Every Picture Tells a Story

More pictures (and more stories) from the world of the City...

Make one crazy wildcatter sell his claim? Yeah, It seemed like easy money. Nobody mentioned the golem.

"Come now, that’s unfair! You must appreciate that I have devoted my life to the study of thaumatobotany. And now, the change to cultivate and study such a rare specimen...Well, surely you would agree that in the pursuit of knowledge sacrifices must be made."

Chair horrors are another one of those products of an obviously deranged wizard’s imagination. They're incredibly tenacious and patient killers.  This is the one that got Tussman. It must have got his scent in a ski lodge five years ago, but finally killed him in the trophy room of the hunter's club in the last week.

Specimen 223.  It’s no ordinary simian skull--that was certain from the beginning. There’s the intermittent glow, of course. That’s what got it into the museum. The lascivious atavism it seems to induce in those in its proximity for extended periods was what got it confiscated--but not before some racy headlines were made.

Warlord Wednesday: By Ice and Fire (part 2)

Continuing with the 50th issue, let's re-enter the lost world with my issue by issue examination of DC Comic's Warlord, the earlier installments of which can be found here...

"By Ice and Fire"

Warlord (vol. 1) #50 (October 1981)

Written and Illustrated by Mike Grell; inked by Bob Smith

Synopsis: When we last left Skartaris, Deimos had just opened a portal for an audience with the Evil One of the Age of Wizard Kings. Deimos begs a boon of the diabolic appearing sorcerer. The Evil One wants to know what’s in it for him. Deimos tells him he’ll give him anything if he’ll restore his body, alive and whole. A deal is stuick, and Deimos is restored.

At that moment, Mungo, Mairah, and Machiste rush in to confront the Evil One. The Evil One, still new to his powers, feels himself slipping in the face of Mungo sorcerous onslaught, so:

After taking Deimos’ power as per the deal, he banishes the former demon priest so he can focus on the fight. Now that Sarrgon is freed and joining his power to Mungo’s, the Evil One quickly decides it might be better to stage a strategic retreat, and flies out of the castle.

Deimos arrives back in the Skartarian present, bemoaning the cruel trick played upon him.  The Evil One's mocking laughter (somehow) fills his ears. Ashiya, also getting her jabs in, shows him the Warlord and his band approaching in his crystal ball. Deimos, ever smooth, tries to get Ashiya to help him in exchange for making her a queen. Ashiya just laughs at his transparent change of heart, and tells him the truth--she spirited away Morgan’s real son. It was the clone he killed. Then she disappears, leaving him to his fate.

Deimos isn’t defeated yet. He still holds Jennifer, and he has his Atlantean technology. When Morgan and his friends ride boldly into the castle, they’re unaware Deimos has them in his gun sights--until he blasts Aton out of the saddle.

Deimos (dressed like some sort of space viking) has them pinned down with his energy rifle--all except Morgan, who draws his own pistol and goes for him, dodging and weaving between what cover he can find. When he gets close enough for a showdown, he finds Deimos has another surprise. The priest has Jennifer!

He demands Morgan step out into the open, and Morgan does so. Before he can kill him, Faaldren attacks, trying to save Jennifer who he has come to see as a friend. Deimos blasts Faaldren, but the distraction gives Morgan an opening, and he fires:

Deimos is blasted off the parapet, but he recovers quickly. He snatches a horse from Shakira and rides out of the castle.

Morgan runs down to check on his friends. Tara is only shaken, but loyal Aton lies dead. Morgan tells his mate he’s going after Deimos. Shakira wants to go with him, but Morgan tells her to stay behind and look after Jennifer (who’s still catatonic) and Tara. Morgan leaps astride his horse:

Morgan rides north toward the arctic, and into the cold wastes. He’s so driven in his purpose that he pushes his horse to death. Undeterred, he continues on foot, until he finds Deimos set upon by a pack of wolves. With a cry of denial, he rushes to his foe’s aid and either kills or drives off the wolves.

Unwilling to let Deimos die by any hand but his own, Morgan drags him to an old ship half-buried in the snows. He builds a fire, wraps Deimos in blankets and waits. Outside, the wolf pack reforms, and waits, as well.

When Deimos’ eyes open, Morgan’s harden. He stands:

Deimos shrinks away in fear. Behind Morgan, a wolf enters the ship. Morgan smiles. He holsters his gun, then waves good-bye to Deimos. He pauses only to kick the fire out before walking out into the night. Behind him, the wolf pack sets upon Deimos. Morgan doesn’t look back.

Things to Notice:

• The last three pages are "silent"--without dialogue or sound effects.
• Morgan and Tara never have any idea of the involvement of their time-lost friends Mariah and Machiste in events.
• In lieu of a letter column, this issue featured short synopses of every issue of Warlord up to this point.

Where It Comes From:
The title of this issue brings to mind the place of Deimos' death, but also might refer to the state of Morgan's emotions as he hunts his hated foe, only to leave him to fate rather than kill him himself.

This issue feels like the culmination, both plotwise and thematically, of many things going on in Warlord for sometime.  Morgan and Tara return to the place of their last struggle (at least as a couple) with Deimos.  Again they come to save one of their children--though they're unaware of that.  This time, there's a possiblity that Morgan will have his family restored rather than losing it.  However, the final image of him walking alone in the night snows doesn't seem particularly hopeful.

Another funny parallel is that canines again play a role again in Deimos' demise. 

Lands of Dream and Death

This continues my examination of the Astral Plane in a way that’s a bit more in keeping with real world beliefs--but mainly more weird in the way I’d like it to be. As I mentioned last time, there are “sub-realms” in the Astral. Two of the largest and nearest (to the material plane) of these are the land of Dreams and the Underworld. These two are about as stable as anything can be in a place defined by mutability.

Dreams
I’ve talked about Dreamland or Slumberland before, but I’ll summarize here. Dreams, balloons of astral-stuff, float up through the material plane, until they find their level in the Astral. Here they merge into the realm of the mirror-masked Dream Lord. He and his subordinates, the gnome-like Sandmen, monitor the onieric flows for signs of trouble.  These flows are the “canary in the coal mine” of the health of the whole collective unconscious. The Dream Lord and his men strive to ensure virulent nightmares don't infect other dreams, and that idle fantasies don't spoil and bloat to become perverse obsessions.

The Dream Lord also tends a garden of mortal dreamworlds. The imaginings of some mortal minds imprint themselves on the astral substance and become something more than dreams and something less than full astral sub-realms. These worlds often feel complete when one is inside, but experienced dreamers may exploit there relatively simple structure. There are often “wormholes” or “back doors” from dreamworlds into the Astral, though Sandmen work assiduously to patch these whenever they’re found.

Death
It is true that there are a number of noumenal planes that answer to the vague description of Heaven and Hell; it's also true that arrival in these planes of ultimate reward takes a while. How long “a while” is in a place outside the dimension of time, is a metaphysical debate I won’t get into here. Suffice it to say, only the very worst or very best of souls travel to their final afterlife destination quickly. The rest wait in the Astral, their subtle bodies staying stuck to their souls. At some point, the bored dead got tired of waiting and constructed there own afterlife of sorts in the featureless gray fog.  And this is the Underworld. It’s a sprawling city, full of shabby stand-ins for various afterlifes, giving the whole place a theme park sort of feel.

The dead wait in this ramshackle city to get their transit papers so they can move on. Some dead are in such denial that they simply sing hymns in their constructed heavens, or loudly demand punishment from imagery devils (or Hell Syndicate functionaries on a holiday) in their constructed hells, and deny the existence of the transit papers, byt they will one day get them, all the same.

Transit papers are deliver by the Gray Men, bland functionaries in gray suits, whose visits are accompanied by the faint sound of wings. The dead person’s subtle body then dissolves and their soul rises into the outer planes.

Until that time they wait. Some work jobs, or hang out in bars, or try to evangelize. Others get seduced by necromancers into returning to the Material Plane as undead. Some even get so used to the underworld, they start trying to find ways to avoid their eventual reward.

There are rumors that a few have managed to escape. It’s said they dug out of the Underworld and into the open Astral. Whether this is true, or just afterlife rumor, no one seems to know.

Ad Astral (Plane)

After tackling the Etheric Plane, and the two energy planes, it’s time to move beyond the material and into the astral. I’m going to differ with the standard D&D presentation conceptually, if not mechanically. It largely treats the Astral Plane as something of an exotic “outer space” (which is fine, in its own right, of course), but I’d like to suggest that the Astral is the “idea-space” surrounding the material world--a place of thought and emotion rather than matter. It’s an ocean with one shore being the phenomenal world (the material plane) and the other the noumenal (the outer planes).

In my previous discussion, I mentioned the astral body possessed by all intelligent beings. In a sense, they’re always there whether they know it or not. Their thoughts and dreams are given malleable form. Also, it’s the first place souls, swathed in their astral body, “rise” to upon death. Some of them stay there a long time, as I’ll discuss further later.

Astral Traveling
The near astral is a strange expressionistic or dreamscape overlay on the physical world. What places mean affect their astral appearance as much as their material appearance does. This zone is constantly disrupted, or rippled, by rising dreams and daydreams, and movements of creatures with astral presence. The deep astral is a surrealistic realm where all spatial dimensions are relative--distances may vary on different occasions and for different travelers. The distances between things are influenced by conceptual association--similar colors, elements, moods, etc., as much as anything else.

Certain inanimate objects have astral shadows. These are things that have been invested with a great deal of psychic, emotional, or magical energy. The planets, for instance, exist in the Astral, as do certain magical and ritual items.

There are cities, fortresses, and the like in the Astral. These are the sub-creations of extraplanar powers, or powerful sorcerers, or aborted fragments of the same. Physical law in these realms is more stable, having been established by the creator. The seedy astral metropolis of Interzone in the world of the City is such a place.

Other than where it would conflict with the above, the mechanics of the original and 3e Manual of Planes, work pretty well--the key is to make them a bit less mechanistic and a bit more malleable.

Tomorrow, exploration of the Astral continues with realms of death and dream.

The Scent of Fear

Phantom Gassers or Phantom Anesthetists are mysterious beings who make sporadic attacks on towns and villages by use of gas, and the widespread panic these apparently random and motiveless attacks cause.

The Gassers are human-like, though thin and androgynous, but their movements are strange, parsimonious almost to the point of mechanicalness. They dress completely in black and wear stylized gas masks over their faces. They have never been known to speak.

Phantom Gassers seldom operate in groups larger than three. They attack homes with relatively few people in them (no more than five) and introduce their gas with spray nozzles, through whatever means available--open windows, under doors, or the like.

The gas is colorless, but has a peculiar, sickly sweet odor. It functions similar to stinking cloud (lasting 2d6 minutes), except that all those who fail their saving throw must make a second saving throw or be feebleminded (as per spell) for 1d10 additional rounds. Even those who make the first saving throw are sickened (-2 to rolls) until they can leave the area, or the cloud disperses.

Few suffer any long term effects of the attack, but when word gets out in the community, everyone who hears the tale responds as if they’ve entered an aura of fear, and will react as per the fear spell if they encounter anything suggestive of another phantom gasser attack.

It may be that this fear is the true motive of the gasser’s attacks.

PHANTOM GASSER

No.: 1-3

AC: 8

HD: 2+1

Move: 12”
Attacks: 1 (gas, as above)

Special: If killed, a phantom gasser explodes in a blinding flash that is effectively a 3 dice fireball.

Krypton is for Adventurers

Krypton (the planet that is, not the element) is mostly known for blowing up--that and giving us the baby that would grow up to be Superman. But in Superman #239 (1971) E. Nelson Bridwell designed maps of Krypton appeared, revealing it to be one hell of a place to adventure.

Let’s take it by hemisphere. Here’s the “Old World” first:

1 Striped River: Simply a two-toned river? Surely not! I bet these are two different fluids with two different dangerous ecosystems. Swim away from a purple water shark, right into the jaws of a magenta river shark.
2 Erkol: “Oldest City on Krypton”--which means of course, ruins...and treasure.
3 Fungus Caverns: Yes, please.
5 Ruins of the Ancient City of Xan: See (2) above, except this city looks even more ruinous.
6 Mt. Mundru: The highest peak on Krypton probably has some monastery at the top where monks are waiting to teach their martial arts skills--and esoteric wisdom, but mostly the skills. Or maybe there are just Kryptonian yetis.
7 The Glass Forest: Where even mundane flora and fuana become dangerous thanks to their razor-sharp glass edges, and their habit of turning into a shower of shards when destroyed.
8 Jerat: “The Ghost City” offers two intriguing possibilities. It could be a city inhabited by ghosts, or the ghost of a city, whichever fits your challenge rating, or whatever the kids call it.
9 Vathlo Island: This “highly developed black race” is probably like elves crossed with Parliament. Or maybe like the super-scientist Globetrotters on Futurama. Whatever, so long as their key features are “black” and “highly developed.”

The “New World” Hemisphere starts off with a bit of a let down, because...

1 Kandor: isn’t there anymore because its in a jar at Braniac’s place. Maybe the dungeon’s beneath Kandor are still there, though.
4 Fort Rozz: is probably run by an AI which will go crazy, and turn the installation into a trap-filled Fort of Horrors.
5 Atomic Town: seems to be shaped like a pentagram, so is probably a gigantic sigil for summoning a nuclear horror. Probably Azathoth.
6 Jewel Mountains and 8 Gold Mountain: Sort of “Monty Haul,” but that was Bridwell, I guess.
7 Rainbow Canyon: An idyllic land of freedom from care--or one constant Prismatic Spray?
13 Bokos: The island of independent thieves--which suggests this is a guild-free shop. Maybe its like the city of thieves from Adventure Time and everybody who enters the city eventually becomes a thief?
14 Magnetic Mountains: In other words, you’re gonna regret getting the full plate.

Games of Chance

The lights of Faro City beckon. It’s a place were fortunes are made, and a man can go from loser to ruler in the course of a night, if his luck holds. Of course, he can also lose everything just as quickly if it doesn’t.

Faro City lies to the south on a barrier island in the Meropic Ocean. It’s a beach resort for the City and places further north, famous for the hotels and attractions along its boardwalk. It’s infamous for its gambling and its means of government--it’s an aleatocracy, that’s rulers are decided by the outcomes in its gambling establishments.

Win at the tables, and you’re unknowingly entered in a secret game. Win in that game and you'll found yourself congratulated by the smiling men of the Gaming Commission, given expensive accommodations, the run of the town--and a silver chip.  Winners are expected to officiate at certain civic events, and to make public appearances.  So long as they don’t seriously disrupt the peace, silver level high rollers live like royalty until their winnings dry up, or another high roller is chosen. Typically, this about a week--sometimes a little more, others a little less. Departing high rollers get a draw from an ancient and mysterious card deck. The smiling men insist upon it. Those who refuse disappear. Those who draw--well, you hear stories, both fantastic and macabre. 

Some High Rollers have long winning streaks, and at some point the smiling men of the Gaming Commission return and give them a gold chip. Gold level high rollers keep living the high life, and can make decrees with the force of law--so long as they don’t disrupt the prosperity or customs of Faro City. They're obligated to act as magistrates, resolving minor disputes brought to them by citizens and visitors alike.  Most stay at the gold level a lunar month, and then they're offered their choice of abdication (and a draw from the ancient and mysterious deck) or a chance at an exclusive, high stakes game.

About this last game, there are only rumors. Some say its stud poker, on a demi-plane where time doesn’t pass, at a table with cardsharps representing Heaven, Hell, and lesser outer planar concerns.  Others say the game is a simple one card draw from a deck held by a veiled woman. The exact states are neve specified even in rumor, but everyone is sure it's an unimaginably big score.

Note: Other rumors concern the smiling men of the Gaming Commission.  Some say they're alien fortunavores--luck eaters--drawing sustenance from the high rollers and eventual-losers they've trapped in their big beachside honeypot.  Others suggest they're probability sorcerers, harnessing the power of the ancient and mysterious deck for some purpose, and the games in Faro City are their recruiting tool.  I'd hesitate to put odds on either theory.