a train with Agnar (our fighter) bluffing a mercenary with a ridiculous tale, just as my artificer was blasting another mercenary in the face with a Melf’s Acid Arrow, only a few feet away. A Warforged monk dropping from above unto two mercenaries with a cry of “Moon Knight style!” Discussion of how formal wear could be modified to hide weapons, and a female halfling thief complaining about wearing a dress. Bargain-hunting for weapon and armor upgrades in the city.  A foiled assassination attempt in a burning ballroom.

A few times during the gaming I found myself thinking about all the theoretical discussion that goes on in the blogosphere and forums about how things "should" be done, and measuring the conduct of our game against those various, often well-argued ideals. 

Ultimately, none of those concerns, interesting though they are, really mattered--not in the moment and at the table. No one was confused about our goal--enjoyment in the context of a game--and GM and player’s were of one mind in that regard. Dice were rolled and--whether an action succeeded or failed--everybody won.

Dungeon Jabber

Delver’s Aphasia or "Dungeon Jabber" is a peculiar malady apparently caused by exposure to the saurian sapient known as the babbler (a dungeon-dweller, whatever you might have heard). Babblers suffer from a form of delver’s aphasia, as well, and are driven to a killing rage by the frustration of being unable to communicate with others and the isolation that results from it--they can only even tolerate their own kind during mating season.

How Dungeon Jabber is transmitted is unclear. It may be through the babbler’s bite--certainly most who develop it are bitten--but it has been suggested that only close proximity to a babbler is necessary.  The mechanism is likewise unclear.

Those exposed get a saving throw. Failure means development of an aphasia within 2d6 hours based on the following table:

1-3: anomia - character is unable to remember names either of people or objects (except in general terms).
4-5: fluent aphasia - character is able to speak in a normal manner except that they use the wrong words, and perhaps even nonexistent words.
6-7: receptive aphasia - as above, except the character is also unable to make sense of the speech of others.
8-9: expressive aphasia - character has difficulty producing fluent speech. Words are pronounced with difficulty, in a halting manner, or with odd intonation.
10: global aphasia - The character is either unable to produce speech, repeats single words (perhaps in echo-like manner) or either occasionally shouts a single expletive.

Cure disease or the like will remove the illness, but otherwise it is permanent. in most cases (75% of the time) ability to read and write is preserved.

The Killing Floor

The Shambles neighborhood of Empire Island is the center of the City’s slaughterhouse and meatpacking industry. It’s overwhelmingly industrial and sparsely populate--even its poor mostly immigrant workers choose to live elsewhere to escape the ever-present animal smells.

Thaumaturgists and alchemists sometimes visit the yards to purchase some animal-derived material components like bezoars. Occasionally, adventurers are consulted to hunt or kill monsters that are drawn to the offal--giant rats and osquips are probably the most common--though rarely something like an otyugh or carrion crawler will be found.

It’s long been rumored that the ghouls have an arrangement with some slaughterhouse operators allowing the the use of their facilities after hours for “dinner parties” in exchange for loot from the underground. Certainly, unscrupulous owners of knacker’s yards and livestock holding pins have--for a fee--been happy to oblige mobsters in the disposal of bodies.

From time to time, snatches of lambskin or the like are found inked with prayers or paeans honoring the Lord of the Cleaver. A full text (anthropodermically bound) honoring this obscure eikone is known to exist in a private collection in New Lludd. The origins and motivations of the Lord of Cleaver are obscure; some have suggested he’s a degenerate war god, while others believe he’s a twisted protector of animals, exacting a horrifying vengeance. Whatever his origins, his name is associated with sporadic outbreaks of homicidal madness.

Typically one individual is affected. He or she develops a maniacal urge to kill by direct and bloody means--and gains an almost superhuman ability to do so (see "Maniac" in the d20 Menance Manual SRD). Occasionally others become acolytes or accomplices of the maniac. The killing may go on for years--perhaps with periods of months without activity--but only truly ends when the affected individual is killed. After one maniac is destroyed, it’s usually years before the Lord of the Cleaver’s influence is felt again...

But one never knows.

Lifestyles of the Adventurous and Famous

Let’s again open the doors of Munsen’s “Life of Fantastic Danger” Museum, where many of the City’s adventurers--both world-renown and relatively obscure--are celebrated:

Blaise (“Blaze”) Dalton
Once just a cowpoke riding the range up through Freedonia and the West, Dalton’s life changed when following lost calf near one of the side channels of the Grand Chasm led him into a lost valley. Saving a princess condemned to death at the hands of a giant prehistoric tiger won him the princess’ adoration and--after he broke the beast like it was a bronc--the tiger as a mount. Dalton abandoned the princess in the night a few weeks later, but kept the cat. He once famously rode it through the streets of the City one Yule night chasing the Grumpf who had abducted a chorus girl. Dalton was brought up n charges for the stunt, but was ultimately pardoned. His lasso is a rope of entanglement that supposedly comes when he whistles.

Belle “Bang-Bang” Starr
A runaway from a small East Freedonia town, “Belle Starr” first took that name when working as the target girl for a sharpshooter in a carnival sideshow. Though she soon graduated to “cooch” dancing (which was more lucrative), she also picked up the sharpshooter's art. Her talents noticed by an agent, she moved to the City and worked as a burlesque and striptease dancer--while adventuring on the side. She took part in the raid on the Growing Tower, braved the obsessive, junk maze of the Brothers Coyle, and spent a perilous (and raucous) night in the Hotel Elephantine as a "guest" of the lich Hieronymus Gaunt. Starr is a proponent of “less is more” when it comes to adventuring attire, and where possible goes into battle in one of her stage costumes, swearing by the distraction it provides (at least when dealing with foes human and male). Of course, she isn’t above improving the odds with Pasties of Protection, either.

Mingus Rooke
Though only a country boy just arrived in New Ylourgne, Rooke nevertheless impressed jazz band leader and sorcerer Salomo King. Learning both the music business and thaumaturgical working through music from King, Rooke put his skills to use with various adventuring gangs once he struck out on his own. Arriving in the City, Rooke began making a name for himself in the jazz night-spots and earned the enmity of Mr. Scratch, after turning down an exclusive contract--an enmity that would plague his adventuring career. Rooke retired from “the adventuring life” relatively young, after suffering a minor stroke.  This he suffered while blowing Gabriel’s trumpet to summon an angelic host to save Hardluck from processing by the alien Machineries of Night. Rooke still plays on occasion--if not quite as well as he used to--and operates a trendy Solace night-club, The Blue Hound.

Akakor: Dungeon, (South) American Style

Following up on the weird South American jungle map I presented earlier, today we'll veer off the map entirely into the wilds of crazy von Däniken land and visit a “lost” city--one that got famous enough to appear under a weak pseudonym in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I refer of course to Akakor.

Von Däniken started talking about underground city complexes beneath Ecuador in 1974’s The Gold of the Gods, but one of his sources, German journalist Karl Brugger, got to tell his version in 1977 with The Chronicle of Akakor. Both accounts start with the same basic story: In 1972, Brugger met a Amazonian Indian (who spoke excellent German) named Tatunca Nara, who claimed to be a member of a hidden tribe that kept a great secret.  This secret involved ancient astronauts from a solar system named Schwerta, and a network of underground cities these space travellers built beneath South America. The most important of these cities was known as Akakor.

It all sounds fairly unbelievable, true--and it becomes even more so with the revelation that ol’ Tatunca Nara was really Günther Hauck, an alimony-dodging German ex-patriot. But the important thing from a gaming perspective is that these guys gave maps.

One of these is the upper (above ground) Akakor, and the other is the lower subterranean portion. Different websites disagree on which is which, so take your pick--"entertainment purposes only," and all that:

Here’s a nifty cross-section showing the underground portion, and one of the Star Trek-esque hallways:

Read more about it here, and find these maps (and more) here. Add some bullywugs, maybe some yuan-ti--or Nazis if your tastes run to pulp--and you’re ready to roll.  Crystal skulls strictly optional.

Warlord Wednesday: Back in the U.S.S.R.

Let's re-enter the lost world with another installment of my issue by issue examination of DC Comic's Warlord, the earlier installments of which can be found here...

"Back in the U.S.S.R."

Warlord (vol. 1) #52 (December 1981)

Written and Illustrated by Mike Grell; inked by Robin Rodriguez

Synopsis: In the Terminator, the twilight zone between Skartaris and the outer Earth, Morgan trudges through a snowstorm. His only guide in the trackless waste is his compass and its pointing due south.

Getting lost isn’t the only danger. A looming shape out of the blowing snows reveals itself to be a wayward (and hungry) polar bear. With the bears reach, Morgan’s sword isn’t of much use, but he has his pistol and is able to dispatch the beast.

Meanwhile, in Castle Deimos, Shakira, Tara, and Faaldren worry over Jennifer. She’s still in a catatonic state, and none of them know what Deimos might have done to produce it--or how to reverse it. Tara is more worried about Morgan. She decides to go after him, and Shakira demands to accompany her.

The two ride out, Shakira in cat form on Tara’s fur-cloaked shoulder. They’re united in purpose, if not exactly on friendly terms. They leave Jennifer in Faaldren’s attentive care.

Out in the wastes, Morgan is worried he hasn’t seen Skartaris’ eternal sun yet. He mounts a rise and sees dawn breaking on the horizon--and realizes he’s been going the wrong way and is in the outer world! From the North Pole, all compass directions are south, he now recalls (which isn’t really right either, but Morgan’s science has never been the best). The only thing he can do is retrace his steps and go the opposite way.

He hasn’t gone far when he hears something coming toward him from the horizon:

A Soviet MiG “Foxbat!” The pilot turns and circles back--he spotted Morgan. He strafes at him with his machine guns, and Morgan defiantly shoots back with his pistol.

The pilot turns for another pass. Morgan reloads. He knows his chances are slim, but he’s determined to make a stand. The plane comes straight for him, but Mogan holds his ground:

Miraculously, he puts two bullets through the canopy, and one of those hits the pilot in the head. Morgan drops to the ground as the out of control jet passes right over him, then crashes a distance away.

Pretty pleased with himself, Morgan blows on the barrel of his gun, before twirling it around his finger and holstering in Western movie style.

He resumes his trek, but things aren’t going to be that easy. A familiar sound causes him to turn and look back at the plane’s wreckage. A helicopter is coming in for a landing!

Things to Notice:

• Morgan seems to have (slightly) warmer clothing now than when he left Castle Deimos.
• Morgan's compass comes out of nowhere.

Where It Comes From:
The title of this issue comes from a 1968 Beatles' song appearing on the White Album (actually titled The Beatles, according to Wikipedia).  It was released as a single in 1976.

"Foxbat" was the NATO reporting name for the MiG-25.  As Morgan knows it from the early stages--the prototype flew in 1964--but it didn't enter service until 1970, after he was in Skartaris.

Real Sandbox: Maps of Green Hell

Interested in a sandbox setting with wilderness and dungeons to explore? I’ve used the title "green hell" (borrowed from the 1940 film) for a fictional jungle land before, but this time I want to talk about the real deal--or at least one based in reality. Check out this somewhat fanciful map of the South American jungle--the Mato Grosso (“Thick Wood”):

A lot of cool stuff going on there. Some highlights:

• Unknown Mountains of Gold and Mystery - They had me at "gold."
• Unexplored Dangerous Territory - Obviously, explored enough to know its dangerous.
• Atlantean Hy-Brazilian Dead City - If Dead City weren’t adventure fodder enough, Atlantean ought to sweeten the mix, to say nothing of Hy-Brazilian.
• Strange “Cold” Light in Tower - Again the Hy-Brazilian Atlanteans are invoked for probably the most intriguing place on the map. And why is cold in quotation marks--so-called cold, perhaps? The mind boggles...

This is to say nothing of Indians in Roman style armor, headhunters, assorted glyphs, and the place where Fawcett vanished. It’s a whole jungle of adventure suitable for your fantasy or pulp game.

From the Mound

You never know what might be found in those ancient mounds doitting the Strange New World and perhaps other worlds, as well. Here are a few suggestions:

1. Eight giant (8-9 ft. tall) human-like skeletons in breast-plates and ornaments of a copper-like (but harder) metal. Armor is +1 but half the usual weight.  
2. 2d10 eggs that will hatch dungeon chickens if incubated.
3. A phantasmagoria magic lantern obviously of more recent manufacture than the mound itself.
4. Three partially buried skulls inscribed with mystical designs, which upon closer inspection are actually necrophidii.
5. The mummified corpses of 1d8 children of both sexes who were killed by ritual strangulation. They will rise as undead mummies on the first night of the new moon after excavation. 
6. A sarcophagi contain a person in strange, futuristic outfit. If the round, reflective glass helmet is removed it will reveal the apparently dead (but remarkably undecayed) body of one of the PCs at an advanced age.
7. A glass pyramid containing a Mantid Warrior-Nun, who is alert and active, but unable to escape.
8. A beautiful woman in ancient garb, who appears to be asleep. Approaching close enough to touch the woman (even if not actually doing so) will allow her to take possession of a victim’s body as per the magic jar spell. If successful, the victim’s soul enters a large gem in her regalia.
9. And so on... Any suggestions?

Murder Ballad

Happy Easter to everyone that celebrates it. :)

Now, on to darker topics....

In the world of the City, sometimes even songs can’t be trusted.

A man in a bar hears a bluesman sing a traditional ballad about a betrayal and the grim things that followed, and he goes and shoots his business partner. A housewife listens to an old record that spins a tale of woe about a wayward man and a woman’s revenge, and serves up a rat poison dinner to her husband.

What thaumaturgists know as a murder ballad is a malevolent alien presence which can hide within traditional songs recounting a murder. The exact song which conveys the entity or infection varies--perhaps even from one day to the next--but it may be that target individuals are somehow “marked” ahead of the performance and the song is chosen to maximize the chance of influence. What the entity ultimately desires is to induce the target to commit violent murder.

The performers who act as conduits for the ballads are called Murder Balladeers. At first, they’re unaware that they’re carriers of virulent murderousness, but over time the horrible true becomes clear. Early on they may turn to alcohol or drugs to escape the guilt, but eventually most either become corrupted willing participants or else take their own lives.

There are some stories that Murder Balladeers develop other music-based magical abilities over the time they carry the malefic influence, but this has not been verified.

Murder Ballad
Target is someone with angry or resentful feelings toward another--but not typically murderous feelings. The narrative of the song played will have elements that can vaguely relate to the target's present situation. A failed saving throw means the target’s anger and resentment will suddenly grow, and the target will attempt to murder object of his or her anger within whatever time frame is feasible (typically 24 hours). While the target is emotional, he or she is not without reason, so the attack will be as planful and calculated as the time permits. If the target is restrained or prevented from completing the attack for at least an hour, he or she receives a second saving throw. After 24 hours--or after a completed murder--the whole experience will seem dream-like to the target.  

Dispel magic cast during the song's performance will negate the murder ballad's effect, and protection from evil or the like will bar its influence.

Weird Adventures: City Neighborhoods Map

Here's more Weird Adventure's cartography courtesy of Anthony at Battleaxes and Beasties.  Here we have the neighborhood map of Empire Island, one of the City's Five Baronies and its heart. 

Only a few of these have been touched upon so far in the blog.  Barrow Island (13) is the home of the City's potter's field and the tale-spinning Barrow Men.  Solace (38) is the foremost Black folk enclave in the City.  The Financial District (2) is the location of Prosperity Plaza and the Colossi of Industry statues.  Hardluck (3), an impoverished mostly immigrant slum, is home to those lovable scamps "The Hardluck Hooligans."

As an added "bonus" (so you can see what Anthony had to contend with) here's my rough map of the neighborhood which he skillfully turned into the map above:

Lounge Lizards

Walk into a night-spot in Heliotrope or the City, or maybe even down in New Ylourgne, and you might unknowing rub shoulders with an ancient inhuman race. "Lounge Lizards," they’resometimes called derisively, but these sybaritic sophisticates have about as much in common with the various sorts of lizard-folk (gatormen, ciamen) as a movie star has with a skunk-ape. Unlike their brutish, reptilian country-cousins, they’re alluring creatures--but with a beauty alien to humanity--lithe, sensuous and gorgeously scaled.

They're great sorcerers who sometimes claim to have been the originators of the knowledge stolen by lost Meropis, or to have ruled the world of men’s apish ancestors--but they’re notorious liars, so there’s no way to know for certain. Some scholars link them to the Serpent in the Good Book, responsible for mankind’s exile from Paradise. Despite conspiratorial theories they probably don’t eat human flesh.  Probably. What's certain is that they're masters of magics of music, intoxication, sex, and illusion. They put their arts to use in their night world of jazz, liquor, and carnal pleasures--all in pursuit, supposedly, of some sort of mystical enlightenment.

Some former hangers-on of these serpent men (as they're also sometimes known) claim that they follow the pronouncements of a mad poet--the Lizard King--who performs at an endless party in his people’s ancient, underground temple. He recites in a husky, dream-darkened voice to the beat of bongos before enrapted human followers, swaying like charmed snakes before him.