Real Dungeon: Paris Underdark

Modern stylings aside, he looks like an adventurer, doesn't he?  That's the sort of person you'd expect to find beneath a great city in old--and often forbidden--tunnels, wherein there's a house of bones, it's entrance bearing the legend: "Stop, this is the Empire of Death."

Everybody's heard of the Catacombs of Paris, the subterranean ossuary and tourist attraction. Morbid spectacle it may be, but its only small part of Paris’ underground tunnel system, all part of the Carrières de Paris--the Quarries of Paris--a network of abandoned limestone and gypsum mines reaching back to the 12th Century.

Only the area of the Catacombs is now open to the public, but it's just a part of the potentially accessible area of the quarries. Delvers known as cataphiles make a hobby of illegal entry into these other tunnels--if not for treasure, at least for adventure.

Here’s a map of a portion of the quarries. It probably helps if you read French...

...or maybe you can just think of it as some suitably accent tongue.

An interative map and a number of pictures can be found at the National Geographic website, and more cool maps can be found in this months issue.

Warlord Wednesday: Berserk

It's Wednesday, and another installment of my issue by issue examination of DC Comic's Warlord, the earlier installments of which can be found here...

"Berserk"

Warlord (vol. 1) #43 (March 1981)

Written and Pencilled by Mike Grell, Inked by Bob Smith

Synopsis: Morgan has fought his way into a Shamballah beseiged by the Theran army, only to find Tara has been captured by the enemy. The enemy, however, is unaware they have Shamballah’s queen in their hands, taking her for some common wench.

Within Shamballah’s walls, Morgan has surmised this, based on the fact the Therans have yet to ask for their surrender. With Morgan’s laser rifle, the Shamballan Elder thinks they should issue an ultimatum--but the rifle is almost out of charge. It will only be useful in a bluff, Morgan thinks, but maybe he can use it to leverage a deal. The Council of Elders balks at talk of deal-making, but Morgan doesn’t want to hear it:

Morgan’s got a plan. He leads the elder to the subterranean complex beneath the city. It’s been flooded, but Morgan wants volunteers to swim through, outflank the Therans and take them by surprise.

Shortly, Morgan leads a small contingent into the Theran camp, where he’s greeted by the commander, Kaatar Shang. Morgan reminds him he’s seen what the laser weapon can do. Why not save further bloodshed by a single combat? If Morgan wins, the Therans leave and release their captives. If Kaatar Shang wins, then the city is his.

After hearing that Morgan won’t use his laser rifle, Kaatar Shang agrees. Laughing, he calls forth the Theran champion, Brador:

Brador attacks, landing blow after savage blow. Tara watches, not knowing why her mate allows himself to be battered without fighting back. At the same time, beneath Skartaris, the Shamballan volunteers make the swim. Soon, they emerge at a point behind Theran lines.

In the Theran camp, Brador’s blow collapses Morgan’s already bent shield, knocking him to the ground. Kaatar Shang tells Brador to finish him.

As Brador raises his weapon, Morgan sees a flaming arrow flash across the sky behind him. It’s the signal he’s been waiting for! His hellfire sword cuts down Brador in one stroke.

The Shamballans emerge from the forest for a surprise attack, and the rest of their army pours forth from the city gates. Hearing their battle cries, Kaatar Shang realizes who his captive is. He grabs the laser pistol and holds Tara at gunpoint.

Morgan only smiles, and reaches for his pistol. Kaatar tries to fire--finds the gun is useless. Morgan shoots him in the face. He frees Tara, who takes up a sword, and the two join the battle.

As soldiers fall before them, the hellfire sword drinks deep of their blood. It’s influence creeps into Morgan’s soul, causing him to exult in the slaughter. He almost beheads a surrendering Theran, but Tara stays his hand.

That breaks the sword’s spell over him. He realizes it's dark influence, and rejects it. Impulsively, he tosses the sword into a nearby lake, from which a glowing hand rises to grasp it, and draw it below.

After the battle, Tara and Morgan share a kiss while standing on a parapet receiving the adulation of Shamballah’s people. Aton rides in on horse back, carrying Morgan’s banner, and calls out to the Warlord. Morgan angrily tells him he doesn’t want to hear it now.

Later, Tara awakens to find Morgan not in bed beside her, and knows what is to come. She peers through the door left ajar, and sees Morgan talking with Aton. He gives Morgan a piece of the wreckage from the Lady J, Jennifer Morgan's ship. Morgan says he has no choice--he has to find his daughter. He turns to see Tara watching. She smiles sadly, and shuts the door. Morgan lowers his head with tears in his eyes.

Soon, he and Aton are galloping out of the city.

Things to Notice:

• Morgan wears a slightly different outfit to go to war.
• Where did four-armed Brador come from?
• The Shamballan underground complex makes a return appearance.

Where It Comes From:
Kaatar Shang's name may have been inspired by Matai Shang, a villainous Thern, in Edgar Rice Burroughs' tales of Barsoom.  Brador's four-armed form somewhat resembles the Green Martians from the same series.

Morgan's casting of the hellfire sword into a body of water echoes events at the end of Le Morte d'Arthur, where Sir Bedivere, at Arthur's command, tosses Excalibur into a lake where it's caught by the Lady of the Lake.

Against Chaos

When the City was only a Dwergen fort on a swampy island, religious separatists from Grand Lludd were founding their own states some leagues to the north. These groups were sometimes derisively called “Sticklers” in their native country, but they called themselves the Lawful. Though their religion has disappeared in the centuries since, they left their mark on the New Lludd colonies they founded.

The Lawful took their name from their belief that existence was a struggle between the forces of Law (the living spirit of the commandments of God) and Chaos (everything non-godly). They opposed what they believed to be the excesses and superstitious ritual of Oecumenical Hierarchate, but also its softer stance on the practice of magic. They also rejected the worldliness of their homeland--the imbibing of strong drink, dancing, and merriment in general. The situation became intolerable when Gloriana became queen, and begin patronizing the thaumaturgical arts. It was even rumored that she was of fae-blood---a race inherently aligned with Chaos, and thus the Devil!

Their witch-hunting and monster-slaying was not as much appreciated as it had been in this new more permissive era. The Lawful sought a way to leave corrupt Grand Lludd behind and start afresh in the New World, where they hoped to build the perfect society.

Their first task was girding themselves for war. They had heard stories of the the New World, and knew it to be as infected by magic and godlessness as their homeland. And so, lead by their greatest holy warriors--their paladins--they set sail to bring the dominion of Law to the Chaos of the wilderness.

Things didn’t go exactly as they planned. They built settlements, slayed monsters and cleared ancient ruins, true, but the Strange New World infected them as well. Witches and warlocks (their terms for sorcerers) emerged among them, and they couldn’t ferret them all out. Contact with the Natives, Black folk, and other Ealderdish colonists softened their strict ways.

Today, the Lawful are mostly seen as just as quaint part of New Lludd’s past. Still, there are rumors of some families--and perhaps even whole villages--that keep to the hold ways. Stern folk living almost monastic lives, who believe they’re still in a holy war against Chaos, and so train their children generation after generation to take up arms against monsters and magic.

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.