The Wonderbuss

Magical blunderbuss-type firearms were used by some wealthy Dwergen in their early conquest of the Strange New World. The weapons gave these sorcerously inept folk help against the shamans of the Natives and the thaumaturgists of rival Grand Lludd. Today, these antiques sometimes find their way into the hands of adventurers--in this world, and perhaps others.

Though they were manufactured in a variety of styles, they’re all muzzle-loading weapons with short, large caliber barrels and flared muzzles. They all can fire relatively normal projectiles of appropriate size (provided there is gun powder) , but their real power lies in specially designed spherical ammunition called “shells.” Interestingly, it appears likely that it was the prior existence of these magical shells which spurred the development of the gun, and not the other way around. No one knows who originally designed the shells, nor for what weapon.

Thaumaturgists (with alchemical aid) can manufacture new shells, but the process is tedious and expensive, so they tend to be rare. Sometimes, a supply is found in Ancient ruins or even other planes. The shells are classified by number, which denotes their effect. All shells of the same number historically tend to be of similar appearance, and modern manufacturers have kept with this tradition. Shells don’t not require gunpowder.

Magic Blunderbuss (Wonderbuss)
Dmg: 1d10 or special; Rof: 1/2 ; Range: 50’/100’/300’

Shells: (all spell references per the SRD)
#1: appears to be a lead ball, but too light for its apparently size. +1 weapon; Dmg. 1d12.  These are 80% of all shells found.
#2: brass-appearing. Casts two shadows, one distinct the other shimmering like heat-haze. Leaves a fiery streak when fired. 4d6 fire damage.
#3: appears to be a steel sphere etched with three 7-pointed stars. +2 to hit, 2d8 points of damage.  These are 5% of shells found.
#4: glass, containing a roiling green liquid. On a successful strike creates an Acid Fog as per spell.
#5: glass, faintly glowing and warm like the mantle of a lantern. Acts as the spell Sunburst, though it misfires on a roll of 1-2 on 1d6, and only does 1d10 damage.
#6: smoked glass. Faint moans can be heard within. Target’s soul is imprisoned on sucessful hit as per Magic Jar.
#7: silver and etched with glyphs which seem to shift when its not being watched. 1d10, deals double damage to lycanthropes, and extraplanar beings of evil. These are 5% of shells found.
#8: white, with the look of fine china, cool to the touch. Explodes for 5d6 damage in a 20 ft. radius.  Sleeping near (2 ft.) of one of these shells has a 75% chance of causing a ringing in the ears (leading to a penalty for rolls to detect things by hearing) lasting 1-4 days after removal of the shell from that distance.  Wrapping the shell in cloth will prevent this effect.
#9: appears as a flawless sphere of obsidian. Acts as a Sphere of Annihilation, though it can’t be moved, and exists only for 1 round before winking out.

Some scholars believe that more shell types are yet to be discovered.

Untrue North

An arctic of only (now melting) ice is sort of boring, don’t you think? At least in comparison to the flights of Age of Exploration fancy. Why settle for just ice when you could have a magnetic Black Rock, a swirling whirlpool, and islands of pygmies? Check out this 1595 map:

Gerard Mercator’s (yes, that Mercator) based his maps and his descriptions in a letter to John Dee off older works. He describes a landmass divided into four lands by channeled through which water rushed into the whirlpool surrounding the Pole, and.”descends into the earth just as if one were pouring it through a filter funnel.” This unusual geography supposedly led to the deaths of 4,000 men from the expedition King Arthur had sent to the islands.

At the pole itself, in the center of the maelstrom, was a giant black, a mountain, Rupes Nigra--the Black Precipice. As Mercator writes: “Its circumference is almost 33 French miles, and it is all of magnetic stone. And is as high as the clouds...” It’s magnetism was said draw ships made with iron nails to their doom.

After reading about all of this, I think I know what the North Pole of the City’s world is like...

The Black Train is Coming

“A black train runs some nights at midnight, they say..”

-- Manly Wade Wellman, “The Little Black Train”

Hobo-goblins, human tramps and bindlestiffs, and other Bethren of the Road, tell stories in their camps and jungles of a preternatural train that runs from this world to planes beyond. This lore is seldom shared with those outside their communities, but folklore records regular folk having chance encounters with the phantom.

The appearance of the train changes with time. It always appears old, like it has a decade or two of service behind it behind it, but otherwise stays current with locomotive technology and styles. It's not marked in any way, and has been described by observers in paradoxical ways. It’s plain and nondescript, yet powerfully commands intention. Some feel an intense unreality upon seeing it, others the cold hand of fear.

The train starts on mundane tracks, but as soon as it's "out of sight" of its observers it begins to shift into other realms. Some dreamers have seen it crossing the lunar wastes from the vantage of the parapets of the Dream Lord's castle. It is known to make stops in depots in the Hells. Planar travelers have attested to seeing rails that fade into nothingness at the mouth of the gyre at the bottom of reality.

Mostly, it seems carry certain dead to the afterlife, though why it comes for some and not others is unknown. Hell Syndicate snitches know of it, but not who operates it. Angels likewise keep a serene silence. Most who ride the train are dropped off in the waystation realm of the dead, from there to travel on to their souls' final destination.  Some, however, are taken directly to the outer planes. Others seem to ride the train for longer periods of time. They're found snoozing in couch cars, or drinking and playing cards in the dining car. Waiting, perhaps, for something. They’re sometimes inclined to conversation, though they seldom have anything useful to say.

Adventurers have sometimes used the train as a quick ride, either to the Other Side, or the Outer Planes. Hobo-goblin glyphs sometimes point the way to likely places were the train may appear. The train’s gray, nondescript, and seldom seen staff do not object to taking on new passengers, so long as they pay the fare--which varies, but is always in silver.

There's always the option, for those with fare or without, of hopping one of the train’s empty freight cars, but riding an open car through other planes is a dangerous proposition, and the boxcars are only empty of freight--not necessarily other travelers.

Naturalism of the Fantastic

Wanting to create your own unique wildlife a la the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs, or just wanting to get outside your usual monster manuals? Here are a few choice works of speculative nonfiction from my own shelves that you might consider adding to yours:

It’s 50 million years in the future: Do you know where your species is? Answer: Extinct. But hey, check out Dougal Dixon’s speculations about what crazy wildlife might have emerged in that far flung age in After Man: A Zoology of the Future. How about whale-like animals evolved from penguins, or large carnivores descended from mustelids (weasels, and their ilk)? Check out wikipedia for a complete rundown.

After Man won a Hugo Award when it was published in 1981. It has been out of print for a while, so it may be hard to come by, but worth getting if you can find it cheap.

Easier to find, is a more recent (but similar) work by Dixon, this one tied into a 2003 BBC documentary miniseries. The Future is Wild details evolution on earth over a span of 200 million years, checking in at three different periods. Again this is a world post-mankind. Here we get pack-hunting, flightless birds, terrestrial squids called swampuses, and the slithersucker--a predatory slime mold.

Dixon doesn’t have a monopoly on speculative naturalism. Conceptual designers for movies get into the game, too. For those of you who’ve wondered what’s so hard about pulling the ears off a gundark, or what exactly a scruffy nerfherder herds, Whitlach and Carrau provide answers to these questions, and many others, in The Wildlife of Star Wars. It’s far from bantha poodoo.

The World of King Kong gives us an isolated island where dinosaurs got 65 million (give or take) more years of evolution--which turns out mostly to be in the direction of “scary” and “more dangerous.” They share their inhospitable island home with all sorts of invertebrates grown larger than conventional science would say they ought to. And then there’s that giant gorilla everybody’s talking about..

So there you have it, plenty of creative creature inspiration. Enjoy.

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?