Warlord Wednesday: The Talisman

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 Talisman"

Warlord (vol. 1) #61 (September 1982)

Written by Mike Grell (Sharon Grell); Penciled by Jan Duursema; Inked by Bruce Patterson

Synopsis:  In the palace of Shamballah, Tara speaks with her “oldest councilman” whose name must be Omniscient Exposition because he helpfully runs down the events of the previous "kidnapping and replacement of Morgan with an impostor" story arc--including her growing closer to her childhood sweetheart, Graemore. He suggests she’s got to get her feelings in order to get her house in order. Mulling this over, Tara looks out over the balcony to see Morgan and Graemore having a duel below. Unsurprisingly, Morgan wins and soon has his sword point at Graemore’s throat.

Tara shows up and angrily demands to know what they were doing. Morgan says it was just a little fun--a contest to see who was the better swordsman, the better man. Tara suggests that being a better with a sword doesn’t make one a better man. She tells them not to engage in such foolishness any more, and storms off. Morgan’s response:

Meanwhile, Darvin and Griff are talking in their new hideout. Darvin tells Griff what he’s intuited about Tinder’s parentage because of the armband (Morgan’s wristwatch). He wants to make the royals pay to get their son back. Griff points out he doesn’t have Tinder. Darvin counters he does have the armband and Griff--and some red hair dye.

In the palace, Morgan and Graemore lounge around drinking. Morgan asks Graemore about his past with Tara. Graemore admits his love for her and reveals it was only the old king threatening his family that ultimately kept them apart. Then, Graemore gives Morgan a warning:

A little later, Tara summons Morgan to show him a message she’s just received. Someone is holding their son “Joshua” for ransom. Morgan knows it to be a lie, as he believes he killed Joshua (though, as faithful readers know, he did not). He surmises that this means they have Tinder, whom they think is Joshua because of the wristwatch. Though he suggests they sleep on it before they act, Morgan wants to catch whoever sent the message; they were helping his kidnapper Praedor and they now have the boy who freed him.

Meanwhile, Darvin’s eye-patched lackey returns to tell him that the message was delivered. Griff’s now a redhead, meant to fool the royals into thinking he’s Tinder. Darvin sends the one-eyed kid up to the roof as a lookout. As soon as the kid’s up there, he lights a cigarette...and carelessly disposes of his match.

Back in the palace, Morgan can’t sleep. He heads out into the city toward the appointed place of rendezvous. He finds the building burned down. Sifting through the ash and rubble, he finds his wristwatch with the skeleton of a boy too tall to be Tinder. He realizes the boy must have escaped, but he's unaware that the boy watches him at that moment. Tinder looks down from a nearby perch and realizes that Morgan is going to keep his talisman--and that (seeing Morgan for the first time without the mask) he’s the king!

Morgan returns to the palace and awakens Tara. He tells her what he found and that the boy they had couldn’t have been the one who helped him. He returns the wrist watch to her, telling her he wishes he could have returned her son.

Later, Tinder sneaks into the palace grounds and climbs up to look in the window of Tara’s chamber. The queen and her mate are sleeping, and Tinder sees his talisman around the queen’s upper arm. Resigned to the fact he won’t be getting it back, Tinder leaves the palace and hops a wagon heading out of town. 

Things to Notice:

• We see someone smoking a cigarette in Skartaris for the first time.  In fact, other than Mungo Ironhand, this may be the first time we see someone smoking.
• Graemore seems less of the delicate type he'll seem later in the series.
• Praedor's name is still spelled "Praydor" in this issue.

Where It Comes From:
A talisman is a charm or amulet believed to have supernatural power.  In a less literal way, the wrist watch is indeed that: for Tara and Morgan it's symbolic of the son they lost, for Darvin it's the key to the big score, and for Tinder its in some clear way representative of who he is (ironically, he has no idea how much it is).  Significantly, all the principles are frustrated in their desires.

This is sort of an epilogue to the whole impostor storyline.  Tinder is again shuttled off stage.  We won't see him again for some twenty issues.

In A Handful of Dust

In the markets of Interzone or certain exclusive shops in the City, one might find gray dust. It’s an extraplanar substance, acquired in the Realm of Despair, the outer plane called the Wasteland or the Gray Gloom. The beings called the Faceless Mourners are rumored to trade it to the other worlds in exchange for tears of abandoned children or the captured last breath of suicides.

The gray dust has psychoactive properties, introducing the influence of its plane of origin into the mind of one who ingests or inhales it.

A failed saving throw results in one of the following effects (roll d6):

1 Fear - as per spell.
2 Anhedonia - the victim has a distinct lack of interest. They will take no action other that they aren’t forced, and are at a -1 to rolls when they do. Others react to them at a -2.
3 Despair - an intense low mood. Victim acts as if dazed, and has a -2 to initiative..
4 Anergia - Victim is exhausted.
5 Pain - pervasive aches and pains, effects as per Inflict Pain power.
6 Anxiety - effects like the shaken condition.

All effects last for 24 hours.

The Court of the Air and Beyond

Stephen Hunt’s Jackelian novels are often called “Steampunk”--and I suppose they do have the essential elements with their fantastic pseudo-Victorian sort of setting--but they draw from a much wider range of genre fiction tropes. In fact, all the factions, locales, and (dare we say) character types seem to make tailor made for gaming inspiration.

The first novel, Court of Air (2007), introduces the basic setting elements (and they’re a lot of them!) in a story about two orphans in the Kingdom of Jackals (Britain’s stand-in) who come to play a role in a world-destroying threat--a Communist stand-in rebellion secretly subverted by Lovecraft-by-way-of-Mesoamerica insectoid Elder Gods looking to regain the ascendancy they enjoyed in the last Ice Age. The heroes include an agent from the steampunk equivalent of SHIELD complete with helicarrier (the eponymous Court of the Air), a boy of the feyblood (super-powered magical mutants hated and feared by the world) who gains the magical weaponry of a legacy hero similar to the Scarecrow of Romney Marsh, and a plucky young girl with ancient nanites in her blood linking her to the robot savior at the Earth’s core!

That’s only a few of the ideas Hunt throws at us. There’s enough for 3 or 4 Rifts supplements. We’ve got Middle Eastern stand-in Cassarabians with magical biotech, Steampunk computers like in The Difference Engine, airships (I did say it was Steampunk), and the robotic Steam Men. The Steam Men are probably my favorite element of the world--these coal-burning artificial intelligences field heroic armies of knights, worship (and are sometimes ridden) by spirits called the Steamo Loa, and throw the cogs of Gear-gi-ju to divine the future.

In the midst of these rapid fire ideas, there’s a fast-paced adventure story. This is true of all Hunt’s novels in the series (the novel’s are standalone, but they have recurring characters). The second novel, The Kingdom Beyond the Waves, gives us a submarine journey up-river into a perilous jungle and a Bondian super-villain out to use ancient technology to take over the world. The Rise of the Iron Moon has a sort of War of the Worlds-esque alien invasion.

The world bears some resemblance to Tekumel in that civilization is fallen from great technological heights, and the artifacts of previous ages may appear like magic. It also contains a lot of stand-ins for real world historical elements--some of them with only the thinnest disguise. Quatershift, for example, is Revolutionary France with a mixing of various Communist states.

One characteristic of Hunt’s writing is a tendency to use portmanteau or sometimes punnning names. The world-saving robotic being is called Hexmachina. I’ve already mentioned the Cassarabians and the Steamo Loa. I could see this name practice irritating some readers.

I think these are minor quibbles. If you’re looking for good adventure fiction in a fantastic setting, particularly if you like sort of “kitchen sink” settings, I think you’ll find something in this series to enjoy.

Stray Cat Blues

For those in the know, the whispered mumblings of an urban druid on the corner, the boastful wails of alley cats in the night, and the raucous debate of an ad hoc committee of the Parliament of Crows in the trees, can all point to the arrival of royalty in the City. In any night-spot from Broad Street to Solace, one might run into the coolest of cats, the Cat Lord.

The Lords of Beasts are held by (human) thaumaturgists to be eikones imbued with the symbolic power of their animal totems. The lords themselves dispute this and claim they're the gods of their respective species--the remnant of a time before mankind staged a coup and replaced the democracy of tooth and claw with the tyranny of the tool-user. A lot of the Beast Lords are still angry about the loss of the old order, the old balance.

The Cat Lord keeps his cool. From worship in ancient temples to the pampered care lavished on them today, man's done alright by his folk, and he’s got children amongst humanity. Certain families descended from ancient cat-worshipping clans still change into cats when their passions are high, or the moon is full. Sometimes he runs into one of them and maybe his green eyes show a hint of paternal pride, but he ususally shows no more interest in them than his other offspring..

What does interest him is avoiding boredom--and he bores easily. Secrets interest him, but he mostly keeps those to himself.  Sensual pleasures pique his interest, but he tires of lovers quickly. He used to enjoy the hunt, but he’s old and jaded now, and only something really novel is worth the bother.

A meeting with the Cat Lord should be handled with caution. He's got knowledge of possible use to adventurers, but he may or may not be motivated to share it. To try and coerce him is earn his ire, and that’s likely to end badly. Becoming too friendly with him is unwise, as well; the road he walks can be a dangerous one for mortals, and his friendship is often fickle.

The most important word to the wise: Only a rube gawks at the sharp-dressed guy with a cat's head seated in the corner table.

Trading Fate

In the Financial District of the City an unconventional commodity exchange exists among all the mundane markets. A secret market open to a few of the rich and powerful is said to deal in fate itself.

Many thaumatologists prefer to speak of “probabilities” and view the whole idea of fate as a remnant of the unscientific past. Others point to the numerous pagan deities devoted to the concept and argue that the power of human belief must surely have made an eikone of it.

While the theoreticians argue, the exchange does brisk business. It’s members are few--likely less than 20--and are all powerful thaumaturgists, extremely wealthy, nonhuman entities, or some combination of the three. The exchange building itself is accessed from the second floor of a small insurance office. It can’t be found without an invitation or powerful magical aid.

The trading room is always filled with a low, periodic thumping sound. The story goes that its the slow beating of a monstrous heart: the heart of an alien chaos god stored in something like a rune-inscribed Leyden jar. The living heart of minor chaos (it’s supposed) keeps Management or some other in being of Law from shutting down the operation.

The exchange is somewhat misnamed. The goal is to manipulate fate, but the commodity exchanged is perhaps better termed luck. Wholesale theft of luck would attract unwanted attention, so the exchange only snatches small quantities of it---embezzling the “could have beens” rendered purposeless by random tragedy or miraculous fortune.

These loose strands are snatched from the weave of reality by three automata like four-armed women, seated in the lotus and made of brass and porcelain. These are likely of extraplanar origin. It’s said that (for some reason) the automata are only ever observed in operation indirectly, through the use of a mirror.

The traders buy and sell the strands collected by the automata. They exchange them with each other for other things of value from the mundane to the esoteric, but they also use them. Small changes to fate, targeted to critical moments, and over a long period of time, can have a profound effect. A poor man can be become rich (or a rich enemy poor), a wicked life can be extended, or an innocent soul corrupted toward damnation.

If the tales are true, the members of the Fate Exchange buy and sell nothing less than the power of gods--exercised over one seemingly inconsequential event at a time.

Warlord Wednesday: Death Dual

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...

"Death Dual"

Warlord (vol. 1) #60 (August 1982)

Written by Mike Grell (Sharon Grell); Penciled by Jan Duursema; Inked by Mike DeCarlo

Synopsis:  Darvin is surprised to find the door to his dungeon open, but it makes little difference to the two assassins. The prisoner still appears to be safely chained and locked in his iron mask. That makes it easy for what the they’ve come there to do.

Things are not as they seem. The Warlord leaps up, slaps the big assassin in the face with a manacle, and wraps the other chain around the neck of the little guy. Grappling with the big one, Morgan stabs him in the chest with a spike on his iron mask.

Meanwhile, Tinder’s attempt to slip out is foiled by Darvin. He’s figured out the boy lifted his keys and helped the the prisoner escape. He raises his pimp-cane to strike the boy, but Tinder twists free, leaving his armlet (Morgan’s wrist watch) in Darvin’s hand.

Morgan, now freed of the mask, hears the boy’s scream and fears the worst. He snatches up the big man’s sword just as the little one readies himself for a duel. Morgan casts aside the broadsword in favor of a dagger, knowing he can’t match his opponents speed with the bigger blade in his weakened state. He lunges at the assassin...

Tinder makes good his escape, running over Griff in the process. Darvin helps the bewildered boy up. It’s time for them to make themselves scarce, too. Darvin’s confident that having the armband will be enough for his schemes.

Morgan and the assassin fight on. A swing that sticks the assassin’s sword in a wall, gives Morgan an opening. He buries the the dagger in the man’s chest. Morgan calls for Tinder, but the boy is gone--another tantalizing mystery. He turns his attentions back to wounded man. The assassin begs Morgan to end his agony. Morgan wants the name of his employer first. Praedor.

Meanwhile, Praedor’s imposter is running the council meeting and Praedor and his cronies are pleased. Tara’s down in the palace library reading old scrolls, looking for a way to overcome the “old boy’s club” of the council. Tara realizes she must denounce the man she believes to be Morgan to regain her position. Graemore shows up to lend his support, and tell her he loves her--which steels her resolve for she she must do.

Elsewhere, Morgan returns to the palace. He commands the guards to seal off the palace and find Praedor. He stalks into his chambers and surprises his double gazing at the mirror in a similar way to how the double first got the drop on him. Normally, Morgan would make short work of the imposter, but in his weakened state things aren't going well, until the cavalry arrives:

Both claim to be the real Morgan, of course. Tara poses a question only the real one would know: “Who’s the King of Swing?” When Morgan says “Benny Goodman” she swings the pistol his way. Quickly thinking back to things he’s told her, he realizes she must have meant to ask who the “Sultan of Swat” was.  He says “Babe Ruth.”

Tara shoots the imposter. Morgan embraces her, leaving poor Graemore looking on.

Later, a palace blacksmith prepares an iron mask. Far beneath the palace, in its dungeon, the mask is locked around Praedor’s head.
 
Things to Notice:

• Morgan beats Conan and the Gray Mouser (well, at least they're stand-ins).
• Praedor's name is consistently spelled "Praydor" in this issue.

Where It Comes From:
The title of this issue is a play on "death duel," of course. The issue ends with the common "identify the imposter" variant trope of the hero having to give some information only he would know--and having a little trouble remembering it.

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?

City Factions

Pierce, two-fist proprietor of The Rusty Dagger, requested a guide to various factions of the City. As various groups have been detailed over the past year, this seemed liked a pretty good idea. They're aligned here by their allegiance to law (meaning the lawful government of the City) or crime. Whether they come down as allies or antagonists of adventures will depend on the adventurers' actions.

Lawful:
Many of the groups supporting law fall under the umbrella of City government:
The Exterminators: The hardworking men and women of the Municipal Department of Animal and Pest Control clean up messes left behind by adventurers and protect the City from wandering monsters coming up from the depths.
The Police: The Municipal Police Department has the unenviable task of dealing with mundane crime and the more supernatural menaces that sometimes threaten the City. They generate two “most wanted” lists: one for regular criminals and one for“specials."

Taxmen: The gray agents of the Municipal Department of Taxation and Finance work hard to divest adventurers of their booty--or at least the City’s legal share of it. Their service to bureaucracy and its tutelary spirit, Management, can make them surprisingly tough opponents.
Thaumaturgical Society: The professional organization for the City’s sorcerers. They establish standards of proficiency and rankings for magical practitioners. They also publish a journal of thaumaturgic inquiry.

Neutral:
The Druids: The City's acolytes tend to stay neutral in regard to the concerns of man. So long as the City abides, they remain aloof.
The Illusionist Guild: Allegedly a lodge of the international Brotherhood of Illusion (if such a thing just isn’t more smoke and mirrors). Generally this is a law-abiding organization, but its secrecy, and the inherent ambiguity of the arts of illusion make it somewhat suspect.
The Unknown: Also called the Inconnu or Unseen Lodge. A shadowy organization of powerful sorcerers.
Undertown: The parallel city of the ghouls beneath the City. Relations are generally cordial--but the ghouls’ dietary habits naturally make surface-dwellers wary.

Criminal:
Anarchists: Terrorist madmen in the service of extraplanar god-monsters of chaos.
The Five-Headed Dragon Society: A criminal cult among the Yianese. They’re based in San Tiburon, but their tendrils reach to the City’s Yiantown, as well.
The Hell Syndicate: The premier criminal organization in the City controlled by the infernal lords of the Nine Hells.
The Reds: Subterranean subversives and their human dupes dedicated to overturning the governments of the world and replacing them with their tyranny.

The City's Druids

Cities (and the City is no different) aren’t just haphazard agglomerations of people and buildings. They develop their own spirits--oversouls made of all the lesser spirits that make up their sprawling bodies. Some hear the call of these spirits and enter their service like pagan priests bowed to the nature spirits of old. These shamans of streets are considered more than a little crazy by the adventurers who sometimes encounter them and refer to them as "urban druids."

It’s an austere life they choose, living close to the rhythm of the City; they eschew wealth and comfort. They can afford few distractions or they’ll miss the whispered truths in the passing of subway, or the secrets to be augured in the tumbling of a scrap of newspaper in the breeze.

In return for their almost monastic devotion, the City gives them power. They can transform restaurant garbage into fine meals, turn fountain water into whiskey, make their skin as hard concrete, or scale the sides of buildings like insects. They know the secret passages between streets, and can summon elementals of smoke, steam, and electricity. Rats and pigeons pay them deference.

Rumor holds the “archdruid” of the City (if such a title really exists) is an old bum called Mad Mooney. More fond of vegetation than others of his kind, he’s often found napping on a bench in Empire Park. In addition to his (likely great) powers, he’s loyally served by a gang of urban-feral children who dress like savages and paint their faces like Natives.  They use short bows and blowguns (their missiles tipped with poison from fungus that grows in subway tunnels) and can pass through the streets unseen and track across concrete.

Warlord Wednesday: Artists after Grell

Mike Grell was the creator of the Warlord, and certainly the artist most closely associated with the character, but he isn't the only one to bring the adventures of Travis Morgan to the comics page.  Rob Liefield, for instance, got his start at DC penciling a Warlord backup (in #131)--but I'm not going to reproduce any art from that here.  Instead, here are some cool covers penciled by other artists:

Tom Grindberg's cover for #107 is very sword & sorcery and very Conan-esque.  Not surprisingly, Grindberg did work on Marvel's Conan titles:

Rich Buckler gives us Morgan locked in a struggle with a Vashek assassin that may be the death of them both:

Jerry Bingham's cover for #121 finds Morgan jumping into a hail of arrows--somewhat reminiscent of Miller's iconic cover to Daredevil #189:

Last but not least, Dan Jurgens' off-beat cover to #84 highlights Morgan's successful presidential campaign:

More Four-Color Cartography

Here's a few more maps from the Marvel Universe which could probably be put to game use--or at least provide some inspiration.

I've been chronicling the Warlord's adventures in the lost world of Skartaris, but Earth isn't the only hollow world out there in comics. Titan, the moon of Saturn, is hollow in the Marvel Universe and the home, according to Jim Starlin, of an offshoot race of Titans (later retconned to be Eternals).

Returning to more earthly locales, how about a sandbox set in a tiny kingdom ruled by a tyrannical wizard who hides his facial deformity behind an iron mask?  Well, welcome to Latveria and its capital of Doomstadt:

Once you're there, might as well explore Doom's castle, so here's an overhead schematic of it.  Note the "dungeons (sub-basements)":

Mail Order Magic-Item: The Hypno-Coin!

The hyno-coin allows anyone who possesses it and has read the accompanying book of secrets and instructions (learning the 25 lessons contained there in) to hypnotize others. This acts as the spell Hypnotism, other than it can only be used on one person at a time (without the single creature saving throw penalty) of no more than 3 hit dice. Beings of any number of hit dice many still be fascinated by the coin if appropriately used.

In the hands of a thaumaturgist or other truly skilled mesmerist the coin aids in the casting of Hypnotism and other subtle compulsion spells by giving targets a -1 to their saving throws to such spells generally, but doubling the saving throw penalty when hypnotism is used on a single creature to -4.

The hypno-coin is usually gray and white and 1.5 inches in diameter.

North to Alaska

Like the Johnny Horton song says (theme to a 1960 John Wayne film, by the way), I'm "way up north" for a few days.

In keeping with the theme, why don't you check out my take on the wendigo, if you missed it the first time?

Cancerous Growth

As the story goes, some well-meaning thaumaturgist or scientist developed a form of artificial flesh to revolutionize the practice of medicine. Adventurers who encounter the ever-growing, ever-consuming neoplastic blob might have a moment to appreciate the irony before being absorbed into the quivering flesh.

HD: 5
AC: 8
Save: F2
Attacks: 1
Defenses: regenerates 3 hp/round; half damage from bludgeoning weapons.
Special: On a successful hit (or if the neoplastic blob is touched directly by an attacker) it begins to engulf the person on a failed saving throw. Absorption takes 1d6 rounds. As long as part of a person is still free of the creature they may still escape, but it will require someone else to help them except for the very strongest.

Warlord Wednesday: Tinderbox

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...

"Tinderbox"

Warlord (vol. 1) #59 (July 1982)

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

Synopsis: Despite his reservations, a couple of Darvin’s other urchins convince Tinder to sneak inside the mysterious cell. When they see a strange, angular shadow on the wall they run away, leaving Tinder alone with whatever cast the shadow. Tinder’s made of more adventurous stuff than the others, and dagger drawn, he creeps toward the shadow’s source.

What he finds is a man chained and imprisoned in an iron mask. That man is the Warlord--and Tinder’s real father.

Morgan hears someone around and starved for human contact, he begs him to stay. He promises not to hurt him, and asks his name. Tinder warily tells him. Morgan asks the boy if he likes stories. Tinder says he does--sometimes. Morgan assures him he’ll like this one, then regales him with his tale of the outer Earth--a world of flying ships, chariots without horses, and a sun that moves throughout the sky, and falls leaving the land in darkness. Tinder marvels at this story--never guessing the armlet he wears (Morgan’s wristwatch) comes from that very world.

Meanwhile Praedor is meeting in a secluded part of the palace garden with the Morgan impersonator. Praedor complains about Darvin’s greediness and the impersonator’s poor work--primarily due to his drunkenness. The fact that Tara is seeking solace with Graemore means the impersonator has lost influence over her. Either he cleans up his act, or Praedor’s going to abandon the whole scheme, have Morgan “disappear,” and turn the whole thing into a ransom plot. The impersonator promises to do better.

Praedor then meets with two grinning assassins. The real Warlord is now more of a liability than insurance--as is his greedy, too clever keeper. They’re to find Darvin at the Blue Goose tavern, but he must lead them to the prisoner before they kill him.

Meanwhile, Griff (shirking his duties, gaming with friends) sees Darvin walking toward the hideout. Griff takes off running to make it back to his post before he can be caught away. He makes it back and finds the door open, but doesn’t see Tinder. Quickly, he shuts the door--and just in time. Darvin tells him to come to his office.

Darvin tells Griff that they have more royalty under their roof than in the palace. Griff doesn’t know what he means. Darvin asks if Tinder’s still around. Girff says he is. Darvin tells him to keep a close eye on him--he’s a very important boy. Girff asks who’s going to watch the prisoner in the dungeon. Darvin replies that may not be an issue soon: he’ll likely be disposed of.

This doesn’t sit well with Tinder who's listening outside the door. For some reason, he feels moved to act to save the prisoner. When Darvin comes out on his way to the Blue Goose, Tinder bumps into him by “accident”--and picks his pocket for the keys without Darvin noticing. Almost as soon as Darvin’s gone, Griff (paragon of work ethic) leaves as well, leaving Tinder to guard the door.

In the tavern, the two assassin’s approach Darvin to get the “package.” Darvin intends to give them the keys, but finds them missing from his pocket. The assassin’s aren't bothered. At the point of a dagger, they suggest to Darvin they all go back together.

Meanwhile, Tinder has opened the door and uses the keys to begin unchaining Morgan. He plans to leave with him--he doesn’t know why Darvin has suddenly taken an interest in him and he doesn’t like it. As Tinder moves to open the mask, Morgan grasps the wristwatch around the boy’s arm. He seems to recognize it--but at that moment Tinder hears heavy footsteps on the dungeon stairs! 

Things to Notice:

• Grell is back on pencils!
• Morgan and Joshua are (unknowingly) reunited for the first time.

Where It Comes From:
The two assassins hired by Praedor look familiar.  Overall, the two of them evoke Fafhrd and Gray Mouser.  The shorter one is dressed and armed similarly to DC's rendition of the Mouser (drawn in Wonder Woman #201-202 by Dick Giordano and by Howard Chaykin in Sword of Sorcery #1-5).  The taller, musclebound one with the squarecut black mane isn't Fafhrd but rather resembles Conan.  The gap between his front teeth resembles the movie version in Conan the Barbarian this same year.

Lanterns Green and Other Four Color Features

Green Lantern underperformed its opening weekend, but I don’t think that should dissuade anyone who enjoys superhero films from seeing it. It may not be the best of the bunch, and it’s a bit formulaic (why is it that since Iron Man the hero’s journey only ever starts from irresponsible jackass? Aren’t there some other stock lessons to learn?) Anyway, my point is: if you thought Thor was great, you’ll probably think Green Lantern is at least “good.”

A bit better though is the latest DC animated effort Green Lantern: Emerald Knights. This is an anthology like the previous Batman: Gotham Knight, but instead of giving alternate takes on the same character, it gives glimpses of lantern’s besides Hal Jordan. The framing sequence involves Arisia arriving on Oa as a rookie just as Krona is trying to bust out of the antimatter universe. More seasoned lanterns tell her stories as they prepare--and wait--for Krona to strike. Three of the four stories are based on ones from the comic book (one, “Abin Sur,” really only loosely borrows from Alan Moore’s “Tygers”--adding in Geoff Johnsian elements like Atrocitus). These include the wuxia-infused “Laira” (inspired by “What Price Honor?”) and another Moore tale, “Mogo Don’t Socialize.”

For what I think is the best of DC Animated’s recent films we’ve got to go outside the Corps. All-Star Superman a very faithful adaptation of Morrision and Quitley’s eponymous limited series. Both are veritable love letters to the Silver Age and ring from those tropes a tale at once postmodern and mythic.

If you got the time from only one superhero dramatization, skip all the recent live action films and see All-Star Superman.

Why do You Think I Have This Outrageous Accent?

A question for you GMs out there: How much do you “play” NPCs in your game?

I (mostly) tend to play NPCs as characters. They get their own manner of speech and verbal idiosyncrasies. A pirate captain might get a vaguely piratical patter, a wealthy, double-dealing merchant might sound like Sydney Greenstreet in The Maltese Falcon, or a supercilious shopowner a bit like Jonathan Harris' Dr. Smith in Lost in Space (I should add all these voices most only be considered approximate). I tend to keep the use of accents to a minimum, as I’m not particularly good at them, but sometimes I hint at them with stereotypical vocabulary.

Now that’s what I try to do. Sometimes I lose track of who I gave what voice to. Other times it just gets tedious dropping in and out of character, so I mostly abandon it once the player’s have “got it.”

I’ve played in games where GMs did similarly, but also games where the GMs went light on differentiating NPCs, often just telling the players what they said in the third person. I have no idea which approach is must common, though.

(The title of this post also represents my first Monty Python reference in a year and a half of rpg-blogging. I feel like I’ve crossed some sort of Rubicon.)

Pictures from Ealderde

Though the Great War diminshed its importance to the City and the New World, the Old World continues:

Despite the ever-present poison, mutagenic fog and periodic morlock assaults, the surviving people of Lugdun seldom fail to take part in traditional Godsday worship services.

Soldiers in the Imperial Staarkish Army on the day the Great War began with one of their walkers.

Hellhounds--summoned and bound by military sorcerers during the war--now stalk the wastes in Eastern Ealderde.

Hard times have led people to turn to perverse old religions out of desperation. Here, witchcraft is lampooned in a racy stage show in Metropolis, but the fear of these cults is very real.

Since Korambeck had to relinquish its hold over the Middle East, the Jinn (beings of smokeless fire) have reasserted their rule over much of the region. There are rumors they’re even rebuilding their fabled capital lost Irem of the Pillars.

Mail Order Monster

Some unlucky sap in the City will find out this ad is genuine--at least once. The seeds for seven plant monsters will arrive, but there is only a 30% chance of 1-3 more than one of them actually being viable. One is quite enough, as it grows into a ravenous monster with a taste for flesh. Small quantities of blood will satiate it for the first 1d8 days, then it require small animals or the equivalent for 2d12 more. Finally, only human flesh will truly satiate it: one full body every 3-4 days. The creature communicates its needs nonvocally--perhaps telepathically--with its owner. Only the need is clear, not how this is known. It will not let the owner rest unless it's fed. The incessant need has been known to drive men to madness.

After 5-6 weeks the monster has reached full size and goes on a rampage. The oh-so helpful owner is often the first victim.

[I'd treat the grown creature(s) as a tendriculos from the SRD, or from the Swords & Wizardry Monster Compendium.]

Not Heroes

The grizzled veteran looked up from the finger he had been diligently sawing at with his knife.

“Huh?”

“I says,” his small friend repeats, not taking his eyes from the bugbear’s finger—and more importantly the ring on it—”it must be magical, else why’s it so damn hard to remove?”

“Not you.  Him.” The veterans gestures to me with the knife, and the smaller man finally notices.

“Oh! You’re the scribe, ain’t ya?”

I nod.

“Thought Goan was minding you.”

“He was. He died yesterday.” I think back to the unfortunate, nervous Goan. He had eyes that had darted around like spooked birds. They weren't vigilant enough, apparently, to avoid the dripping slime that burned a hole straight through him. It had taken him longer to die than I would have thought, but die he did despite the cleric’s efforts.

“Ah,” the veteran says with a tone that refuses to commit to either sympathy or disinterest. The smaller man just nods, and seems a bit embarassed.

“I’m looking for the captain.”

The veteran points with a thumb, slick and glistening with what must be bugbear ichor. “Down that passage. He’s at the door with the mage.”

I head down the rough-hewn passage, stepping around more bugbear carcasses, leaving the adventurers to their work.

The two did eventually succeed in getting the ring. The small man (his name was Orven) was right: it was magical. It allowed the wearer to breath underwater--which saved Orven from a judicial drowning in Nharm, but helped him not at all when months later someone drowned him in a cask of cheap wine and cut the ring from his hand.

Warlord Wednesday: Back-Up from Atlantis

Here's another look at one of Warlord's backup features--the one running in the issues I've been reviewing in recent weeks:

ARION, LORD OF ATLANTIS

First Appearance: Warlord #55 (1982)
Featured as Back-up: Warlord #55-62
Next Seen: Arion, Lord of Atlantis #1 (November 1982)
His Story: Arion is the Grand Mage to the King of Atlantis and Atlantis' defender against the encroaching ice age and the forces of Chaos--including his brother, Garn Daanuth. Arion was the creation of writer Paul Kupperberg and artist Jan Duursema.  It's a more "high fantasy" series than the most of comic's fantasy offerings that tend to be in a Sword & Sorcery mode.  The series lasted 35 issues and Arion made contemporaneous appearances in Crisis on Infinite Earths.  After 1985, Arion didn't appear again until 1991's Books of Magic vol. 1 #1, which was followed by a six issue limited series Arion the Immortal.
How He's Like the Warlord: He's got ties to Atlantis and a swordswoman consort.  He's also resembles Jennifer Morgan, the Warlord's daughter, with his magical prowess and flowing locks.

Double Your Fun

One of the great things about superhero role-playing games is that you can do things that would never be done in comics. If you want Spider-man to grow old and retire, you can do it. If you want Batman to take on a young blind kid named Matt Murdock as the new Robin, you can do it. Any number of cross company (or even cross-media) crossovers you can do it.

Unfortunately, other than a few cross-company crossovers, there aren’t too many comic images to inspire the imagination in that regard. Or at least there weren't.

The blog Marvel Two-in-One...The Lost Issues! (previously Brave and the Bold...The Lost Issues!) features covers than never were for those two famous team-up titles. Here’s some examples:

So head over and check 'em out!

Troll Hunter

I saw the Norwegian film Troll Hunter (Trolljegeren) this weekend--which was timely given all the recent blogosphere discussion related to 0-level characters and the heroicness (or nonheroicness) of adventurers. The film is a mokumentary supposedly made by a group of students setting out to do an exposé on a bear poacher, but instead recording their adventures with a lone troll hunter sanctioned by a secret Norwegian government agency.

Along the way we learn a bit about the naturalism of trolls. There are multiple varieties with different habits, but they all have a weakness to sunlight (exploited through the use of UV radiation) and they can smell Christians (though not Muslims, apparently). We also see the lengths the government goes to hide the knowledge of trolls' existence from the general populace, which provides much of the film’s humor.

Hans, the troll hunter, is wearily professional and matter-of-fact about his job--and occasionally regretful of his past actions. The students are sometimes fascinated (perhaps even exhilirated) by the hidden world they’re discovering--and sometimes scared out of their minds. Everybody does a good bit or running and more than a little hiding. It strikes me as a nice approach for the portrayal of adventurers in any era.

The film is obviously low budget, but the digital effects are surprisingly effective. It shows what SyFy originals could do if they had more effort put into their scripts. There’s a lot of riding around in the Norwegian countryside--it isn’t th fastest moving film--but I think that just lends it more verisimilitude.

If you get a chance, check it out (I saw it on HDNet movies and it's coming to blu-ray next week). It’s an inventive premise, and a nice mixture of humor and thriller.

Images from the Strange New World

The Academy Obscura convenes only rarely but always to punish those who have made the unknown known. What mysteries they hold sacred, what secrets inviolate, who can say? It’s rumored their punishment involves forever removing the certainty of the transgressor's existence, leaving them forever trapped between life and death, being and nonbeing.

You can even get the drop on a shadow assassin--if you’re packing the right ammunition.  Bullets made from paraffin mixed with used candle wax (with right incantation applied when it was burning) do the job.

Such is the power of the brain invader that Colonel Gordon’s men didn’t notice his body was being ridden by one of the creatures until it was far too late.  The corpses of his men were found in a mass grave; there was, of course, nothing left of the Colonel's skull.

"Charley Rictus is a trusted lieutenant and enforcer for the Malbolge family. He's been killed and raised at least nine times on record: multiple shootings, stabbings, a couple of poisonings, an emasculation, and one total dismemberment. Now it looks like he wants to cut a deal. Maybe he wants to retire on a beach somewhere and rot in peace, or maybe he thinks he can break his Faustian pact and save his soul from eternal damnation. I don't know and I don't care. I just need him at the courthouse--with the important parts intact."

Dragged from the River

A lot of unusual things get pulled out of the Eldritch and Wyrd Rivers that run through the City and flank Empire Island. Here are a few examples (1d12):

1. A crate packed with soggy straw and 1-4 large blue-gray eggs.
2. A chained box containing a frog. The frog will dance belt out vaudeville songs--but only when just one person is present.
3. A doll crudely made but nevertheless bearing an uncanny resemblance to one of the PCs.
4. A mummified creature:

5. A metal hand that, when placed on a hard surface and unrestricted, will scuttle and orient itself to point west.
6. A metal box resembling a hat box, difficult to open due to a magic lock. In darkness, a glow emanates from its seams. Particularly sensitive individuals my hear soft moans periodically from sinide.
7. An undead mermaid bearing a zombie contagion.
8. A shabby coat--which is utterly dry, and in fact, can never be made wet.
9. A case of bootleg whiskey an imbiber will be able to perceive the astral plane for 1-2 hours, and then be sick for 2-8 more on a failed save.
10. A figurine of snake-like creature with human arms. Anyone who touches it will have a nightmare about a basalt ziggurat beneath a blood-red sun in some distant jungle.
11. A book of matches from "The Ostensible Cat" night-club.
12. A wax phonograph cylinder containing a third of a potent magical incantation.

Two Tough Characters from the City

In gearing up for my game in the City, I thought I’d stat up a few characters for my player’s to have as examples. Here, (in my modified version of Stuart Robertson’s Weird West) are a couple of Tough Guys (the City’s version of Fighters):

“Salty” Sam Depape
Old sailor as at home in a South Seas squall as he is in a Wharf Street ginhouse brawl.

Path: Tough Guy
Level: 5

Fighting 5 “I always out-roughs ‘em”
Toughness (Grit) 5 “one tough gazookus”
Special (Magic) 1 “I gots a secret weppin”
Knack (Skill) 2 “old sea-hand”

Weapons:
Fists d2

Special Abilities:
koboloba leaf: Fighting +2, Toughness +1 after consumption. Unarmed attacks use d6. Lasts until end of fight.  Once a day.

Eliza Gunn
Tough young gal from the Dustlands.

Path: Tough Guy
Level: 4

Fighting 4 “good in a scrap”
Toughness 4 “girl’s tougher than she looks”
Special 0
Knack 3 “ace mechanic”

Weapons:
magic over-sized wrench: d6 damage. Can harm magical creatures that couldn’t otherwise be harmed. Unbreakable.