A Plague of Goblins

"Let him not breed in great numbers, for he will make a desert of his home and yours."

- Planet of the Apes (1968)

Goblin plagues are suffered in the less settled areas of the world, particularly in the lands of Arn, though they have been known in the wilder parts of the Eridan continent, as well. They are more common in places which lie near ancient ruins. In such an infestation, tens, perhaps hundreds, of goblins swarm forth from underground dens or nests. They overrun manor, hamlet, and village, and have even been known to assail the gates of small cities.

No one knows what spawns goblins, but it is certain they don't reproduce in the manner of most humanoids. All goblins seem to be of the same sex, though in truth, this is something of a conjecture. Smaller goblins, perhaps immature ones, are seen among their swarms, but never is any parental nurturing or concern offered them by any of their fellows.

It's difficult to guess the intelligence of goblins. There's no questioning their cunning, but they don't structures or make tools, behaving only as brute beasts. This may be more preference than lack of capacity, as there are reports of them taking up knives and even smallswords and brandishing them in deadly mockery of men. Though they may wear rags or stolen bits of clothing or armor as rude decoration, they are just as happy to go naked.

When swarms of goblins pour forth from the underground, they tend to move toward human habitations, though wild animals will sometimes suffer their assaults. While popular entertainments have made much of the mischievous nature of goblin attacks--their crude pranks, surprise scares, and harassment of livestock--their deadliness is not be discounted. Typically, the actions of the swarm escalate from behaviors which create fear or annoyance to outright attacks with their sharp teeth, stolen weapons, fire, and large numbers. They have been known to consume humans they kill, but that seems to be an after-though.

The infestations may last as little as a night or two or as long as a month, depending on the amount of resistance they encounter. If the swarm doesn't end of its on accord, it can be dispersed by killing a quarter or more of its number.

Scholars have attempted to discern how goblin plagues may be predicted. Folklore suggests that they are "summoned"--perhaps by children entering puberty. Adolescents suffering from the anxiety of an unwanted betrothal, the birth of a new sibling, or other sorts of emotional duress are thought to become unwitting "Goblin Kings" or "Goblin Queens," and call forth their subjects in some psychic manner.  Naturalists remained unconvinced but are at a loss to explain the tales of goblins paying rude homage (in imitation of human courtly deference) to a single child in a decimated village or attempting to abduct such a child without harming them in any other way.

Release the Kraken!

I saw the Clash of the Titans remake this morning with some friends.  Contrary to the lackluster pronouncements of several critics, we three fans of the original film enjoyed it.

The plot follows a broadly similar outline to the '81 original, though a theme of Man versus God is emphasized (and perhaps over-emphasized.  We got it already!), and a true villain is added--instead of just antagonists--which is what I think the original had.

Comparing the 1981 and 2010 films is interesting.  The remake suffers from what I see as a common flaw of modern genre/action film screenwriting compared to the style of older films.  Events are streamlined, probably in the name of making the film more "fast-paced," leading to the feeling of jumping from one action set piece to another, and inevitably losing some filler details, and atmosphere-building.  Serving this same goal of narrative straight-forwardness, characters are eliminated and "good guy" and "bad guy" tend to get more sharply drawn.  And this is all in comparsion to an original which was a pretty shallow fantasy film!

This rapid pace tends to necessitate broadly painted characters, and character "bits" are almost inevitably scenes of comic relief and badass-itude.  These can be well-down and enjoyable, but also feel cliched.  Of course, secondary characters in the original (besides Burgess Meredith's character) can hardly be said to be developed at all, so I suppose you could view this as an improvement.

CGI is certainly superior to stop-motion in terms of versatility and versumilitude, but the "ritual dance" nature of a lot of modern action sequence direction, means that doesn't equate to greater thrill value most of the time.  The giant scorpion sequence in the new film is certainly more frenetic, but I can't neccessarily say that its better. 

The ferry across the Styx, likewise, isn't really any better or worse, though for different reasons.  The Stygian witches, I think, actually work better in the original, though I can't put my finger on exactly why--and admittedly, I'm working form memory.

So did the new one do anything better?  Sure.  The Olympians with speaking roles seem more "into it" than the slumming stars of the original.  The "floor map" of the world in Olympus is a lot cooler than the "amphitheater"the god's crowd around in the original.  Princess Andromeda is better developed, if in cliched ways.  The sets for Argos are sumptuous. 

The thing the new film does best in my opinion is the medusa.  She's fast moving, and so more menacing, but she also has a great deal of expression in her facial animation.  You actually get a sense of the medusa as a charatcer, more than just an obstacle.

Anyway, its worth checking out, in my opinion--though the 3D doesn't add anything, so save yourself a few bucks.

Return of the Comic Book Swordswomen!

This continues my examination of sword-wielding female leads in fantasy comics. The first installment can be found here.

As the seventies waned, so did comic book fantasy, and some of the swordswomen were victims of that dolorous stroke. Starfire didn't make it. Ghita would only later be found in collections. Red Sonja continued in a stuttering fashion in the eighties with three ongoings (one only lasting two issues) and a movie tie-in.

The old guard retired to comics' Valhalla, and others arose to take up the charge. The new swordswomen were somewhat less cheesecake-centric than their seventies fore-bearers, and often existed more detailed, better realized worlds.

The first of these, as mentioned last time, had a link to Red Sonja. In Epic Illustrated #10 (February 1982), Marada She-Wolf, written by Chris Claremont and illustrated by John Bolton, debuted. Marada fought fantastic menaces in the early Imperial Roman era with the aid of her companion, the sorceress Arianrhod. As initially written, Claremont's and Bolton's story had featured Red Sonja, but copyright complications triggered by the impending movie made that impossible. The story was retooled and Marada was born.

Marada She-Wolf fought evil sorcerers across the Roman world through a total of five issues of Epic Illustrated. The initial three-part arc was collected, colored and slightly modified for Marvel Graphic Novel #21: Marada She-Wolf (1985). A third story for Epic Illustrated was reportedly planned, but never saw print.

In 1984, Marvel's Epic imprint upped the ante with a whole island of swordswomen. Sisterhood of Steel was the creation of Christy Marx, and was drawn by Mike Vosburg. The series tells the story of Boronwe, a young woman coming of age as a member of a society of amazonian mercenaries. Sisterhood of Steel looked different from its predecessors--no chainmail bikinis here (though there is an awful lot of eighties' big hair). It also had more of a literary fantasy approach. The society of the amazons and how it interacts with the larger world are important part of the story. Then there was your standard epic fantasy who's who and pronunciation guide published in first issue, and essays about the Sisterhood's culture in later issues.

There was to be more of the Sisterhood of Steel after the initial limited series, but disagreements between Marx and her editors over content put an end to that. A graphic novel was published in 1987, in association with Eclipse, with art by Marx's husband, Peter Ledger.

There's a lull at the end of the eighties in our parade of sword-wielding heroines. Red Sonja appears again from Cross Plains in 1999, and then returns in an ongoing (and still going) series from Dynamite in 2003. But these are throwbacks--returns to seventies form with a modern veneer. In 1999, though, we got a swordswoman who would pick up where Sisterhood of Steel left off with more literary fantasy style storytelling and complexity--and the greater amount of clothing (mostly).

Mark Smylie's Artesia is an ambitious (and currently incomplete) epic fantasy series of six-issue limited serieses and annuals. It tells the story of the titular Artesia, a former concubine turned war captain, who is betrayed by her former lover. This starts a chain of events that makes Artesia the leader of large armies, and a player in epic conflicts on the world stage. Artesia is sort of like Queen Medb clad in Joan of Arc's plate armor. Her world, the Known World, is like the ancient world in fifteenth century drag, and recalls Glorantha in the way myth and religion are given prominent roles. It's no surprise, given the amount of detail Smylie has put into the world, that its made the transition to role-playing game setting.

Artesia, as a strong female lead, has seemed to appeal to a lot of female comic book readers (or at least, female comic book critics). No doubt fantasy fans have also taken to Artesia for its epic storyline and richly detailed world.

And then, of course, there's a lot of sex. No Red Sonja-esque prudery for Artesia.

Unfortunately, Smylie is still in the middle of Artesia. Responsibilities as publisher seem to be taking up his time. The fourth limited, Artesia Besieged, has been stalled since 2009 on the third issue.

Thus ends the tale of the swordswomen of comics--at least for now. Hopefully, the future will bring us a conclusion to Artesia's saga, and then another generation, so Red Sonja in her chainmail bikini doesn't have to fight the good fight alone.

Down There: A Conceptual Tour of the Lower Planes

In my current campaign setting, I'm working within the bounds of the traditional AD&D "canon," but trying to wring somewhat novel and interesting (at least to me) interpretations from it. One of these elements is the "standard model" of D&D cosmology--what's sometimes called "The Great Wheel."

As portrayed, it's a bit literal and mechanical, which is a shame because at its core its a crazy enough mashup concept to appear in a mimeographed pamphlet left in public places. Bissociation should be the watchword here. Or maybe multissociation? I think the planes can (and should) be both other realms of consciousness and physicalities. Conceptual overlays on the material world, and places where you can kill things and take their stuff.

To that end, I decided to riff on the concepts of the planes, and see what associations they brought out. Not all of these will be literalized in the version of the planes visited by adventurers from the world of Arn, but all of these associations might inform how I presented the planes and the alignment forces they're of which they're manifestations or vessels. Maybe later I'll get into all the heady faux-metaphysical theory I devised behind all this. Or maybe I'll xerox my on crackpot tract.

Anyway, I figured the best place to start was a trip to hell.

The Abyss: The Abyss is the best place to start as it was probably the first of these planes to exist--the formless, primordial chaos, tainted only by Evil. An Evil that emerged, ironically, only after a material world appeared to be appalled at, and to yearn to destroy. Without creation, destruction would just subside into roiling chaos. AD&D cosmology gives us 666 layers to the Abyss, but I suspect the Abyss is infinite. Maybe its the demon lords that number 666--and the so-called layers are really the lords. Maybe all the other demons are merely extensions of their substance and essences--their malign thoughts and urges accreted to toxic flesh. They're like a moral cancer maybe, seeking to metastisize to other planes and remake them in their image--or maybe madness is a better analogy, if we're talking about the kind of madness that afflicts killers in slasher films. A psychokiller madness on a universal scale.

Tarterus: This plane is later called the Tarterian Depths of Carceri or just Carceri. I'm calling it the Black Iron Prison, because it fits, and because it recalls Phillip K. Dick's VALIS and The Invisibles. It's called the prison plane--which the Manual of Planes interprets a little literally. Not that it isn't all the obvious bad things about prisons, but its also got a Kafka-esque quality, maybe. Most souls don't know why their there and don't remember how they got there. And watch what you say 'cause the bulls have informants all over. You wait and wait for a promised trial that never comes. I suspect souls get "renditioned" from the material plane and brought here for angering a god or an Ascended. The gaolers (as Lovecraft would have it) are the demodand or gehreleths. Demodand is an interesting name as it probably comes from Vance's "deodand" which is a real word meaning "a personal chattel forfeited for causing the death of a human being to the king for pious uses" which may (or may not) hint at some sort of origin for the demodands/gehreleths. It's also interesting that the kinds of demodands--shaggy, tarry, and slime--are all related to things that can sort of be confining or restricting.

Hades: Later called the Gray Waste (a better name, I think), it's a plane of apathy and despair. There's some Blood War nonsense later, but apathy and despair is a theme to conjure with. It makes me think of Despair of the Endless from Sandman and her somber realm of mirrors. The Gray Waste is depression and hopelessness actualized. Not the sort of place for adventures, maybe, but a place good for some creepy monsters to come from.

Gehenna: Later called the Fourfold Furnaces, or the Bleak Eternity of Gehenna. This is the plane of the daemons, later yugoloth--which is suitably Lovecraftian. Daemons I liked in Monster Manual II because they were sort of "the new fiends" that seemed fresher than demons and devils, which were kind of old-hat by that time. As neutral evil, the daemons have nothing to motivate them but evil, really. The various alternate names of the plane make me think of Jack Kirby's Apokolips and its ever-burning fires--Gehenna has an assocation with fire anyway, going back to its origins as the Valley of Hinnom. Like the denizens of Apokolips, I think daemons should represent evil in various forms from banal to sublime. The Bleak Furnances fire the machineries of war. Being close to the realm of lawful evil, they sometimes dress up in the trapping of law, but its just fancy uniform facade. The whole place might appear as an armed camp run by tin-plated fascists. There are secret police, and propaganda bureaus, and sadistic experiments.

The Nine Hells: Later Baator, which doesn't work as well. This is the realm of the fallen--not the romantic, Miltonic rebels, but the fascist generals who tried to stage a junta and got exiled. Sure, they dress it up in decadence and "do as thou wilt" but really they're all oppressive laws and legalistic fine-print. And every one of them thinks they'd be a better leader than their boss, so they plot and scheme while playing it obsequious and dutiful. Some of the devils might say they're still fighting the good fight--that they do what they do to preserve the system from the forces of chaos. A multiverse needs laws after all, they say. That's all just part of the scam.  Still, I like China Mieville's idea of New Crobuzon having an ambassador from hell.  Maybe no city in the world of Arn has an infernal ambassador, but at least Zycanthlarion, City of Wonders, has sort of a "red phone" that can get a high-placed devil on the line.  After all, better the devil you know...

Warlord Wednesday: The Iron Devil

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

"The Iron Devil"
Warlord (vol. 1) #7 (June-July 1977)

Written and Illustrated by Mike Grell

Synopsis: Morgan and Mariah, searching for Shamballah and Tara, have arrived in the city of Kiro. In the Thieves Market, Mariah draws the unwanted attention of a group of ruffians. Morgan charges to the rescue, cutting through the gang, but is caught unaware by an attack from behind, but is saved by Mariah and her rifle. The man turns, intent on putting his axe in her skull, but death catches up with him, and he dies at her feet.

The two head for the shop of the swordsmith Dak Bel Shan, who knows the secret of "Damascus steel." Morgan comissions him to make a sword for Mariah--and gives him her rifle for steel. Mariah protests, but Morgan points out the lack of stopping power of her gun, and the lack of replacement ammunition, and she agrees.

Morgan also suggests she get a Skartarian makeover to be less conspicuous. They head to the bathhouse, and, after a spa experience, Mariah emerges with Skartarian make-up, revealing outfit--and high heels.

Thanks to the story-aiding peculiarities of Skartarian time, the smith is finished. Mariah and Morgan get her sword and stiletto. Mariah surprises Morgan by revealing she's no stranger to the sword as six-time Russian National Sabre Champion. Leaving the smith, the two are ambushed and Morgan's knocked out by a blow to the skull.

Morgan awakens in a cell with Mariah. The two don't wait long before a guard comes to take time to the king. The two are escorted to the throne room, and Morgan is surprised to find Machiste there. Morgan's former oar-mate is the king of Kiro.

Machiste carries an unusual axe that never leaves his hand. He reveals he found it in a cave while on his way back to Kiro in the severed hand of a skeleton. The axe was a lucky find as it allowed him to defeat a marauding tribe of beastmen, by increasing his battle-savagery. Though the axe is now attached to his hand, Machiste is unfazed, revelling in the power he feels when he holds it. Illustrating the effect its has on him, Machiste attacks a serving girl who accidentally knocks over his drink.

Morgan intervenes and reminds Machiste of the ideals of freedom from tyranny they had previously fought for. He and Mariah move to leave, but an enraged Machiste has his guards attack them. The two make short work of them, but then Machiste challenges Morgan. The former friends wage a fierce battle, and Machiste draws first blood with a slash across Morgan's chest. Mariah pushes Morgan out of the way of the killing blow, and Machiste's axe gets stuck in the stone wall.

Before he can wrench it free, Morgan is back on his feet. A stroke of his sword removes Machiste's hand--and the influence of the axe. Machiste returns to his old self again. Morgan apologizes to his friend for what he had to do as Mariah uses a torch to cauterize the wound.

Later, a trusted Kiroan guardsman stands at the mouth of a volcano poised to destroy the axe. As soon as he removes it from the case that holds it, he becomes possessed by the weapon, and strides away purposefully from the volcano rim.

Things to Notice:

• Mariah's chained up on the cover, but not in the issue.
• One of the ruffians attacking Mariah looks kind of like Conan.
• The fashion-forward gals at the Kiro public baths give Mariah the 70s comic raccoon-eye make-up (last seen in First Issue Special #8), and Farah Fawcett hair.
• The temporal weirdness of Skartaris can serve the purposes of story.
• As noted bfore, like a lot of pulp heroes, Morgan is easily (and frequently) knocked out.

Where It Comes From:
The title of this issue recalls the Robert E. Howard Conan story "The Devil in Iron," first in published Weird Tales in August 1934. The plots of the two stories share nothing in common, however.

"Kiro" may come from Cairo (from the Arabic al-Qāhira) the capital and largest city in Egypt. Another possibility is from KIRO, the designation of a radio and TV station in Seattle. Grell lives in Washington state, and moved Green Arrow to Seattle in the eighties, but I don't know whether he was acquainted with the area at the time he was working on Warlord, so the name may be a coincidence.

Damascus steel was used in sword-making in the Middle East between 1100-1700 AD. The swords produced were legendary for strength and sharpness. The exact technique used in the making of historical Damascus steel is uncertain, but Damascus steel used Wootz steel from India as a base, which is not what Mariah's rifle would be made of. What Morgan undoubtedly means with the use of the term (which is supported by the smith's description of his process on page 7) is a pattern-welding technique which can duplicate the appearance of Damascus steel. In this technique, layers of steel are combined with layers of a softer metal and folded over many times to remove impurities in the metal. By this folding a laminate is formed, and the resultant blade is more flexible for it, without sacrificing hardness.

Cursed weapons like Machiste's axe appear have a long pedigree in mythology, folklore, and literature. The Knight Balyn has a cursed sword in Le Morte D'Arthur, as does Svafrlami in the Poetic Edda. Morgan will get his own later in the series

Nonfiction for Your Appendix N

Fiction isn't the only place to find gaming inspiration.  Here are a few choice nonfiction titles pulled from the shelves of my library:

Icon, Legacy, and Testament by Frank Frazetta. Who doesn't like Frazetta? Monsters, warriors, and babes--Frazetta's paintings have the quintessential elements of pulp fantasy. Is there anyone else whose work touches comics, sword and sorcery, and various flavors of rock? The art of Frank Frazetta has given me a lot of gaming inspiration over the years. Back in the day, I had the idea of making a campaign world based on all the paintings in The Fantastic Art of Frank Frazetta Book Two (which was the only volume I had). Looking through these volumes, I sometimes think about that again.

The Pursuit of the Millenium by Norman Cohn. This is the most scholarly book on this list, but its fascinating. Cohn chronicles the various millenarianist cults in Western Europe between the eleventh and sixteenth centuries. Religions in rpgs tend to be woefully bereft of the heresies, cults, and sectarian struggles that plagued the real world--which is unfortunate, because that's the kind of conflict that games could thrive on. Cohn offers up plenty of examples of cultic craziness to inspire your own.

The Magicians Companion by Bill Whitcomb. This is a really handy guide to a bunch of real world mystical traditions organized numerically, from unity up through--uh--91-ities? It's also got straight-forward overviews of mystic writing systems, alchemy, herbalism, and other stuff, and tops it all off with a cool glossary of mystical/occult terms. The presentation makes it really easy steal pieces and drop it into a game for some real world color. The elemental correspondence charts alone (planets, metals, directions, elemental kings, etc.) are probably worth it.

Things That Never Were by Matthew Rossi. This one is kind of "fictional nonfiction" or, as the introduction by Paul Di Filippo would have it, "speculative nonfiction." What Rossi does is write imaginative essays that do things like cast Doc Holliday as a Masonic Fisher King, speculate on the lost knowledge of Hypatia of Alexandria, and recast the Titanomachy as a generational battle between superhumans uplifted by alien nanotechnology. In other words, a lot of it reads like a game already. Every essay has something worth snatching, or at least will get the the creative juices following.

The Phantasmagoric Lantern of Kulu Tu

The exact number of these items in existence is unknown, but it's theorized to be less than seven. Tavern-tales attribute their creation to the infamous Kulu the Illusionist, but these devices are actually the products of an unknown--though no less malign--genius.

These devices appear like any other mundane example of the primitive slide-projectors known as magic lanterns, the only difference being there is no way to change the slide being projected. When activated by placing a candle inside, the device projects strange and unsettling images of distorted, ghost-like figures and beasts. The projected image is larger and more distinct when a magical light-source is used, like a hand of glory, for example.

The image projected is no static scene, but a glimpse of the Negative Material Plane. The longer the device is left on, the thinner the "skin" between worlds becomes until the beings, the phantoms, from that plane are able to enter the Prime Material. When seen in the wan light of the projector the phantoms are ghostly pale, but when they pass out of the projector's cone of light, they become deep, featureless shadow. Their touch drains living things, indeed their very presence can can cause the wilting of nearby plants.

When the phantoms first emerge into the Prime Material, they may be given the name of a single individual. This individual the phantoms will seek out and drain with their life-stealing touch until he is dead. The phantoms are able to travel at great speed, perhaps by traversing between points of mundane shadow, so distance is no obstacle, but it does take time for them to locate the individual (by what ever eldritch means they utilize) and this process seems to take longer for more distant targets.

If they are prevented from getting to the individual, they will continue to try to do so until they are destroyed, or they dissipate. Phantoms drawn forth by light from a normal candle or other mundane light-source can only hold coherent form for twenty-four hours in the Prime Material, and every moment spent in bright sunlight doubles the rate of dissipation. Phantoms drawn forth by a magical light-source in the lantern will last for a week, or perhaps more, depending on the potency of the magic used, but are still just as susceptible to bright sunlight.

The wise user never allows more than three phantoms to emerge before extinguishing the lantern. More than that number, and the phantoms become likely to act more willfully, killing the summoner and anyone else they find rather than heeding a command. If the lantern is left lit and unattended, phantoms will continue to emerge until the light-source burns itself out, and wander out into the world with undirected malevolence.

The lantern can be used to study the beings of the Negative Material Plane, but only if care is taken to limit the length of its usage so that no phantoms emerge.