It's Adventure Time!

Is everyone watching this?

For those of you that aren’t, Adventure Time is a animated series on Cartoon Network created by Pendleton Ward. It relates the adventures of Finn, a 12 year-old boy; and Jake, a 28 year-old dog with size-changing and stretching powers, who right wrongs (or try) in a loopy, post-apocalyptic world with the whimsy of Oz, the intoxication amenability of H.R. Pufnstuf, and the utilitarian illogic of eighties video games.

There are quite a few D&D-related references, too. In one episode, Finn frets over imprisoning his nemesis the Ice King when he has done anything wrong (at the moment) because it’s against his “alignment.” The Ice King, in an earlier episode, wonders to himself why he’s not liked, musing: “Is it because I’m a magic-user?”

Then there are nice, humorous plays on traditional fantasy tropes. Our heroes visit a City of Thieves, which has the property of turning everyone with its walls into a thief. There are princesses a plenty to be rescued--though most are far from beauteous. Inhabitants of the land can engage in magical summoning of dire beings from other planes, like when Finn inadvertently summons the business-suited, sole-sucking, Evil Lord from the Nightosphere.

Like any good fantasy, Adventure Time boasts and array of interesting creatures. There are the werewolf-like why-wolves--”possessed of a spirit of inquiry and bloodlust.” The vapid,  valley-girlish Lumpy Space Princess, is representative of the extraplanar cloud-realm of Lumpy Space. Then there’s the wizardry-teaching Bufo, which are tadpole-like things in wizard hats, floating in the throat sac of a anthropomorphic frog.

Yes, its pretty weird.  But also very cool. Check it out.

Beasts in the East

The Demon Isles is an archipelago to the east of Yian. In the ancient writings of the Yianese, it is known as “The Barbaric Eastern Land of Ugly and Ill-tempered Dwarfs.” Today’s unlucky visitor to the Demon Isles might quibble with the “dwarf” part, but would probably otherwise agree with those ancient scholars’ characterization.

The thousands of islands that make up the chain are mountainous and mostly volcanic. Prevailing archaeological theory holds that they are remnants of ancient Mu, or some other, nameless, lost continent. Some sunken, ancient structures have been found in the surrounding waters, though no ruins are catalogued on the islands themselves. The Demon Islanders don’t permit archaeologists--or indeed, anyone else--to visit unmolested.

The dominant species of the isles are humanoids with bright red skins, small horns, and somewhat bestial features. They are called “Demon-folk” in rough translation from Yianese--not as a reference to any presumed extraplanar origin, but to their temperament. Some scholars believe them to be distant relatives of the now extinct Ealderdish goblin. Others contend that they are an artificial race, synthesized by some elder culture, or perhaps the sorcerous (and sinister) Ku’en-Yuinn of Yian.

Whatever their origins, the Demon-folk are a race bred to violence and warfare. A warrior caste rules their society. It’s young are raised under harsh discipline and allowed to practice their war-skills upon members of the lesser castes with impunity. In adulthood, these skills are put to use against their caste-equals in other clans or tribes. Or, when the opportunity presents itself, against foreigners--whom they universally regard as inferior.

At its most organized, the Demon Isles are a military dictatorship under the iron fist of a warlord. It’s at these times the Demon Islanders are most dangerous to their neighbors, as they may coordinate raids by sea--though at best they are mediocre sailors. Luckily, their typical state is one of feudal warfare with various chieftains and their bannermen vying for supremacy. The swords of the Demon-folk are most often raised against their own kind.

The Demon-Islanders have a level of technology barely beyond the medieval. They have acquired flintlock gunpowder weapons from captured foreigners centuries ago, but even these are not widespread. Wisely, care is taken by their neighbors to ensure no more advanced weapon technology falls into their ever-belligerent hands.

Apocalypse Clown

“You’ve heard of the Clown?”

“Yes, well, we discounted the stories at first, too.  Who wouldn't?  But the rumors persisted.  Of course, we were skeptical, but we sent agents, nonetheless. Can never be to careful.”

"I should add, these agents did not return."

“At any rate this..clown simply appeared among the deep jungles tribes. Somehow he won them over. Make-up, motley, and false nose, yet he won over cannibal tribes. Miraculous acts were performed, supposedly. This was months ago. Now the natives worship the man like a god, and follow his every command, no matter how...ridiculous.”

“His people only emerge from the jungle to raid neighboring tribes. Peaceful tribes.  Tribes with whom we do business. They take heads.  We hear they kill all the men, and take the women and children back with them into the jungle for who knows what. Human sacrifice, perhaps? Nothing would surprise me now.”

“He’s a threat to our interests in the entire region. Is this a problem we can count on you to solve?”


(With apologies to Conrad and Coppola.  And Bozo.)

Warlord Wednesday: Wings Over Shamballah

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...

"Wings Over Shamballah"

Warlord (vol. 1) #31 (March 1980)

Written and Pencilled by Mike Grell; Inked by Vince Colletta

Synopsis: Morgan, wounded and exhausted, sits atop a step pyramid in the ruins of Shaban D’Aba. Around him are the slain bodies of his foes--fifty or more wild dogs. Three times they’ve come at him, and three times Morgan has beaten them back. He looks worn down and all but defeated, but as still more dogs approach, his eyes blaze anew with a savage gleam. Again, the battle is joined.

Morgan was barely 100 leagues from his destination, Shamballah, when the first wild dog pack attacked him. The assault had sent Morgan into a rushing river, and he was swept several miles downstream. As he emerged from the water, he heard the dogs in the distance, still on his trail. He ran into the nearby ruins. There he made his stand on the low, step-pyramid.

Now, the pack is down to three, and with a few strokes of Morgan's sword, one. The last dog pounces. Morgan skewers the animal, but as he leans against an ornate monolith in exhaustion, he accidentally triggers a trap door. He plummets into the inside of the pyramid.

By the light coming through the trapdoor, Morgan sees he’s landed in a room full of treasure--piled gold coins, overflowing chests, and gleaming weapons. Even marvelling at the riches around him, Morgan’s keen senses tell him he’s being watched.

He turns to see two hunched and monstrous trolls standing like statues in twin alcoves. Morgan realizes these ruins must date to the Age of the Wizard Kings, as such creatures have been extinct for eons.

Morgan is able to roughly parse the glyphs around the alcoves.  They tell him that this vault holds the combined wealth of the Wizard Kings of the Seven Cities. They placed it here, guarded by powerful magics, against the greed of the Evil One who had brought strife to their land. The spells could only be broken by drenching the steps of the temple in blood. The writer, Mungo Ironhand, hoped that the race of Man, new to the inner earth, would fair better against the Evil One than they had.

Morgan realizes the blood of the dogs he killed must have broken the spell. He wants none of the wealth around him, calling it “goblin’s gold.” But a finely made shield catches his eye, one with a hawk blazon not unlike his own. He picks it up to replace the one he lost. As he’s looking for a way out, he hears “a dry creaking sound, like the crackling of dead leaves.”

He turns round just in time to avoid a troll's axe:

Morgan swiftly counterattacks, skewering one of the trolls on his blade--to absolutely no effect. He slices clean through one’s calf, again to no effect. Pressed back, Morgan pulls his pistol, and blows gaping wholes in their undead flesh. Still, they keep coming.

One of the creatures catches Morgan’s arm in its grasp. Then, surprisingly, the thing’s hand bursts into flame as its caught in the shaft of sunlight coming through the open trapdoor. The sun burns then!

Thinking quickly, Morgan uses his new, highly burnished shield to reflect the light from above in the direction of the trolls. The two go up like “dry leaves in a forest fire”; their moldering bodies reduced to ashes.

Morgan grabs one of their spears and uses it to hoist himself up through the trapdoor. He closes the entrance, thinking that it might be better to keep the gold hidden, in case there might be a use for it in the future. He sets out again for Shamballah, and his wife, Tara.

But the curse of the Wizard King’s isn't done yet. The hawk emblazoned on his shield pulls itself free, and grows into a giant, black, bird of prey! It grabs Morgan in its talons and takes to the air.

Morgan’s sword has no effect on the bird. He carries him over the jungles, then over the golden towers of Shamballah. Morgan passes helplessly over his destination, and his wife picking roses in her palace garden, then out to sea.

A sudden storm comes up, slowing the hawk’s flight. Suddenly, the bird is struck by a bolt of lighting. It drops Morgan into the storm-churned waters below.

When the storm has passed, Morgan awakens to find himself washed up on a beach. He raises his head from the sand to see the armored legs of what must be a giant warrior before him...

Things to Notice:

• At some point, Morgan learned how to read Ashtari (whatever that is).
• The cursed shield Morgan's finds is emblazoned with a symbol (coincidentally, one presumes) almost identical to his own banner.
• This is the first mention of the Evil One who will appear later in these pages.

Where It Comes From:
Though the coloring doesn't support this, Morgan's characterization of the wild dogs chasing him and the way Grell has drawn their ears suggest they are suppose to be African wild dogs.

The trolls in this issue have the weakness to sunlight often attributed to them in Scandinavian folklore, though the more typical trope is for them to turn to stone (this also happens in The Hobbit, of course).  Perhaps undead trolls respond differently?

The cruel twist of fate taking the hero away from his beloved when he's so closse seems to be the sort of complication one would find in Edgar Rice Burroughs' adventure novels.

Weird Adventures Update: Monsters

Art by Seth Frail

With Halloween approaching, I’ve been thinking about monsters and the monster chapter of Weird Adventures.

“Thinking” only, because I’m currently writing the section on the Strange New World (from whence the Borea post--just in time for yesterday’s Canadian Thanksgiving). That is, when I’m not working on upcoming presentations and research projects. or getting ready for community forums, and all the other things required in a demi-academic, public sector career--which all seem to have fallen in the current month...

Where was I? Oh,yeah. Monsters. So, in addition to the hobogoblins (ably rendered above by Seth Frail), we’ll feature the black-dust elementals, nightmarish bugbears, theatrical ghouls, and two varieties of zombies I’ve discussed here. There will also be monsters I haven’t touched on yet: hit-fiends from the Hell Syndicate, the mischievous, electric elemental gremlins; goons (of the non-human variety), and (perhaps soon to appear here) the militaristic Demon-folk of the far eastern Demon Isles.  All statted for use in your old school rpg, but adaptable to whatever game you fancy, of course.

Stay tuned for more updates.

Nothing Like the Mighty Samson

The first post-apocalyptic series in comics was DC’s Atomic Knights (which I’ve discussed previously), which was released in a collection earlier this year. The second series showcasing post-nuclear holocaust heroics was Gold Key’s The Mighty Samson debuting a year after the fall of the Atomic Knights. Dark Horse has started releasing the series in archive editions, and its full of plenty of post-apocalyptic weirdness for gaming inspiration.

The Mighty Samson was the creation of Otto (Captain Marvel) Binder and Frank (Ghita of Alizarr) Thorne. Samson lived in a devastated, fallen world, but The Road this was not. In fact, the amount of undecayed detritus of civilization laying around puts this firmly in the “junkyard future” camp of the likes of Thundarr the Barbarian.

Samson is mutant, born with superhuman strength and resilience. Even in his youth, he’s a hero to his primitive tribe in the land of N’Yark, where the jungle overgrows the ruin of Manhattan. Samson teams up with a wannabe scientist and his daughter who are trying to rediscover the technology of the ancients. He battles a lot of portmanteau monsters like the liobear, and this guy:

Besides monsters, Samson contends with the evil of man. And of women, too--particularly the technology-seeking, choker-wearing, Terra of Jerz, whose’s always trying to invade N’Yark and woo Samson to her side.

The Might Samson stories are certainly of their era, which means they're not as action-packed as modern comics, nor are the characters terribly deep. Still, there’s a lot of crazy invention in these tales making them worth looking into for anybody playing Gamma World or any other science fantasy, post-apocalyptic game.

Way Up North

Borea is the sprawling land north of the City and the Union as a whole. It's more sparsely populated than its Southern neighbor, owing to a more frigid climate. Most of its cities and towns are clustered around either the Inland Sea, or the West Sea and the Strait of Anian--which form the Northwest Passage allowing westward travel from Ealderde to the Far East.

There are those who choose to live in the Borean wilderness or more isolated towns. Hunters and trappers still eke out a living as they have for over two hundred years; there’s still a market for the meat of dwindling mammoth herds, or the golden pelts of the aurumvorax. The vast northern forests still support a thriving timber industry. Then there are the aboriginal peoples who follow the ways of their ancestors, some of them living in the ice-bound wastes where few “civilized” folk ever care to go.

Borea’s cold owes to more than its latitude. Some strong northern winds are actually born from the confluence of elemental water and air, forming elemental ice. The preternatural cold of these winds can freeze unprotected animals or people in their tracks, cause trees to explode with quick-frozen sap, or even coat whole villages in ice. Boreans try their best to avoid these death-ice winds, and experienced woodsfolk know the signs that mean such a wind is coming.

Over the vast wilds of Borea, the Boreal Mounted Police are responsible for keeping the peace and enforcing justice. These intrepid lawmen contend with human criminals, and monstrous menaces (like the wendigo), as well. Like the Freedonian Rangers far to the south, the mounted police are a special breed, inured to life on the fringe of civilization. As such, they're figures romanticized in fiction and film in Borea, and famed in even more southern lands.

The North has its share of mysteries, too. Shimmering, phantom cities sometimes are seen in its skies, which may be ghostly glimpses of the distant past, psychic projections of the fabled paradise of Hyperborea, or something else. Then there are legends of an Arctic island warmed by volcanos or hot springs, which may be the ancestral home of the all the natives of the New World. Other legends, or sea tales, speak of ancient longships from the Old World emerging from the icy mists, manned by undead raiders, and laden with centuries of plunder.