The Wild Wood

One tragic loss of the Great War was the area of Grand Lludd known as Wild Wood. Covering a hundred acres of farm and woodland, it was the home of varies species of anthropomorphic animals. Now much of the land has been despoiled, and most of its inhabitants have been killed or displaced.

These creatures were the product of biothaumaturgy and the eccentric genius of one man, Gaspard Mauro. Mauro gained the support of the crown in his endeavors by promising applications of his techniques in creating servitors to free mankind from hazardous labors.

His work never amounted to more than a curiosity.  Still, the Queen herself was quite fond of them, and on the occasion of her eighty-ninth birthday had a group of the animal-folk perform for her. There is one wax-cylinder recording said to exist of their cheeful, high-pitched singing.

Most of the animal-folk appear to have died in bombing during the war. There is evidence that some burrowing species may have survived, and there are worrisome reports that rats, taken to Communalitarianism, may have absconded with some of Mauro's notes, and are now undertaking a program of evolution and revolution among the rodent underclass of several cities.

The Life Aquatic

A merman and his landwoman bride.  Grand Lludd, 5825.

In the waters west of Ibernia, ship passengers occasionally glimpse and wonder at light in the depths. These are the lights Undersea, municipality of the mer-folk. Part of the empire of Grand Lludd, the citizens of Undersea have never been Her Preserved Majesty’s most loyal servants. Only the threat of submarine bombardment has stifled open rebellion at times. Still, in these hard years following the Great War, land and sea need each other too much for such squabbles.

The mer-folk are not to be confused with mermaids, despite similarity in names. Those half-fish creatures (and wholly nonhuman, whatever their appearance) are more akin to faerie. Mer-folk look, for the most part, like surface humans except for a slight bluish tint to their skin, eyes a little larger than usual, webbed hands, and a slight tendency to barrel-chestedness--though its common for portrayals of them in art to exaggerate their inhumanness. So little apparent difference for beings naturally inhabiting great depths and pressures hint at the subtle magics that have been used to adapt them to a submarine life. Scientists suggest this points to them being an engineered race, perhaps derived from Meropian stock. Mer-folk find this whole line of speculation dull, and are largely unconcerned with their own origins.

Perhaps its this lack of curiosity, among other traits, that has led to the common Lluddish stereotype of Mer-folk as thickwitted. They're also held to quick-tempered and lascivious (a judgement perhaps derived from their indifferent attitude toward clothing--at least in the seas). Mer-folk don’t drink (at least not in their usual habitat) but their men tend to enjoy licking certain sea slugs for an intoxicant effect, and singing (it can be called that) gurgling, warbling shanties, while their women perform suggestive, water ballet-like dances.

Though they are limited in the areas of metallurgy, chemcal, and alchemical sciences, the mer-folk are not utter primitives.  They use magic to shape stone for buildings, and have either used animal husbandry or magic to enhance the abilities of sea creatures for their use.  The lantern jellyfish sometimes seen in aquariums are best known example. 

On land, mer-folk must wear something like reverse diving suits--pressurized suits filled with water--unless they have access to magic aid. They're able to breath air, but the exertion quickly tires them and it's uncormfortable for more than a half-hour or so. Their skin quickly dries out in air, as well.  The use of heavy suits isn't as cumbersome as it might seem as mer-folk are stronger than a surface human of comparable size.

There are some mer-folk enclaves in the New World. The largest of these are in New Lludd, there mer-folk are involved in fishing, and the Southron coast where they engage in sponge harvesting, as well.

Elven Chick? How 'Bout a Giantess?

A trip to the Smaragdine Mountains of the Strange New World can get a guy killed--particularly if the guy in question winds up peeping at a beauteous hill-billy giantess while she is bathing, and even more particularly if the protective father of said giantess is somewhere abouts when this peeping occurs.

llicit peeping related dangers aside, the Smaragdines have other hazards to offer. The inbred (and ill-tempered) ogres are around as well. They're often purveyors of bootleg alchemicals, but they don’t sell to those they don’t know, and stranger and “revenuer” are equivalent states in the dim, ogre mind.

Then they are conjure-folk. Nominally human, conjure-folk (or witch-folk) have made dark bargains for magical powers. Bargains that have made them more--and less--than regular humanity. They prefer the rural Smaragdines for the isolation they provide but also because nodes of greater magical energy are more common their than elsewhere. The skin that separates the material plane from the outer dark is easier to prick or pierce.

So why would anyone else want to go to the Smaragdines? Well, besides the scenic beauty, there’s mineral wealth to be exploited in the mountains, and the companies that do so often hire adventurers as muscle or troubleshooters. Law enforcement tries to stamp out illicit alchemical trade, and criminal types want to bring these same wares to market in the cities. Finally, there are the more unusual cases: academics looking to prove various theories in a variety of fields of study, or rich hunters looking to bag an exotic monster, or even Heliotrope talent scouts looking for the next it girl.

Maybe one about nine feet tall.

Illustration above by Reno Maniquis for Weird Adventures.

Weird Adventures: The City Mapped

Here’s the City area map for Weird Adventures, courtesy of the cartographic talents of Anthony Hunter.

Like all metropolises, the City grew by engulfing a myriad of hamlets, villages, and towns along the way.  It spread out from a humble Dwergen fort and trading post across what is now Empire Island, then beyond. Across the Rivers Wyrd and Eldritch, the most resistant of these entities had already grown strong by gobbling up smaller settlements, themselves. These couldn’t be fully conquered, they had to be accommodated, and so they became the other four baronies.

The “barony” title is now a relic, but at one time was quite literal. All of these areas began as domain grants to prominent adventurers by the Queen of Grand Lludd or (earlier) the Syndics of Gulden. Marquesa, for example, still bears the assumed (but not granted) noble title of its original ruler. Shancks was a name bestowed by the enigmatic, master assassin (one who's head existed only partially in this plane, but that's another story) who was the area’s first fief-holder. Empire Island’s name reflects the aspirations of its audacious conqueror.

The remaining two baronies were named for local features. Lichmond was the site of a group of burial mounds of the Ancients. Rookend was named for the dens of thieves, cutthroats, and smugglers (“rookeries” in the parlance of the day), that once squatted on its shore.

Warlord Wednesday: X

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...

"X"

Warlord (vol. 1) #46 (June 1981)

Written and Illustrated by Mike Grell; inked by Romeo Tanghal

Synopsis: Morgan, Aton, and Shakira arrive at the coast at the wreck of the Lady J, Jennifer Morgan’s ship. Morgan says they should split up to search for her, Aton going south, and Morgan and Shakira, north. If either finds her, alive or dead, they plan to bring her to Shamballah.

Morgan gallops off, and as Aton watches him go he pities his leader for the hardships the fates have brought him. What Aton doesn’t know is that Morgan's restless, warrior’s heart relishes this--the dangers and challenges to come...

One of those dangers presents itself soon in the form of one of Skartaris’ orange carnosaurs. The beast charges. Morgan draws and fires right into its maw. The bullet blasts through its skull, killing it instantly, but its momentum sends it crashing into Morgan, Shakira, and their mount, toppling them all.

Morgan is briefly unconscious, but as he awakens in a daze, he sees his old friend--sexy, personified Death--in front of him:

Morgan follows her gesture and sees Shakira (in cat form) lying apparently lifeless! Morgan cries out in denial as he sees Shakira's human spirit rise to follow Death. He staggers to his feet to go after them. He calls to his friend, but she doesn’t heed him. They pass through doors in the mouth of a cave, emblazoned with the legend: “Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here.”

Morgan follows without hesitation. His mind reels as he enters a a subterranean realm of evil where demonic beings use humans as play things. He hesistates only a moment before following his companion’s path.

The doors slam shut behind him, and Morgan is accosted by the shades of previous enemies--Shebal, Stryker, and Chakal in the fore. They’ve been awaiting for Morgan. Waiting for revenge.

Morgan doesn’t waste time fighting the already dead. He takes a leap of faith into the pit of flame below while calling out Death’s name: “Azrael!” She hears him:

Morgan demands she return Shakira. Death calls him “my love” and declares him a faithful servant, but denies him. He bargains with her, offering his life in exchange. Again Death denies him, saying he serves her too well to take now, but she gives a counter-offer: ten years off his life is her price.

Morgan agrees. Death strikes him, causing a scar like a Roman numeral ten to appear on his breast--a symbol of their deal.

She shows him Shakira in the grip of a serpentine demon, and says: “Save her if you can.”

Morgan jumps from her hand. He cuts down the demon, then takes up Shakira in his arms. Fighting of off more demons, he makes his way back to the great doors, barely ahead of his pursuers. Once through, he makes it back to his mount before collapsing.

He awakens with Shakira’s hand on his shoulder. She’s relieved he’s alive; she thought the lizard had killed him. Shakira remembers nothing of what happened, and Morgan might chalk it up to a blow to his head himself.

Except for the X-shaped scar in his chest.

Things to Notice:

• The cover illustration bears no relationship to this issue, but is a reasonable facsimile of last issue's events.
• Death (or Azrael) returns.  We last saw her in issue #14.
• Orange dinosaurs stll abound in Skartaris.

Where It Comes From:
See my commentary on issue #14 for my thoughts on Grell's depiction of Death.  New here is a name for her--Azrael.  This is the name of the Archangel of Death in some traditions, including some Islamic and Judaic lore.

The legend on the doors to the underworld ("Abandon all hope, ye who enter here") is a common translation of the Italian phrase "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate," which is the inscription over the gates of Hell in the Inferno section of Dante Alighieri's fourteenth-century epic poem, The Divine Comedy.  Grell also has Deimos use this quote back in issue #6.


Several previous Warlord foes appear as undead here.  Shebal is the gladiator trainer from issue #2, Stryker, the CIA agent from issues #4 and 13, and Chakal is the mercenary who gains a cybernteic arm from issues #25-27.

In Any Language

In my collection, I have two role-playing games that I am unable to read because they're in non-English languages.  Both of them I bought for their gorgeous art.  One of these games is the 6th edition of the venerable Swedish fantasy rpg, Drakar och Demoner ("Dragons and Demons").

This edition, published in 2000, is set in the world of Trudvang, which (perhaps unsurprisingly) has a strong "Northern thing" going for it (though I gather this something of a departure from more generic fantasy in previous editions).  Check this out:

The whole thing is in sepia which is nicely evocative.  The art avoids the sins of modern D&D art, thought it hardly could be said to be "old school."  Instead, its perhaps more classical illustration in style.

Here are a couple of the PC races:

Trollish races:

Of course, those are all my best guesses of what those images illustrate. I can't read the text.

Pretty pictures, though.

Will Eisner's Spirit

Yesterday (as Google kindly pointed out) would have been the 94th birthday of graphic storytelling giant. Will Eisner. Eisner was the author of numerous comics and graphic novels, but his most famous creation, The Spirit, appeared in newspapers.

The domino masked crime-fighter known as the Spirit appeared in June 1940 in a syndicated Sunday newspaper supplement. The strip would continue in that format until October 1952. Later, Kitchen Sink Press and DC Comics would bring the Spirit into traditional comic book format--and of course there was the movie that should have been called Frank Miller’s Spirit since it bore only a passing similarity to Eisner’s work.

The most interesting thing about The Spirit was the way the stories were told. Unlike conventional hero comics, the Spirit was often merely an observer or a minor player in the events depicted--which were frequently character studies or musing on aspects of urban life. Sure there was a good bit of violence, noir crime, and femmes fatale a plenty, but there was also a good deal of humor. All of this was delivered in a visual style showing a greater sophistication and awareness of techniques from film than most other artists of the era.

The Spirit would be good inspiration for many sort of urban campaigns, particular in the pulp and low-powered supers genres. It certainly had an influence on the City, both directly, and  indirectly through Moore and Veitch’s Spirit homage, Greyshirt.