Warlord Wednesday: Who's Who

Work obligations got me home late, so no issue review this week, but I thought I'd present the Warlord art from Who's Who: The Definitive Directory of the DC Universe. The Who's Who began publication in March 1985, and finished in April 1987.  It featured files of most of the major Warlord characters, most with art by Mike Grell.  Skarataris also got a two spread with a map.

Here are the pictures accompanying the entries of the characters that have appeared in my review so far.  All of them are by Grell, except Mariah, who was drawn by Ron Randall--a post-Grell artist on the series.

Here's Travis Morgan, the Warlord:

His wife, Tara:

Morgan's old Gladiator buddy, and king of Kiro, Machiste:

Russian archeologist and fencing champ, Mariah Romanova:

Two Tough Guys

Or actually, one tough guy and one tough gal.

I've written quite a bit about the City and its world, but as my friend Jim pointed out to me the other day, I've yet to introduce any adventurers from the setting. Let me rectify that today by presenting two Fighter-type characters/ personalities from City's world:

Samael T. Hazard
A former Freedonian Ranger who hunted bankrobbers, banditos, and monsters along the Southwestern border, before "retiring" to the City to open a speakeasy. Going into business didn't mean Hazard had to put down his guns--he just meant he went freelance. He and his boys rescued the debutante daughters of the old money from ritual sacrifice by the sinister sorcerer, Wu Fang, and busted up a plot to hold the City for ransom with a threat to release War-surplus cloudkill in the subway. He helped clear the hobogoblin jungles in the Steel League, and stopped the Reds from replacing City ealdormen with dopplegangers. He even tangled with the Wurm at one point, but that one even he couldn't win. He made it out with his life, but left some good men underground.

Hazard eventually ran for public office, but didn't win, and went back to his bar in defeat. Still, taking out a Hell Syndicate Hit-Fiend during a live radio broadcast has got count as some sort of victory.

Eliza Gunn
Nineteen years-old, and already making her own way for several years in the bleakness of the Dustlands. Gunn is an ace mechanic, and handy in a scrap. She's been with a gang of adventures for a couple of years, defending refugees and isolated towns from road agents, black-dust zombies, and violent cyclone bosses looking to expand their territory. Between all this "do-gooding" they raid old Native mounds for treasure--mostly magical materials, but a little gold and silver, too.  There are trains to be guarded, too--a few days riding the rails from Lake City to the Stoneys, looking out for thunderbirds and as always, malevolent elemental storms.

Mostly sullen and not much for conversation, Gunn is given to almost berserker rages when she gets riled. Her favorite weapon is an over-sized wrench (rumored to be imbued with magic by a Native shaman--or maybe forged from adamantine scavenged from the sword of an ancient, Old World king, stories differ) that's cracked more than one skull of a would-be hardcase who's underestimated her.

Are You Ready for the Great Atomic Knights?

"World War III--The Great Atomic War--is over...And in its wake lies an earth in ruins!  Of plant life, there is none!  Of animal life, only a small number of humans lingers on! There is no government and the prevailing law is might makes right!"

- Strange Adventures #117, 1960.

As you recall, unless you've been afflicted with the h-bomb radiation-induced amnesia, there was a terrible atomic war in October of 1986. No? Well, then you don't inhabit the odd--and oddly optimistic--post-apocalyptic world of John Broome and Murphy Anderson's Atomic Knights, recently collected in one hardcover volume.

The tale of the Atomic Knights begins in Strange Adventures #117 (June 1960). Amnesiac Gardner Grayle is running from smartly-groomed, but otherwise degenerate post-apocalyptic survivors (think the folks in The Road with more Brylcreem and Burma-Shave). Luckily, Grayle comes across a newspaper that jogs his memory about the recent nuclear holocaust, and reminds him of his one brush with fame--a news piece describing him as utterly average in every way.

A lot of people would take this one-two punch of global and personal setbacks as an excuse to give up, but not our Grayle. He finds a few other survivors, and they decide to strike a blow against the local strongman. The group includes Douglas Herald, a former teacher, Bryndon, last scientist on earth, the Hobard Brothers, and Marlene, Herald's sister, and eventually Grayle's lover interest. After the lucky (and improbable) discovery that old suits of plate armor protect against the radiation beams from the bad-guy's "raguns", the group becomes the Atomic Knights, and begins a quest to re-establish democracy, and civilization.

The Atomic Knights go on to have many more strange adventures in Strange Adventures, travelling across the former United States, mostly fighting the despotic forces of the fascistic Blue Belts, but also encountering aliens, mutated plants, and mole-men--you know, the post-atomic war usual suspects. Along the way they get to use giant dalmatians as mounts, and figure out an alternative, bio-fuel source for automobiles.

In my favorite Atomic Knights' adventure, they free all the surviving doctors from being mind-controlled thugs by bringing jazz back to New Orleans. To this end, they briefly become an Atomic Knight band and play "When the Saints Go Marching In" while marching down Bourbon Street!

H-radiation, or no, is there any doubt that the fate of the America and democracy is safe in these guys' hands? Give your post-atomic gaming a boost, or just fortify yourself with Silver Age strangeness, and check them out.

Malice in Slumberland

All humans (and human-like beings) dream. Like "thought balloons" in a comic strip, clouds of dreamstuff float "upward" from the dreamer into the Astral Plane. There they form bubbles in the Astral substance, tethered to the dreamer until waking. These bubbles are permeable with, and ultimately dissolve into, the Dream Realm--more commonly called Slumberland or Dreamland, or sometimes the "Land of Nod" (but not this one, or this one ;) ). Given their nature, dreams represent the easiest portal for humans to cross the transitive plane of the Astral and move into the Outer Planes.

Slumberland is ruled--or perhaps merely managed--by a being known by many names, but often called the Dream Lord, or Dream King. He appears as a robed humanoid figure wearing a bronze, mirrored mask. He doesn't create dreams--these come from mortal (and perhaps immortal) minds, themselves--but monitors and maintains them. His castle, with its strangely-angled, dream-logic, expressionistic architecture, sits on the border between the material and immaterial worlds, existing both in Slumberland and on the dark side of the Moon. From there, he maintains the oneironic devices, and monitors the content of the flow of dreamstuff. He strives to ensure virulent nightmares don't readily infect other dreams, and that idle fantasies don't spoil and bloat to become perverse obsessions.

It's a big job, and the Dream Lord doesn't do it without help. Gnome-like creatures called "Sandmen" serve him. They carry pouches of silvery, glinting powder made from dessicated and alcehmically treated dreamstuff. They use this oneiric dust to induce sleep in a mortals, or cause waking dreams, or even to cause multiple beings to share the same dream. This is their primary tool for observing or even entering dreams--supposedly for the purposes of monitoring and testing.

"Supposedly" because there is some evidence for the existence rogue Sandmen, or at least breakdowns within their system. Regrettably common are the condensed nightmares called bugbears, or sometimes "bogies" or "bogeymen." These creatures emerge from dark, foreboding places--like "haunted" houses, abandoned subway tunnels, ancient ruins, or even children's closets! They're variable in size, but usually appear slightly larger than humans. Their bodies are described as "bear-like" or "ape-like", but their heads are something like deep-sea diving helmets, albeit with blank face-plates, and strange antennae. Bugbears, as nightmares given flesh, torment humans to feed off their fear. They then employ electronic devices or machinery--with an appearance both nonsensical and menacing--to siphon oneiric potential from the minds of their victims to incubate bugbear pups.

Bugbears aren't the only evidence of corruption in Slumberland. There are persist rumors of Sandmen on the take, selling blue dreams to Hell Syndicate incubi and succubi to slip to unsuspecting marks. There are also rumors of black-market Tijuana bibles produced from the concentrated salacious dreamings of certain celebrities being peddled on the streets of the City, and possibly elsewhere.

Thanks  to G. Benedicto at Eiglophian Press for suggesting a link between bugbears and nightmares.

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.