So...Pictures?

Here's more visual inspiration from the world of the City.

Okay, so this is a quick post.  I got back into town yesterday evening to find my house without power, which didn't get repaired until late, and the whole event lead to the loss of a couple of pieces of electronics.  Modern magics fail us sometimes!

Anyway, back to the Strange New World...

Black dust zombies are a constant danger in the Dustlands.

Tales overheard in a dockside tavern: Captain Clanton and the Girl Revolutionaries of Javasu.

It was a death-trap.  Four adventurers lost their lives there in the month of Swelter alone.

A succubus madam. Hell Syndicate middle management.

A Fist Full of Nonfiction

Here are some nonfiction recommendations I’ve rustled up from my collection with an eye toward the Western genre. Given the broad influence of Western tropes, though, there’s some ammunition here for your post-apocalyptic, space opera and even traditional fantasy games, too.

The Encyclopedia of Weird Westerns lets loose with both barrels on that very genre-blending tendency. It catalogs instances of science fiction and fantasy elements showing up in Westerns in all media--and vice versa. This means it terms “Western” pretty broadly, so the rational for including some of the entries is tenuous at best. The other downside is it is the entries are pretty short; it’s a catalog not an in-depth discussion. Still, having all this esoterica in one place makes for easy idea mining.

Staying on the encyclopedia trail, around the next bend we find another McFarland & Co. offering, Spaghetti Westerns: the Good, the Bad And the Violent. This bills itself as a “comprehensive filmography”--though some Amazon reviews have noted it to be plagued by quite a few errors. Still, for the casual browser (particularly one looking for game inspiration) its brief descriptions and discussions of a whole lot of films--including lists of series characters like Django and Sartana--is pretty cool.

Once all the hard riding’s done, we can sit at the saloon and let director (and spaghetti western enthusiast) Alex Cox regal us with 10,000 Ways to Die--which is not only a cool title, but an interesting work of criticism on the genre. Cox gives his insights and research on several films, some of which are on the more obscure side. He also offers up a lot of criticism of Clint Eastwood, and some grousing about Sergio Leone, but that’s the sort of thing one get when you get one (rather opinionated) guy’s take on things.

In a similar vein, Christopher Frayling’s Spaghetti Westerns: Cowboys and Europeans from Karl May to Sergio Leone, is another interesting overview, but its even more “film class” in style and so probably less useful as inspiration. Frayling’s axes ground are different than Cox’s--he’s got little good to say about American Westerns inspired by Spaghetti Westerns, and a whole lot of good things to say about Segio Leone.

Weird Adventures: Imperfect Union

Courtesy of the cartographic skills of Anthony Hunter at Battleaxes & Beasties, here’s a look at the Union, a political body of the Strange New World. It’s presented here without the full key, but many of the denoted places of interested we’ve already visited: Motorton, the Red Dwarf’s city (4), the ogre-haunted Smaragdine Mountains (6), the perilous Grand Chasm (11), San Tiburon, where dwells the King (maybe) of the New World (13), and of course, the City (1).

The Union, itself is a confederation of former Ealderdish colonies, formed for their mutual protection after they were abandoned by the great colonial powers (who were distracted by one of their interminable wars). It’s founding states were the New Lludd Counties, the City and its client municipalities, and the Southron Shires. The Union was designed to have no strong executive, instead vesting its power in a bicameral Union Congress.

The General Assembly (the larger house), has three representatives from each member state, elected by popular vote, though the means by which the slate of candidates is arrived at varies from state to state. The General Assembly is presided over by a speaker elected by the assembly members. The speaker still holds the ceremonial “Speaking Stick” (in appearance, something like a fraternity paddle or cricket bat inscribed with runes), but trials by combat are now a rarely invoked a parliamentary tool.

The smaller house is really a committee, empowered to make urgent decisions--originally defined as times when the Assembly was not in session, but now with a wider application. The committee has one representative from each state, but the number of “votes” they command is based on the population of the state. Each is appointed by their respective state government, but must be approved by acclamation of the Assembly. The chairman of the committee is not officially a representative of any state, and is instead appointed by the Assembly. Decisions of the committee must ultimately be approved by the Assembly, but details need not be publicly debated, and so mostly aren’t.

The seat of the Union government is Phratropolis, a city built with embedded wards and protections in an attempt to shield lawmakers from sorcerous influence.

Idylls of the Vagrant King

The city of San Tiburon gives deference to a peculiar character, a vagrant who claims to be king of the New World. No one knows for certain how long he has occupied his hilly and often fog-cloaked capital; for certain it has been thirty years, but old-timers have difficulty recalling a time when they were without his shabby, yet regal presence. Many recollect some small, strange miracle associated with a chance meeting, or an off-hand but profound bit of wisdom he offered in passing which they've carried with them since.

The King of the Union, Protector of Borea, and Suzerain of Zingaro (as he styles himself, formally) is Josiah Pellam, a man of uncertain background. His diction and erudition suggest a significant level of education, but his accent is slippery and can’t be placed exactly. He’s often given to archaic and flowery speech which perhaps makes this all the more difficult. He dresses in cast-off clothing, but somehow manages to find well-decorated, second-hand uniforms from past decades, and styles his beard like an Ealderdish aristocrat from the same era. When he talks about his past, it is only in oblique references to the weightiness of crowns upon heads, and the tiresomeness of destiny.

He walks with a pronounced limp, favoring his right leg.. “An old wound,” he will say. "A dolorous stroke."

Even King Pellam’s admirers must admit that he’s quite mad. He raves wild-eyed at times, like a man in delirium tremens, about a monster--a Beast Glatisant, he calls it--which sometimes he hunts, and sometimes is hunted by, but only he can see, though some have claimed to hear its weird, yelping cries in the distance. He knights folk at random, selecting them for perilous and important quests--visiting adventurers are favorites. Particularly important to him is the finding of a grail, which can heal his wound and by extension his kingdom.

Pellam is not without powers. Hardened killers have come for him, and in the end turned their guns on themselves instead. Magic cast directly against him seems to dissipate. The city itself seems to accomodate and protect him. Distances shorten at his royal whim, and those who irritate him or wish him harm, find themselves lost on unfamiliar streets.

The people of San Tiburon provide for their lord’s needs by allowing him and his honor guard (two mongrel dogs of unusual intelligence) to eat from any establishment in the city free, command passage on city cable cars, and to use his royal scrip to purchase small goods. They don’t burden him unduly with the problems of day to day governance, but each newly elected mayor and city council visits him to ask permission to take up their elected roles. 

The King sometimes disparages the old shark god, the city's ancient genius loci, still said to hunt the cold waters outside its harbor, but he seldom ventures out on the wharves, and never onto watercraft, perhaps out of grudging respect for his rivals powers.

Warlord Wednesday: War

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...

"War"

Warlord (vol. 1) #42 (February 1981)

Writing and art by Mike Grell

Synopsis: Morgan and Shakira ride through the Forest of Ebondar, nearing the city of Shamballah. Everywhere, they find the signs of war; the countryside is battle-scarred and depopulated. A distant growl makes Morgan decide to climb a tree for a better vantage point. He sees a grim Theran army on the march, pulling a giant battering ram.

“The hounds of war are loosed upon the land.” And Morgan admits. he’s longed for it.

Shakira asks why men make war upon each other. Morgan replies that the Therans make war to subjugate those they deem inferior, and the Shamballans make war to resist the chains of tyranny. And Morgan? He once had a dream that all Skatarians could be free and equal. Maybe that dream still burns within him, somewhere, he tells her. Or maybe he just loves it when “the scent of blood and the sound of battle are in the air and a stout blade” is n his hand.

Morgan means to enter Shamballah and join his mate, Tara, in battle. Shakira points out that the city is besieged; there’s no way in--it’s a hopeless gesture. Morgan replies:

This is how Grell describes Morgan’s entrance to the city:

“Straight into the face of death plunges the man called the Warlord, his mighty blade clutched in a powerful hand that swings death in a glittering arc of destruction! No ordinary man this, but the mightiest warrior ever to stride the savage world of Skartaris!”

Amazingly, Morgan’s ferocity and speed almost win the day. He’s nearly cut through the Theran lines when his steed trips, and he’s thrown to the ground. Unhorsed and badly outnunmbered, one might think he’s done, but Grell tells us:

“In the aftermath of the battle, those fortunate enough to be nearby and still survive would report the strange warrior smiled savagely in the face of death and clutched a blade that pulsed and throbbed with inhuman power! And then...All hell broke loose!”

Shouting the name “Tara,” Morgan cuts a swath through the soldiers and back to his horse. He retreats back into the forest, but not before an arrow goes through his left shoulder.

Safe in the jungle, Morgan stops so his horse can drink in a pool. Through the haze of pain, he hears a murmuring--and realizes it comes from the hellfire sword. “What does it take to quench your unholy thirst?” Morgan asks of it. For a moment, it seems to squirm in his grasp, and the grim light of its jewel seems to burn within his soul, as well--but only for a moment. Morgan shakes it off and sheathes the blade.

Knowing what must be done, Morgan grabs the shaft of the arrow protruding from his shoulder and pulls it the rest of the way through. He passes out from the pain.

Miles away, Morgan’s daughter, Jennifer, also lies unconscious in a life raft washed up on shore. She had been the only survivor of the wreck of the Lady J. She’s found by the mysterious man who talks to the wooden box he carries on his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Morgan too is discovered--by Shakira. She carries something wrapped in a skin. Morgan asks how long he was out, and if the city still stands. Shakira replies that it hasn’t fallen--yet. Morgan asks why she came back. Shakira hands him the item in the skin, saying, “I thought you could use this.”

Morgan discovers its a laser rifle from the Atlantean armory they discovered. Shakira had gone back for it. And then:

Morgan asks if this is goodbye. Shakira says that if she knows him, they’ll probably meet again sooner than he thinks. She transforms into a cat an scampers off. Morgan mounts up.

Ever one for the direct approach, Morgan charges in again, just like the first time. With the laser in one hand and the hellfire sword in the other, he fights his way to Shamballah’s gates. He calls to soldiers on a parapet, and soon the gates open to admit him--their salvation, the Warlord.

Morgan is greeted by the Council of Elders, but he’s only interested in one thing: where’s Tara? The Elders say she hasn’t returned from Kaambuka. Morgan, horrified, realizes what that means--his mate is the captive of the Therans!

Things to Notice:

• Shakira and Morgan share a kiss for the first time.
• Jennifer Morgan resurfaces for the first time since issue #38.
• Remember the Therans were marching to war? We last saw them attack Shamballah in issue #30.

Where It Comes From:
Largely this issue signals the culmination of a lot of plot-threads that have been dangling for the about a year of publication time.

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...