Black School

photo by Geoffrey Dunn

In the days when the City was only a village crowding a fort at the end of Empire Island, there were rumors of a sprawling house, beyond the glow of the village lights, built in single night by devils at the command of a cabal of evil Ealderdish sorcerers. The sorcerers came to this place in a swamp in a wild land to open a Black School--a Scholomance--to tutor what students would come in the dark arts.

Some stories say some natural disaster (an act of God) destroyed the school, while others say a group of righteous adventurers razed it, and a few hold it just disappeared, as if hell reclaimed it. No one really knows for certain.

What is known is that the place where the Black School once stood was eventually engulfed by the growing City and became the area called Scholo. Whatever industries that have tried to take hold there--from farms, to brothels, to sweatshops--never seem to last for long. The area seems strangely prone to fires, and strange accidents.

The only thing that lasts in Scholo is magic. As other enterprises have dwindled, magic book shops, alchemical supply stores, and the offices of cut-rate thaumaturgist-for-hire have thrived and grown to crowd Scholo’s streets. Thaumaturgists live here, too--mostly young would-be up-and-comers, and old has-beens and never-wases. They practice their arts in small, threadbare apartments, and congregate to trade secrets (and lies) in a few small cafes and bars.

On almost any night, if you sit in one of the bars long enough you’ll hear mages talk about the Black School. They’ll say it appears some nights of the new moon, in that old park where nothing has ever been built and nothing but twisted and blighted tress grow. Some brave souls have gone in, the story goes, and found it bigger on the inside--and growing larger all the time with creaks and groans. Amid its many rooms are libraries full of occult and sorcerous lore.

It’s a tempting destination for those young up-and-comers, but the old timers remind them that most who go in never come out again, and those that do have emerged haunted, shattered men, prone to suicide, and unable to remember any but barest details of what they experienced there.  What fragments can be gleaned from them suggest malign ever-shifting architecture, sadistic traps, strange hauntings, and halls stalked by a half-real creature--never fully manifest on this plane--that pursues intruders.

Thor and Wonder

I saw Thor yesterday and thought it was good--though I wonder if “good” superhero films have gotten common enough that I’m no longer impressed by mere competence. I do know that the formulaic elements of the “successful comic adaption” are beginning to wear thin.

So anyway, Thor drapes the Iron Man frame with interesting enough characters, a von Daniken-Kirby "gods from space" rift, and some cool action. It was in this second part, though, I was a little disappointed in their choices, given the source material they were working with.

One of the most interesting things about Thor the comic (and one of the things I think would be most interesting to steal for gaming) is the mixture of mythological elements and Jack Kirby’s crazy sci-fi-ish design. The preponderance of evidence in the comics doesn’t make the Asgardians just extraterrestrials (or even extradimensionals) who were mistaken for, or gave rise to, legends of the gods of Norse myth--they're people who we’re told and descended from a guy who got licked into existence from ice by a giant cow and who endure repeated cycles of the end of the world. And it’s a world where Odin zaps Jane Foster with a fairly technological looking wand to turn her into a “goddess.”

What Kirby started with the Asgardians in Journey into Mystery--and developed to its fullest “are they aliens, gods--or both?” fullness in the New Gods at DC--is a science fantasy blurring of traditional definitions, a thread only Grant Morrison, among all of Kirby’s successors, seems particularly interested in exploring. Kirby seems to be saying that in this modern world, tech should be as much part of a god's trappings as ever-full flagons and flying goat-chariots were in the past.

Check out this scene:

A somewhat bug-eyed monster alien-looking troll captured and carried in some mechanical contraption, guarded by warriors in retro-futuristic armor, against a backdrop of strange planetoids.

Or how about Kirby’s vision of Asgard:

A pulp sci-fi future city on an asteroid floating in a romanticized cosmos with a very literal rainbow bridge connecting it to the rest of the universe.

Obviously, some of this stuff might have come across as silly on film--maybe some of it teeters on that edge as it is. The movie makes some gestures in this direction with some of its design, but it also is very insistent about Einstein-Rosen bridges and its implication that the Nine Worlds can be seen with Hubble. The point (well worth remembering for gaming I think) is that the oft-quoted Arthur C. Clarke line that "any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic” doesn’t have to mean that the wonder and strangeness must be stripped from either.

Sounds of the City

A soundtrack sampling for the City and the Strange New World:

Bright Lights & The City: "Sing Sing Sing" by the Benny Goodman Orchestra

A dust-up in a gin-joint: "Odd Ones" by the Seatbelts (Cowboy Bebop)

Magic-usin' dames is always trouble: "I Put A Spell On You" by Nina Simone

Foreboding in the Dustlands: "Ben Searches the Junkyard" By Jeff Beal

Here they come--get ready: "Tiger Tank" By Lalo Schifrin

A cheerful traditional in the Smaragdines: "O Death" by Ralph Stanley

Nothing ever happens out in the sticks: "Murder in the Red Barn" by Tom Waits

Entering a mound in Freedonia: "White Lightning" by Charles Bernstein

There's an old preacher who they say can perform resurrections: "Ain't No Grave" by Johnny Cash.

I guess we all knew it would come down to this: "The Verdict (Dopo la Condanna)" by Ennio Morricone

Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Canageek who nominated my blog for Stuffer Shack's "Rpg Site of the Year" contest.  It was an honor to have even be nominated in the company of a number of great sites.

And--while I'm at it--thanks to everyone else for following, commenting, and reading.

Don't Eat the Worm

In southern Zingaro, bottles of cheap local liquor are often garnished with a worm. More accurately, this is a larva of the astral moth, an insect (if the stories can be believed) with a peculiar life cycle.

The succulent whose juice nourishes the larva and is used to make the liquor is said to be the remnant of a goddess that pre-Ealderish Natives believed fell from the stars. It’s juice was believed to enhance fertility and passion, and bring vivid dreams.

Legends suggest that the larvae that make it into the distillate aren't dead but merely quiescent, waiting to begin the next stage in their life cycle. Eating the worm produces a pleasant, mildly hallucinogenic experience--but also allows the larva to continue its metamorphosis inside the etheric body of the consumer.

The astral moth will emerge from the host in d100 hours (saving throw halves duration). From a few hours after ingestion until that time, the host’s suffers a different effect from the following chart every 2d6 hours:

1 - Wisdom temporally reduced 1d4 points
2 - Character becomes convinced they have obtained some deep insight into the nature of the universe, but find it impossible to convey in words to others (15% chance they actual have)
3 - Character experiences 1d4 paroxsyms of uncontrollable laughter (similar to hideous laughter) lasting 1 round, interspersed with periods of relatively normal behavior.
4 - Character experiences visual hallucinations like scintillating pattern (as they had 7 hit dice)
5 - Character goes on an ethereal jaunt--or perhaps (50% change) they only believe they have.
6 - Character experiences powerful deja vu giving an insight bonus of +5 similar to moment of prescience.

Once the moth emerges, the host returns to normal, though is quite fatigue and not good for much of anything for a period of hours.  The moth, its etheric wings shifting through colors and patterns like a liquid projection lightshow, flies off to the Astral, taking some imprint of the character's psyche with it...

And a Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Warlord Wednesday: The Sorceress' Apprentice

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 Sorceress' Apprentice"

Warlord (vol. 1) #53 (January 1982)

Written by Mike Grell (Sharon Grell); Penciled by Mark Texiera; Inked by Mike DeCarlo

Synopsis: Immediately following the events of last issue, Soviet soldiers rush out of the helicopter toward the wreckage of the MiG--and straight into the swinging blade of the Warlord. Despite their guns, they don’t stand a chance.

As Morgan pulls his sword from the last one, he sees the ‘copter taking off. He runs for the vehicle, and leaps toward it as it climbs. He manages to pull himself in the open side door. The pilot is shocked to see a guy with a sword coming toward him--and probably even more surprised when he’s tossed out of the aircraft.

Morgan takes the controls. He heads in the direction of the Terminator and the inner world of Skartaris, flying low to the ground to avoid radar.

Meanwhile, back in the former Castle Deimos, Jennifer Morgan still stares blankly and doesn’t respond to Faaldren’s attempts to communicate. She has began to wander around on her own, and often goes to the room full of Atlantean technology. It’s there that a visitor to the castle appears--Ashiya, the witch.

Faaldren tries to keep her away from Jennifer, but she just blasts him aside. She tells him she doesn’t plan to hurt Jennifer, but to help her--and then Jennifer can return the favor. Ashiya knows that Jennifer comes from a world of machines, and she wishes Jennifer to teach her the use of Deimos’ Atlantean machines. In return she’ll teach her magic.

But first, she must release Jennifer from her current state. Ashiya enters her mind and sees the moment Deimos used his power to numb her mind. She removes that moment from Jennifer’s memory--but that leaves her frightened and childlike. To calm her, Ashiya uses her magic to take the form of someone Jennifer will feel safe with--her mother.

Jennifer’s trust thus gained, Ashiya begins to teach her magic. In a montage, we see the two women exchange information about their two worlds--while Faaldren looks on at times with worry.

Meanwhile, Morgan thinks he’s flown far enough to be out of radar range. He gets a little altitude to find out how far he is from the Terminator. He catches sight of the glow of Skartaris’ sun! Before he can celebrate he sees he’s dangerously low on fuel. He tries to set down, but it's too late. He crashes.

Morgan’s again on foot. He hears hoof beats behind him and twirls around, anticipating danger...

It’s Tara and Shakira! Morgan tells his wife that Deimos is dead--once and for all. The three turn and head home.

Things to Notice:

• This is the first issue not drawn by Mike Grell.
• Though she isn't credited, it has since been revealed that issues #53 through 71 were written either whole or in part by Sharon Grell, Mike's then-wife. 
• Ashiya makes an awful big assumption that just being from America circa 1980 would give Jennifer any expertise with ancient Atlantean technology.
• Jennifer is "in costume" on the cover, but never appears that wya in the issue.

Where It Comes From:
The title of this issue is utlimately a modification of the English title of a poem by Goethe, Der Zaubererlehrling--The Sorcerer's Apprentice.  In 1897, Paul Dukas wrote a symphonic poem based on it, which in turn provided the music for a sequence of the same name in Disney's Fantasia (1940).

Dice Were Rolled

This past Sunday the gaming group I play in (not the one I GM) got together after a hiatus of...well, I can’t remember exactly. A long time, at any rate.

Again the party stayed one step ahead of the law, getting a wrongly accused noblewoman (strong on giving orders, weak on helping out) to another city where she had a safe-house. What are our motivations here? If we were after money, a detour through a dungeon solved that problem. Loyalty to the noblewoman’s cause? Doubtful--at least for the thorough-going rogues among us.

I suppose, our motive was: adventure! And that we got--though sometimes in a Keystone cop kind of fashion, admittedly.

A few highlights: A brawl on a train with Agnar (our fighter) bluffing a mercenary with a ridiculous tale, just as my artificer was blasting another mercenary in the face with a Melf’s Acid Arrow, only a few feet away. A Warforged monk dropping from above unto two mercenaries with a cry of “Moon Knight style!” Discussion of how formal wear could be modified to hide weapons, and a female halfling thief complaining about wearing a dress. Bargain-hunting for weapon and armor upgrades in the city.  A foiled assassination attempt in a burning ballroom.

A few times during the gaming I found myself thinking about all the theoretical discussion that goes on in the blogosphere and forums about how things "should" be done, and measuring the conduct of our game against those various, often well-argued ideals. 

Ultimately, none of those concerns, interesting though they are, really mattered--not in the moment and at the table. No one was confused about our goal--enjoyment in the context of a game--and GM and player’s were of one mind in that regard. Dice were rolled and--whether an action succeeded or failed--everybody won.

Dungeon Jabber

Delver’s Aphasia or "Dungeon Jabber" is a peculiar malady apparently caused by exposure to the saurian sapient known as the babbler (a dungeon-dweller, whatever you might have heard). Babblers suffer from a form of delver’s aphasia, as well, and are driven to a killing rage by the frustration of being unable to communicate with others and the isolation that results from it--they can only even tolerate their own kind during mating season.

How Dungeon Jabber is transmitted is unclear. It may be through the babbler’s bite--certainly most who develop it are bitten--but it has been suggested that only close proximity to a babbler is necessary.  The mechanism is likewise unclear.

Those exposed get a saving throw. Failure means development of an aphasia within 2d6 hours based on the following table:

1-3: anomia - character is unable to remember names either of people or objects (except in general terms).
4-5: fluent aphasia - character is able to speak in a normal manner except that they use the wrong words, and perhaps even nonexistent words.
6-7: receptive aphasia - as above, except the character is also unable to make sense of the speech of others.
8-9: expressive aphasia - character has difficulty producing fluent speech. Words are pronounced with difficulty, in a halting manner, or with odd intonation.
10: global aphasia - The character is either unable to produce speech, repeats single words (perhaps in echo-like manner) or either occasionally shouts a single expletive.

Cure disease or the like will remove the illness, but otherwise it is permanent. in most cases (75% of the time) ability to read and write is preserved.