Foul Language

The Canadian film Pontypool presents a “zombie” outbreak with a novel twist. The zombifying vector is a neurolinguistic or perhaps memetic “virus.” Some sort of infectious agent that hijacks certain previously innocuous English words, and when understood, begins overtaking the minds of its victims. As William S. Burroughs would have it: “The word is now a virus.”

Fantasy or weird fiction already presents a kind of malevolent Stendahl Syndrome in the pages of Chamber’s The King in Yellow, and Lovecraft’s Necronomicon. And of course, there’s also already the idea that words themselves have magical potency--Vancian Magic, anyone? Power Word Kill?

Perhaps magical formulae could get infected like the English language does in Pontypool.

Or perhaps something more has been lurking there all along. Maybe magical words or ideas are a virus or a living thing of some sort already. Maybe they don’t turn the user into a zombie or kill them, but maybe they have goals all their own.

Could it be that people who become magic-users are the ones that magical language or symbology can’t destroy or transform into some mindless creature? Or maybe they survive exposure, but all mages are driven a bit mad.

Maybe a they can “fire,” but they can never truly “forget.”

In Deep, Crimson Shadows

Check out the great art above from Chris Hűth for the upcoming (I promise!) Weird Adventures setting. This is, of course, the Red Dwarf--the malign genius loci of Motorton in the Steel League.

Since the days when the site of Motorton was a plague-pit for Old Fort Narrows, the area has been the home of the dwarf. He’s a harbinger of calamity; doom in a dapper, red suit.

Rumor says that those unlucky enough to have an audience with the dwarf are brought to a Room with Red Velvet Curtains (sometimes just “The Red Room”). Visitors--survivors--describe the room as located in the basement of a ritzy old hotel, but no one has been able to relocated the building or provide directions to it later.

What comes from a meeting with the dwarf can’t be predicted. Sometimes, he’ll tell his visitor’s future. Other times, he’ll ask them for a favor, or tell them how they can get their heart’s desire. However it starts, it always plays out badly.

It’s worth noting that the infernal criminal organization known as the Hell Syndicate stays out of Motorton.  It’s the dwarf’s city.

Characters may have heard other rumors about the dwarf:

1. He can’t be hurt by anything but a magical weapons.
2. The tea he sometimes offers visitors can bring strange visions, and cause madness
3. He carries a pocket watch whose hands only move when someone dies--or maybe when someone particular dies.
4. Bones excavated from the old, mass plague graves can be used to ward against him.
5. He’s only dangerous because Motorton’s sick. If the city could be healed, the dwarf would be benevolent.
6. The dwarf is only a midget human sorcerer cashing in on an old legend. It’s all smoke and mirrors.
7. There’s a red leather journal of a young girl, who died in an asylum, that contains, in its ramblings, the red dwarf’s true name, and the ritual to bind him to service.
8. The dwarf is always accompanied by the same gang--a black-haired moll in a red dress with a silky voice, and twin bruisers with the same first name.
9. The Red Room is actually the lowest level of Hell. The dwarf is actually Morningstar in disguise.
10. The dwarf isn’t a real entity at all, just the physical representation of the death curse of a Native shaman on the Ealderdish invaders. Treating it like a real being only increases its power.

Weird (Non-)Fiction

Want to crank up the weird or strange in your game? Here are works from my library that I’ve found inspirational in doing just that--and with some thought they're applicable to many different genres:

Arktos: The Polar Myth in Science, Symbolism, and Nazi Survival by Joscelyn Godwin: What’s weirder than Antarctic Nazis? Well, that’s just the--uh--tip of the iceberg. The Hollow Earth gets covered here, too, of course. Kenneth Hite called it “The Best Interdisciplinary Book on the Poles” [for the purposes of High Weirdness] in Suppressed Transmission, which pretty much says it all, really.

Grimoires: A History of Magic Books by Owen Davies: Every practitioner of the magical arts, from the dungeon-crawling magic-user to Dr. Strange, has need of magic tomes. This book details the real world history of such books from the ancient world to Anton LaVey, with stops in Lovecraftiana and the Third Reich along the way.

The President’s Vampire: Strange-but-True Tales of the United States of America by Robert Damon Schneck: Did Andrew Johnson pardon a man guilty of drinking the blood of two sailors? What’s the deal with the diminutive mummies found in Wyoming? And what happened in Massachusetts in 1853 when a cult gathered to assemble a machine messiah? All the answers may not be found in this Fortean tome, but the discussion of these bits of esoterica will at least allow you to understand the questions.

Find these books and others like them at your local library...And if you can’t find them there, go to a better library. I hear Miskatonic University has a great one...

Tall in the Saddle

Heroes in the Strange New World don’t come much bigger than Jaymes “Big Jim” Trane, seen here on the steps of the Freedonian High Court House. Trane was a star of numerous Heliotrope Westerns, starting in the silent era, but also a real Freedonian lawman.

As his height would suggest, Trane was the son of a half-giant woman and her minister husband. Trane began working with horses at a young age, and dreamed of running off and joining the circus, a notion looked upon unfavorably by his parents--an opinion not a whit improved when actually he ran off and joined one. After years with the circus, performing for the crowned heads of Ealderde and the potentates of the Orient, he wound up in the region between Freedonia and the Vast Plains Territories known as the Native Concession.

Here, he became a ranger, upholding the law and mediating between the Native tribes and the white settlers. He brought down outlaws like Heck Thorn and his Roaring Boys; and more exotic menaces, like Ancient mummies (taller than he) risen from burial mounds, and the urbane Zingaran vampire lord, Don Sangre.

A series of dime novels insured Trane’s fame grew even more, to the point where it was unclear where truth ended and tall tale began. Trane did, in fact, train a giant prehistoric cat to serve as a mount, but generally preferred horses, and kept the cat on his ranch. He did ride a elemental tornado like a bucking bronco, through use of a magic lariat, but did not in fact, ever lasso lightning with a telegraph cable.

His legend made in Freedonia and the Native Country, Trane went on to conquer Heliotrope in over a hundred Western films. He insisted on authenticity whenever possible, shooting Guns in the Ghost City in an actual ghost town, and Beast of Shudder Flats with an actual desert landshark. He also appeared as a matinee “singing cowboy” in several pictures, displaying a surprisingly good baritone.

Warlord Wednesday: The Unfinished Dragonsword

I’ve discussed before some of the other fantasy and science fiction series that ran as back-ups in Warlord. Today, I’ll take a look at the saga of Dragonsword, appearing in Warlord #51-53. The series was written and created by Paul Levitz, with art by Tom Yeates.

Dragonsword tells the story of Thiron, an apprentice warrior of King’s Isle, sent by his masters to kill a dragon as an initiation. Thiron’s accompanied on this quest by his smart-aleck squire Dysillus, who is apparently a chimpanzee (though he refers to himself as a halfling at one point). The pair fairly quickly locate the dragon, and after a short battle, Thiron slays it.

Unlike a lot of tales of dragonslaying, that’s only the beginning of this story, not its climax. Thiron’s sword, bathed in the blood of the dragon, now seems imbued with the dragon’s spirit and power--and it talks in the dragon’s sibilant voice. This was apparently all according to Thiron’s master Jerrand’s plan, and that of King’s Isle’s ruler--the Archmage Anna--who mostly is called “Archmage,” presumably because “Anna” lacked the desired gravitas.

The Achmage plans to use Thiron and his dragonsword to kill her former partner,the Emperor Quisel, whose overstepped his bounds by acquiring a magical battle axe from a pact with the Netherworld. The Archmage says the axe is so powerful, it could perhaps leech all the magic out of the world and kill them all.

The whole group teleports to Quisel’s citadel so Thiron can slay him. They encounter skeletons along the way, butThiron easily bests them. One vanquished skeleton begins to warn Thiron that Jerrand and Anna are not to be trusted and will betray him. Jerrand crushes the skeleton to shut it up, and Anna quickly ushers Thiron along on his quest. Dysillus, at least, begins to get a little suspicious.

The group confronts Quisel. Anna aknowledges that her and Jerrand’s ancient vows won’t let them fight him, but Thiron can. Quisel taunts Thiron, asking if he’s bothered to ask why he was needed in all this, why didn’t Jerrand or Anna wield the dragonsword?

Thiron doesn’t listen to any of this and keeps fighting--that’s until Quisel disarms him. Thiron begs his companions to give him his sword, but they won’t. Anna says they cannot, that only Thiron’s own hand can save him.

Quisel, laughing, raises his axe for the killing blow...

And so the tale ends. Dragonsword remains incomplete to this day.

This short and unfinished series is interesting because its aesthetic is a bit more Medieval than most fantasy comics. It may show the influence of Prince Valiant, but perhaps owes some inspiration to the film Dragonslayer, which opened in June of 1981--though this was only a couple of months before Dragonsword’s debut.

Maybe one day Dragonsword will get a collection, but I wouldn't hold my breath.

Addendum: Learned reader Austin points out my post title is fallacious and Dragonsword did indeed have an ending!  It was featured in the next issue, but not noted on the cover.  That's what I get for relying on the internet and not verifying.  Ah, well!  Expect a complete review at some point in the future.

Monster-slaying in Suburbia

Sprawling as the City is, its hegemony extends beyond the borders of the five baronies, into suburbs and to more distant, smaller urban areas. These areas face the same sort of challenges as the City, albeit on a smaller scale. Wandering monsters occasionally come in from the countryside, or up from ancient catacombs. Creatures which specifically hunt humans sometimes find isolated, small towns or suburbs easier pickings, at least for a time. Then there are human threats from rogue thaumaturges, strange drifters, robber gangs, and the like.

Many suburbs and small towns don't haven’t enough funds in their community chests to hire many former adventurers as law enforcement, if any. Often, they have to provide their own protection, and so form vigilance committees, sometimes with several “clubs” or branches under the auspices of an elected body. In some places, people from all walks of life practice with weapons to defend their community.

Just like in the old days, mob justice can be miscarried, so adventurers should take care. Get fresh with the wrong waitress in a two-bit town, or flash too much magic to scare the rubes, and they might find themselves facing a gang of armed townsfolk.

You Never Forget Your First...Dragon

“My first adventure and I get a dungeon AND a dragon?”
- Chad, 2011

Yesterday, a group I’m gaming with reconvened after a holiday season hiatus. My friend Chris is GM of a Pathfinder game set in Eberron. Last time, our intrepid band, trying to find a way through a ruined castle built inside a gigantic cave, freed a fighter (a new player, our friend Chad) who had been held captive by performance-enhanced goblins working for some mysterious big bad. Agnar (as he named himself) quickly showed us what kind of fighter he was going to be, by rushing heedlessly unto an alchemical laboratory (from which several goblins had been attacking us from cover), killing a goblin alchemist, destroying a shelf full of potions, and setting the room ablaze.

That was Chad’s first ever rpg session. Yesterday was his second...and he killed a red dragon.

True, she was a weakened thing, and hobbled by some magical chains of some sort (how weakened, and hobbled in what way, remains mysterious), but she was still a dragon, and with her special goblin entourage, could have easily done us all in. With a little bit of tactical planning, a bit of luck--and no small measure of daring--we triumphed.

It’s been enjoyable to sit back and play instead of game-mastering, but what’s been most fun is seeing a new guy get into gaming. I should say Chad just isn’t a guy who’s never gamed before--he’s a guy who’s been actively disdainful of gamers, thanks to the customers he had to deal with back when he worked at a comic book store. To see the unbridled fun of getting scaling walls, taking goblin scalps, and charging a fifteen foot tall dragon with a frost axe turn a hater into a player...now that’s entertainment!