Impish Improbity

For reasons unknown, a person may attract the dubious attentions of an imp. Imps in the world of the City aren't devils, but rather extradimensional aliens--ultraterrestrials. Each comes to a Prme Material Plane got its own reasons, but the usual one cited by those imps who bother to give an explanation is simply, boredom.

Imps vary wildly inappearance--it's likely they don't have any set physical form--but  they typically manifest as diminutive humanoids of a somewhat comical aspect. They're shape-changers, though, and sometimes briefly take other forms in the course of their "games" with their human of interest. Some imps choose to present more of a technological veneer while others use the trappings of magic. In all cases their powers are innate, and any items or tools they utilize are simply props.

Imps instrisic magical ability is the power to warp reality to their whim.  The range of this power is typically limited to their immediate vicinity (though since they can become invisible or incorporeal its not always easy to tell one is in the vicinity).  This power is limited in some ways in regards to living beings (who always get a saving throwl).  For example, they seem unable to strike a being instantly dead.  They are quite capable, however, of materializing, say, a giant mallet and having it beat a person senseless.  Their power can mimic most spells, but they seldom rely do anything subtlely once they reveal themselves, nor do they usually engage in mind control.

Though there is no way of predicting who will attract an imp's attention, people with more interesting lives--like adventurers--are more likely to be targets. An imp often plays a series of practical jokes (whisking away needed items at inopportune times, causing communication difficulties, etc.) for a short period, before revealing themselves to their target. Some imps will profess to want to help the individual--and will in some cases appear to do so--but their involvement only leads to more complications and difficulties. Others will directly challenge the individual to some game or contest. This is more likely to be a intellectual competition, or something like a scavenger hunt of sorts, rather than a simple game of chance. Imps seldom do, "simple." Imps will never try to directly harm a target in any serious way.  However, their actions may indirectly lead the target, or even innocent bystanders, to be endangered.

Naturally, given the frustration imp shenanigans may cause, people often try to harm them. Imps, however, are utterly impervious to normal, physical harm. They may appear to allow themselves to be beaten or hurt, particularly in a humorous, slapstick manner--but this is only part of their games. Likewise, most human magic in incapable of directly harming them, though indirect effects, or magics that might entrap/ensnare rather than harm, can. Still, they're generally able to dispel or counter much magics, though, once again, they may wish to appear to be unable to for a time. Lesser magical creatures can harm them, though seldom seriously. Extra-planar entities of great power are certainly capable of destroying them, but imps wisely make themselves scarce when beings like that are around.

Short of a Wish, there are only two sure ways for a poor human to be rid of an imp. One is to be so uninteresting that the imp will move on out of boredom. This is difficult because what bores imps vary, as does the amount of time this tactic will take. The other, surer, way is to defeat the imp at the game they've proposed. This will guarantee at least a respite while the imp vanishes from the plane to sulk. They are, after all, notorious sore losers.

Cities of Steel

The City may the greatest metropolis of the strange new world, but there are other cities within the Union that have their own claims to greatness. In the western parts of the Smaragdines and beyond, to the shores of the Inland Sea, there is a loose confederation of cities and towns known as the Steel League. These form the industrial heart of the Union, refining the raw materials and manufacturing goods which are transported across the continent and worldwide.

The cities of the League dominate the mass production of steel from pig iron, due to their control of the supply of salamanders. The League's salamander-wranglers--immigrants from the Old World steel-centers, decimated by war and economic hardship--jealously guard the secrets of coaxing the shy creatures from hibernation in coal, and of their care and feeding. It's steel produced in their salamander furnances that feeds the industrial production of the area, and of the entire the continent.

All this metal, both in above ground factories and in underground areas where salamanders are kept and awakened from torpor, draws the attention of pests. Rust beetles--or sometimes "rust roaches"--are insects which are able to digest some metals by use of magical enzymes that hasten corrosion.  Their favorite meal is iron. These can grow over a foot long, and may swarm like locusts. Factory owners sometimes higher adventurers to find and eradicate rust beetle nests, or to help defend against swarms.

The city of Yronburg, in many ways, is representative of the Steel League, but has one feature of special note. A giant lives at the heart of the city. Inhabiting the largest steel mill is a man over ten feet tall, apparently made of steel, himself. This giant came from the Old World--though whether he is some fallen god or titan, or just the member of a lost race is unknown, perhaps even to the giant himself. Svarozic, as he's called, works tirelessly and seems impervious to heat. He does not seem to sleep, but at times goes still and appears to be at some sort of rest--sometimes for as much as weeks at the time. Luckily for Yronburg, Svarozic accomplishes enough when at work to keep them ahead in the manufacture of steel. The other steelworkers--many fellow immigrants from Ealderde--see "their" giant as a source of civic, and professional pride, and tell tall tales about his exploits.

Warlord Wednesday: Visions in a Crimson Eye

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 Quest, Part 1: Visions in a Crimson Eye"

Warlord (vol. 1) #16 (December 1978)

Written and Pencilled by Mike Grell; Inked by Vince Colletta

Synopsis: In the Royal Palace of Shamballah, Travis Morgan sits alone, lost in wine and melancholy. His dark reverie is broken by a guards who demand he answer Princess Tara's summons. They soon discover why goading a drunken Warlord is not a good idea. Morgan only stops delivering the lesson with his fists when Tara yells at him to do so.

Morgan admits the purposelessness of his actions, but wonders if anything has a point? After all, he killed Deimos already, but now he's back, and stolen their son. Tara reminds him that that "fairness" doesn't enter into it, and tells him she is going to find their son whether he accompanies her or not. Morgan, chastened, agrees to go with her. The two set out with Tara's trained hunting dog, Shadow.

Next, we find our heroes riding through the forest approaching a strange hut. Tara says that here they will find someone who may be able to help them. As if summoned, a large black bird swoops down from overhead. It transforms before there eyes into a crone with a staff. She greets Tara and asks what brings them to the abode of Saaba.

Saaba tells them her services come at a price. Morgan rashly tells her to name it. She requires they bring her the Eye of Shakakhan, god of the Tree People. In advance. With little choice, Morgan and Tara head off into the depths of the forest, where the canopy produces a foreboding gloom.

Without warning, the primitive Tree People attack from the branches above. While Morgan brawls with them, Tara is lassoed. Shadow fights for her mistress, but is herself netted. Morgan is last to fall, but is finally knocked senseless, and the attackers make good their abduction of Tara.

When Morgan awakens, he frees Shadow from the net. The two pursue the primitives, through the trees, running along the thick branches. Shadow tracks them easily to the entrance to a subterranean chamber in the bole of a giant tree.

Inside, they find Tara tied to an altar about to be sacrificed in the rites of the Tree People to a giant wooden statue of a cyclops--Shakakhan, the forest god. Morgan puts a bullet through torso of the high priest, then he and Shadow fall upon the Tree People worshippers in a battle frenzy. Morgan cuts Tara free with the comment: "Find yourself a weapon, girl! There's killing to be done here!" She snatches up the ceremonial dagger and goes to it. Soon, the Tree People are driven off.

Morgan climbs up to take the statue's red-jewelled eye. When removes he removes it from the socket, he doesn't notice that some of his blood from a small wound fall on to the idol. Suddenly, the statue comes to violent life! Blinded, the statue lashes out and hits Morgan with a glancing blow that still knocks him senseless. It gropes around sightlessly for Morgan, so Tara stabs it with the dagger to distract it. While it moves to take the dagger from its leg, Tara snatches up a nearby brazier and throws its contents at the wooden giant. Shakakhan catches fire, and Morgan and Tara make their escape.

Returning to Saaba's hut, the two present her with the eye. Saying an incantation over it, she conjures within an image of Deimos in a fortress at the end of the world, in a place of half-shadow and half-light. Deimos holds Joshua overhead exults in anticipation of his vengeance. He plans to raise Joshua to despise his father and ultimately pit him against Morgan.

The image fades from the jewel. Saaba gives them one last cryptic pronouncement: "The fate of the son is the fate of the father… and the fate of the father is the fate of Skartaris! They are intertwined, inseparable!"

Saaba commands the two leave her. She gloats that the eye makes her second in power to Deimos--and if Morgan should slay him...

Morgan says there's enough evil in the world, without adding to it. He shatters the eye with a shot from his pistol.
Things to Notice:

• This is the first chapter of the specifically labelled "Quest" storyline.
• This is not the last we'll see of Saaba in the Warlord saga.
• The Tree People are pretty much generic Skartarian primitives

Where It Comes From:
"Saaba" is town in Burkina Faso, though it is unclear if that's Grell's source for the witch's name here. With her gypsy-ish head-scarf, I wonder if Grell had in mind the old gypsy woman of the Wolf Man (1941), but perhaps it was just the stereotypical "gypsy fortune-teller" look, in general.

"Shakakhan" may have been derived from Chaka Khan (born Yvette Marie Stevens) the singer-songwriter, had been with the group Rufus previously, and had a 1978 hit song "I'm Every Woman" off her first solo album, who presumably arrived at her name by combining the name of the famour Zulu leader, Shaka, with the Altaic language family title, "khan."

The statue of the god itself seems like it may be inspired at least in part by the appearance of the golem in the German silent film Der Golem--at least his hair does.

Manuals Monstrous

So what's your favorite monster book?

I like the the original AD&D Monster Manual. Besides nostalgia, it has an amateurish sort of charm for me. The much maligned Fiend Folio is good, too. Despite the lackluster nature of some of its critters (but be fair, the Monster Manual has its share of duds, too) the art lends it a darker, more weird fiction feel I appreciate.

My favorite bestiaries though, have the right combination of interesting creatures and evocative art. I even like ones for games I don't typically play if it contents are inspiring and the the artwork is good.

The various iterations of the Talislanta monster compendium are cool in this regard. The creatures are often interesting, and there's that P.D. Breeding-Black art. We never got a full Jorune monster manual, which is a shame, particularly if Miles Teves had illustrated it.

My favorite currently is probably the Malleus Monstrorum for Call of Cthulhu. It isn't the sort of thing that I steal a lot from for other games, but its just about a pitch-perfect presentation for the material. Instead of going with the typical cool illustration of a tentacled horror coming at you, it uses historical art work, vintage photos, and other pieces of "found art"--many of which are clever forgeries or manipulations. It can become a little "Where's Waldo" for the creature/entity, but that adds to the "realism" of the proceedings. It mimics exactly the "horror slowly unfolds and changes your world" ambience that Call of Cthulhu should have. Some highlights: the photo of the de Loys ape as a member of the Martenese family, a poster for the silent movie Der König in Gelb (by Fritz Lang, no less!), and the suggestiveness of the antique ink bottle photo next to the the Formless Spawn entry.

That trick wouldn't work for every monster manual, or for every game, but I wish every one would put that level of thought into it.

The Red Menace

No outside force, not even magical threats, seem to strike as much fear into the populace of the City and its world, as the so-called Reds. These agents of a technologically advanced underground civilization seek to transform the world in their society's image, wiping out free thought and individuality in the name of their perverse vision of equality and unity. Despite their aims, their tireless machinations often dupe innocent citizens and draw them to their cause.

The origins of the Red menace lie with an Old Worlder named Carisdall, who returned after being presumed lost at sea with a strange story of a hidden island civilization where private property was forbidden, and everyone worked for the good of the society as a whole. The rest of his life, Carisdall tried in vain to relocate his utopia. He also wrote a manifesto describing the islander's philosophy which he termed "Communalitarianism." His work found adherents, and spawned small-scale experimental communities and political parties in several countries.

The real danger came when Carisdall's philosophy began to infect the subterranean remnants of an underground civilization. Sometime during the upheaval of the Great War, the degenerate remnant of an advanced, subterranean civilization experienced a violent revolution based on these ideas. The idle, and intellectually diminished ruling class was slaughtered by the more bestial workers. The former workers sought to realize Carisdall's utopia, but in a "scientifically perfected" manner that would have likely horrified the man who inspired them. The workers began to alter themselves into different functional groups to better serve society. Then, using the thought-broadcasting machines of their ancestors, they began to subtlely influence the minds of unsuspecting surface-dwellers.

The Reds (so-called because of their fondness for symbols colored a deep red) seek to transform the whole world into their sterile ordered society with the egalitarianism of the ant hill. To this end, they subvert humans to their cause--either through bribery, deception, or mind-control. There are those evil humans join the Reds, cynically hoping to enrich themselves as long possible before inevitable Red transformation. Some humans under the influence of Red thought-machines become more carnal and depraved, before finally entering into emotionally vacant, automaton-like state that is the Red's end goal.

Symbol: A red clenched fist or a red five-pointed star.

Special Benefits: Reds see magic as the product of decadent superstition, and disbelieve it entirely. This disbelief provides them with a degree of magical resistance, as it does their human stooges in more advanced stages of Red mental conversion (+2 to saving throws vs. spells or direct magical effects). Human in earlier stages are sometimes given technological devices by their masters that duplicate the same effect. Agents might also be loaned other technological advanced items as well, though these will always be parcelled out in a limited, efficient fashion.

The Saragossa Manuscript

Last Friday, Amazon delivered me the 1965 Polish film The Saragossa Manuscript directed by Wojciech Has. The film comes well-recommended, having been praised by the likes of David Lynch, Martin Scorsese, and Neil Gaiman. Jerry Garcia supposedly helped supply funds to get a full cut of the film restored. Having not finished the film yet I can't give my own full review, but so far I've been impressed by some of the imagery, and the unusual use of music--sometimes its usual (if quirky) sixties film score, but it has touches of primitive electronica experimentalism reminscient of some sci-fi scores of the era.

I went looking for the film because of its source material, the novel The Manuscript Found in Saragossa by Count Jan Potocki (1761-1815). The book bears some resemblance to works like the Arabian Nights or the Decameron. It's a fantasy (at least in part) describing the experiences and stories related to a young Walloon officer in the Sierra Morenas of Spain in 1739. It includes gypsies, cabbalists, Sapphic sister Moorish princesses, and hints at secret history. The stories are nested like Matryoshka dolls, with narrators of some stories showing up as characters in others. Neil Gaiman, a fan of the work, has called it "a labyrinth inside of a maze." It combines elements of the gothic and picaresque with eroticism and humor.

The book itself has an interesting history. It's so convoluted in fact that Potocki's authorship was at times doubted. The novel was written in French, and over an extended period in several stages. The first few "days" were published in 1805 in French. Later, the entire manuscript was translated and published in Polish, but then the original complete manuscript was lost, and had to be "back translated" into French for a complete French version. Wikipedia suggests that scholars now think their were two versions: an unfinished one from 1804, published in 1885, and a rewritten, tonal different complete 1810 version. Only the first of these versions has appeared in English.

Potocki himself is an interesting and character. He was served as a military officer, and was also for a time of novice of the Knights of Malta. He travelled and wrote scholarly studies on linguistics and ethnography. In 1790, he was among the first to fly in a hot air balloon. He also committed suicide by shooting himself in the head. Allegedly, this was done with a silver bullet he fashioned himself and had had blessed by a chaplain!

Anyway the novel is well worth your time. I'll keep you posted on the film, but I'm anticipating good things.

Random Immigrant Urban Encounter Table

Any major city, like the City, is likely to be something of a melting pot.  Here are ten random encounters with immigrants of various ethnicities/nationalities, from Ealderde, the Old World. 

Roll 1d10:

01 Doppelkinnian Butcher - Heavy set man with an outrageously over-sized moustache (waxed at the ends), and thinning hair. For some reason, his artificial left eye is bright blue.  His real one is brown. His large, heavy-knuckled hands always have the faint stain of blood. All he sees and hears gets reported to the Mob, and from there to infernal Syndicate capo Dis Pater.

02 Graustarkian Police Man - Ruddy faced with a bulbous nose like ground-beef. Pay him well, and he'll look the other way. Don't pay him, and he'll look for a reason to crack your head. Despite his accent, don't ever mistake him for a Dawsbergener.

03 Ixanian Dissident Scientist - Thin, bespectacled, chain-smoking man, with a twitchy mouth and nervous eyes. His fastidious suit is hopelessly out of date. He's a bit paranoid--anyone could be a Red agent or an Anarchist fanatic trying to get the secret. What secret? Well, how does he know he can trust you? At some point in the near future, his dead body will be found in the Eldritch River.

04 Karlovan Laundress - Aged, stooped, and bundled in a shawl. She sings to herself constantly in the old tongue--songs bawdy and profane, if anyone understood them. She has a chronic, wet cough which should worry her employers, but doesn't. She knows a few hexes that can make things difficult for those who cross her.

05 Uqbarish Taxi Driver - Oh, the stories he could tell--and will. He'll regale you with fascinating tales of the old country, if you can pick the gold from the dross of his broken Common.  Don't listen!  His homeland doesn't exist in this world (at least not yet), but the more people who come to believe in it through his enchanting anecdotes, the more likely it is to manifest in reality--and like a cancer begin remaking the world around it.

06 Trysteran Pimp - Sleepy-eyed, perpetually smells of alcohol, but a sharp dresser. He always carries a stiletto (since the incident that gave him the still-visible scar on his left cheek) and knows how to use it. He's also got a pistol (souvenir from the War) in his sock drawer.  Has a strange fear of mirrors, and a habit of stroking a rather sinister looking icon of a saint no one is able to recognize.

07 Scirieli Prostitute - Works for the Trysteran Pimp. Beautiful, and brunette, with green eyes that might hold centuries worth of boredom. In the old country she was chosen as a young girl to serve the cult of the old and dread goddess the church father's have tried hard to stamp out, but the peasants stubbornly cling to in secret. She's got a knife, too. An ornate, ancient blade you will not see unless you too are chosen. And by then it's too late.

08 Servian Newsboy - Born in the City and sounds like it, though he parents know not a word of Common. Manages to hear a lot without ever being noticed, and shows up almost like magic at pivotal moments, often to complicate matters. Wields a mean slingshot.

09 Luthan Anarchist - A tall, thin man with long spider-like fingers. Carries a Cerebus-headed cane he fondles like a lover.  His accent is thick, and he tends to mumble, so one can ever be sure they heard him correctly. He has enough explosive secreted on his person to whip up at least a small bomb on very short notice. No one in this decadent City is sufficiently dedicated to the revolutionary cause. He'd see it all go up in flames, if he could.

10 Poitêmien Occultist - Once handsome, but now bald, and growing paunchy. His penetrating gaze is half his mystique. The other half is the shabby, libertine air he tries to cultivate. Does seances for old money, and looks for magical artifacts in the markets of poorer parts of town. He seems to be seeking something specific...