There's A Story There

Sometimes a chance encounter opens the door to adventure.  This is as true in the City as anywhere.  Truer, probably...

An odd decoration on the hat of an aging beauty in a downtown bar. Ten years ago--when this picture was taken--Etta Bly was an adventuress in her prime. That was before alcohol and fast living took its toll. She still wears a cocktail hat adorned with a gear that looks like orichalcum (but isn’t) from the soul machinery of Primus, God-Engine and First Cause of the Modrons. It was a gift from a “made man” in the Hell Syndicate when a young Etta was, briefly, his moll. Etta killed the two-timing gangster--wasting a number nine shell from her wonderbuss. She vowed to keep the hat even as she blew her wayward beau a kiss as he was sucked into the blackness of the void, and nonexistence.

But on Mechanus, the values of “revenge,” and “just cause,” have been calculated. In the ten years since, several iterations of hardened, extraplanar expeditionary units have been generated, and the invasion counter is decrementing. Either the soul cog will be returned, or a horde of implacable, improbable contraptions will lay ruin to the world.

A caged sprite in small curio shop. The sprite begs for freedom in a tiny, pitiful voice to anyone that will listen. She also likes sugarcubes like others like cocaine. She was smuggled in from Ealderde, an accidental addition to an illicit shipment of weaponized faerie from the Great War. She knows her warped bethren are loose in the City, imagining themselves behind enemy lines, and planning the commando raid they were shaped for.

A werewolf speeding down a dirt road on a motorcycle. A lonely desert ghost town, plays host to a gang of lycanthropic motorcycle enthusiasts, bored and looking for entertainment.

Warlord Wednesday: The Pit

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 Pit"

Warlord (vol. 1) #40 (January 1981)

Written and Pencilled by Mike Grell; Inked by Bob Smith

Synopsis: Last issue, a visit to Kaambuka and his friend Aram al Ashir, thief turned king, has embroiled Morgan and Shakira in a web of intrigues and assassination plots.

More surprises await when Morgan watches, stunned, as King Ashir's betrothed enters the city--and its his own mate, Tara! An already strange situation takes a grim turn, as Morgan notices two more purpled hooded, flamboyantly dressed assassins in the crowd of on-lookers, and they're headed for Tara.

Morgan vaults from the balcony, and lays into the would-be assassins with his hellfire sword. He grabs one of them and demands to know who sent them, but he’s forced to use the hapless man as a human shield when a rooftop bowman takes a shot at him. Morgan fires back--with his magnum--and he doesn't miss.

The danger over, Morgan’s and Tara’s eyes meet for a moment. It’s fleeting. Then, Tara begins to act as if she doesn’t know him. Ashir runs up and introduces himself, and Morgan. Tara says she's heard of “the Warlord,” and she takes a jab at Morgan and Shakira:

Introductions aside, Tara retires to her quarters to bathe. Ashir is pleased--a beauty like her makes his crown feel less heavy! Morgan is focused on finding out who’s behind the assassination. He stalks off leaving his friends Shakira and Ashir puzzled, as they have no idea why his mood has darkened.

As soon as Morgan’s out of sight of others, he sneaks over to Tara’s room. He wants to find out why she didn’t acknowledge him. Despite his care, as he climbs to the balcony, he’s observed.

Meanwhile, Shakira has ditched Ashir to hunt a mouse in cat-form. She happens to walk by a partially opened door where the conspirators are talking. Their robed leader, a man known as Harrarh, listens to the report of the spy who saw Morgan go to Tara’s room. Harrarh sees this as an opportunity to let Ashir’s friend undo him by breaking the alliance. He calls for the guards loyal to him to be summoned. Shakira tranforms to human form to run away quickly with this new knowledge.

Morgan surprises Tara, who’s been crying in her room. The two long separated lovers embrace. Tara explains that Shamballah’s council of elders forced this marriage to Ashir upon her. They feel an alliance with Kaambuka is vital with the Theran army on the march against them. She hopes she can convince Ashir to abandon the idea of marriage, but still accept the alliance.

Morgan isn’t happy with any of this. If Ashir won’t free Tara from the contract, he says he’ll kill him. Tara points out that would mean certain war, but Morgan says he’s been to war, and never for better reason.

Their conversation is cut short, as Harrarh and a group of guardsman break in to seize the two of them for betraying the king under his own roof. Morgan knows these guards are from the same group as the assassins, and he and Tara  slash into them with their blades.

The guardsmen fall before the pair, and they turn their attention to Harrarh. He fires a magical blast at Morgan, but the Hellfire sword protects its bearer from magic, and Morgan is unharmed. Harrarh throws down a glass globe filled with the a mixture derived from the black lotus. The gas incapacitates our heroes.

When they awaken, they're tied and hanging over Harrarh’s pit. He explains to the assembled lords of Kaambuka that he plans to execute these traitors, and end the rule of a pretender so foolish as to be gulled by them. He exhorts the lords to join him in rebellion.

Morgan threatens to tell the nobles what Harrarh’s been up to, but Harrarh plans to drop him into the pit first.

Both are interrupted by the sudden appearance of Shakira and Ashir with a bow, drawn and aimed at Harrarh. Ashir reveals Harrarh’s plots and assassination attempts, and commands the lords to apprehend him. Harrarh threatens to drop his friends to their doom if he doesn’t stand down. Ashir responds by putting an arrow through his eye. Harrarh’s body topples backwards into the pit, and into the maw of an amorphous, orange, creature.

After Morgan and Tara are freed. Ashir says that after hearing Harrarh, he knows that Tara is Morgan’s mate. He would never dream of separating his friend from his woman. “Take her,” he says. “She’s yours.” Morgan thanks him.

Tara, incensed at being treated like an possession, knocks Morgan flat. When Ashir tries to placate her by kneeling and kissing her hand, she knees him in the jaw. She tells Morgan there was a time when she gave herself to him, but now he must win her.

Then she rides away in a huff.

Morgan changes clothes quickly. Ashir asks what he’s going to do now.

Morgan replies: “What else? I’m going to win her.”

Things to Notice:

• Assassins in Kaambuka don't seem to believe in being inconspicuous.  They tend to dress like circus performers.
• Theran is consistently misspelled "Theron" is this issue.

Where It Comes From:
Pits, particularly with amorphous monstrosities, are a sword and sorcery genre staple, though this may be more common in sword and sorcery comics than prose.

Black lotus is the source of a deadly poison in stories by Robert E. Howard, among them "Tower of the Elephant."

Harrarh may have been inspired by Harrar, an important ancient city in Ethiopia.

Happy Birthday, Robot

Ninety years ago today, the word robot entered the science fiction lexicon. It came by of the Czech language play R.U.R. by Karel Čapek. R.U.R. (Rossum’s Universal Robots) premiered in Prague on January 25, 1921. In the years since, robots have been unceasingly abused, or alternately, unceasingly rebellious against their human masters--at least in fiction.

The word “robot” derives from the Czech word robota which means “work” or “labor,” and figuratively “drudgery.” The word was supposedly suggested by Čapek’s brother, Josef. Over time, it’s all but replaced “automaton” which had been previously used for mechanical beings in English.

Interestingly, the robots in R.U.R. aren’t mechanical, but are instead biological constructs--more like what GURPS (Biotech and Transhuman Space) call bioroids (a term they borrowed from the work of Masamune Shirow)--than Robbie, or R2D2. The play clearly has them constructed, though, not grown like synthetic bioorganisms in other science fiction.

In the world of the City, I think there probably is an island where a scientist from Ealderde, Karel Rozum, has already fired up his vats and molds, and made his first organisms from alchemical protoplasm. He’s got a dungeon full of deformities and malformed monsters, the detritus of working the kinks out in his process. But he’ll get it right, eventually...and then what?

Run Rabbit Run

The City doesn’t have a monopoly on weirdness in the New World. There’s plenty for rural areas as well...

In the west of Freedonia, there exists a population of jackrabbits or hares the size of bison. Locals call them “lagoes” or “leaps.” These animals exist in a fair limited geographic area, but are still occasionally hunted for fur and food, and even used as mounts.

The origins of the lago are obscured. Most experts believe they are the result of some demented thaumaturgical experimentation, but a few consider it possible they are prehistoric survivors, or mutations from accidental exposure to magics of the Ancients.

Lagoes have historical been considered nuisances as they take grazing land away from cattle, and can ravage farmers' fields. Ironically, a use for the beasts’ being discovered--in the form of an interest in their fur for coats and trim for clothing--did more to bring them the brink of extinction that any previous effort. Their relatively fast reproduction rate for such a large animal, combined with the fickleness of fashion saved them.

Natives in the area have a superstitious dread of the animals, believing them to be the reincarnated souls of a gluttonous and grasping ancient tribe.  Folklore of the first settlers likewise takes a negative view, suggesting that they are sometimes infected with a degenerative disease that leads to frenzied attacks against other animals or man in its early stages.  Eating of lago meat is avoided by old trail hands for this reason for fear of contagion.

My Five Favorite Howard Yarns

On Robert E. Howard’s birthday yesterday, I was thinking about my favorite stories by him. It can be tough to choose--there are a lot of good ones to consider. Here, in no particular order, are what I think are my top five:

"Worms of the Earth": Bran Mak Morn, King of the Picts is (almost literally) willing to make a deal with the devil to get revenge on the hated Roman conquers. This is a tour de force by Howard with some great elements--the clash of cultures Howard loved in his historical fiction, a brooding hero, and weird horror.

"Xuthal of the Dusk": Also called "The Slithering Shadow." This may not rank among the best of the Conan stories for most folks, but I love the setting of a lost city full of drug-addled inhabitants awaiting an inevitable--but unpredictable--death from a weird menace. The original title is suitably enigmatic, too.

"Blades of the Brotherhood": Apparently, Howard’s original title was “The Blue Flame of Vengeance,” but I first encountered it under this title in the Marvel 1986 comics adaptation, with great art by Bret Blevins. Solomon Kane takes on a gang of pirates he’s been dogging, as he’s wont to do. Kane gets some great, badass lines, and deeds to match.

"The Shadow of the Vulture": My favorite of Howard’s historical actioners, its got an epic plot that would make a great film. It's got German Ritter Gottfried von Kalmbach with Howard’s real Red Sonya (no “j” or chainmail bikini) against the Turkish Empire, culminating in the siege of Vienna, 1529.

"Queen of the Black Coast": While there are plots, and settings I like better in other Conan tales, there are spots in this story where Howard’s writing really soars, and Conan’s musing on philosophy are great.

Close to these are “Pigeons from Hell,” “Red Nails,” and “People of the Back Circle.” I fact, ask me in a week and one of those will have bumped one the ones above out of a top spot. In fact, in most of Howard’s fantasy stories I find some elements I like even when the whole thing may not work for me.

Happy belated birthday, Bob!

Strange Trails--Free Download

Need a Weird Adventures appetizer?  Well, how about a download to tide you over?

Strange Trails features:

• Eight articles from this blog, some expanded, and all of them annotated and illustrated--including artwork by our man in Manila, Reno Maniquis, and that ostensible cat, Johnathan Bingham.
• An “Appendix N” for the City and its world.
• A shot of flavor fiction to set the mood.

And all for the low, low price of...free.  Get it here.

Release the Hounds

Chronos hounds, or temporal hounds, are extradimensional beings who sometimes hunt the Prime Material Plane. Some ancient tomes hold that these creatures are benevolent, and defend causality and stability against horrors form outside spacetime. Observed behavior of chronos hounds is ambiguous at best, and those who may encounter them are urged to caution.

From a distance, a chronos hound has the silhouette of a large, lean dog. A closer look reveals that the body of the creature is actual more like a human's, perhaps specifically an androgynous youth's, twist and stretched to conform to a canine’s basic arrangement. It's front paws, for example, are slender, human-like hands. The heads of the hound is always blurred and indistinct, as if in constant motion, but there is the suggestion of toothy, canine jaws, and glowing eyes. Hounds appear to be able to speak by telepathy, but also make a garbled sound like the cough and growls of a pack of dogs, as if heard at the other end of long and empty hallway. Their skin is hairless, and the faintly luminescent blue-white of moonlight.

Only in the past decade, has metaphysics developed the proper theoretical framework to understand the chronos hounds--and even now those theories remain controversial. The most brilliant minds in the City hold the hounds to be a wave function which only observation causes to collapse into the form of the creatures described above. Thaumaturgic investigation suggests they serve an eikone called Father Time, or are perhaps extensions of his will. They act to prune "streams" of time and possibility--making reality from probability--toward some inscrutable purpose.

# Enc.: 1d6 (1d6)
Movement: 120’ (40’)
Armor Class: 4
Hit Dice: 4
Attacks: 1 (bite),
Damage: 1d6
Save: F4
Chronos hounds are only visible if they choose to be, prior to acting. Only some rare circumstance keeps a first attack from being by surprise. Their actions in this plane have a stuttering appearance, as if they are teleporting short distances rather than moving normally. Chronos hounds reduced to 0 hit points disappear entirely. Chronos hounds are able to pass through (or around) any physical barrier--or indeed temporal barrier. A combat with them may begin one day, only to have them break off the attack, and re-appear months or even years later.  A first encounter with a chronos hound, maybe not be the true first encounter, from the perspective of the creature's timeline. Whatever subjective amount of time appears to pass in combat with them, 1d100 minutes have based for the world external to the combatants.

The greatest enemies of the chronos hounds are the achronal hyperbeasts, which they will fight to the death when they encounter them. Thankfully, these higher order dimensional monstrosities are seldom encountered on this plane.