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.

The Killing Floor

The Shambles neighborhood of Empire Island is the center of the City’s slaughterhouse and meatpacking industry. It’s overwhelmingly industrial and sparsely populate--even its poor mostly immigrant workers choose to live elsewhere to escape the ever-present animal smells.

Thaumaturgists and alchemists sometimes visit the yards to purchase some animal-derived material components like bezoars. Occasionally, adventurers are consulted to hunt or kill monsters that are drawn to the offal--giant rats and osquips are probably the most common--though rarely something like an otyugh or carrion crawler will be found.

It’s long been rumored that the ghouls have an arrangement with some slaughterhouse operators allowing the the use of their facilities after hours for “dinner parties” in exchange for loot from the underground. Certainly, unscrupulous owners of knacker’s yards and livestock holding pins have--for a fee--been happy to oblige mobsters in the disposal of bodies.

From time to time, snatches of lambskin or the like are found inked with prayers or paeans honoring the Lord of the Cleaver. A full text (anthropodermically bound) honoring this obscure eikone is known to exist in a private collection in New Lludd. The origins and motivations of the Lord of Cleaver are obscure; some have suggested he’s a degenerate war god, while others believe he’s a twisted protector of animals, exacting a horrifying vengeance. Whatever his origins, his name is associated with sporadic outbreaks of homicidal madness.

Typically one individual is affected. He or she develops a maniacal urge to kill by direct and bloody means--and gains an almost superhuman ability to do so (see "Maniac" in the d20 Menance Manual SRD). Occasionally others become acolytes or accomplices of the maniac. The killing may go on for years--perhaps with periods of months without activity--but only truly ends when the affected individual is killed. After one maniac is destroyed, it’s usually years before the Lord of the Cleaver’s influence is felt again...

But one never knows.

Lifestyles of the Adventurous and Famous

Let’s again open the doors of Munsen’s “Life of Fantastic Danger” Museum, where many of the City’s adventurers--both world-renown and relatively obscure--are celebrated:

Blaise (“Blaze”) Dalton
Once just a cowpoke riding the range up through Freedonia and the West, Dalton’s life changed when following lost calf near one of the side channels of the Grand Chasm led him into a lost valley. Saving a princess condemned to death at the hands of a giant prehistoric tiger won him the princess’ adoration and--after he broke the beast like it was a bronc--the tiger as a mount. Dalton abandoned the princess in the night a few weeks later, but kept the cat. He once famously rode it through the streets of the City one Yule night chasing the Grumpf who had abducted a chorus girl. Dalton was brought up n charges for the stunt, but was ultimately pardoned. His lasso is a rope of entanglement that supposedly comes when he whistles.

Belle “Bang-Bang” Starr
A runaway from a small East Freedonia town, “Belle Starr” first took that name when working as the target girl for a sharpshooter in a carnival sideshow. Though she soon graduated to “cooch” dancing (which was more lucrative), she also picked up the sharpshooter's art. Her talents noticed by an agent, she moved to the City and worked as a burlesque and striptease dancer--while adventuring on the side. She took part in the raid on the Growing Tower, braved the obsessive, junk maze of the Brothers Coyle, and spent a perilous (and raucous) night in the Hotel Elephantine as a "guest" of the lich Hieronymus Gaunt. Starr is a proponent of “less is more” when it comes to adventuring attire, and where possible goes into battle in one of her stage costumes, swearing by the distraction it provides (at least when dealing with foes human and male). Of course, she isn’t above improving the odds with Pasties of Protection, either.

Mingus Rooke
Though only a country boy just arrived in New Ylourgne, Rooke nevertheless impressed jazz band leader and sorcerer Salomo King. Learning both the music business and thaumaturgical working through music from King, Rooke put his skills to use with various adventuring gangs once he struck out on his own. Arriving in the City, Rooke began making a name for himself in the jazz night-spots and earned the enmity of Mr. Scratch, after turning down an exclusive contract--an enmity that would plague his adventuring career. Rooke retired from “the adventuring life” relatively young, after suffering a minor stroke.  This he suffered while blowing Gabriel’s trumpet to summon an angelic host to save Hardluck from processing by the alien Machineries of Night. Rooke still plays on occasion--if not quite as well as he used to--and operates a trendy Solace night-club, The Blue Hound.

Akakor: Dungeon, (South) American Style

Following up on the weird South American jungle map I presented earlier, today we'll veer off the map entirely into the wilds of crazy von Däniken land and visit a “lost” city--one that got famous enough to appear under a weak pseudonym in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I refer of course to Akakor.

Von Däniken started talking about underground city complexes beneath Ecuador in 1974’s The Gold of the Gods, but one of his sources, German journalist Karl Brugger, got to tell his version in 1977 with The Chronicle of Akakor. Both accounts start with the same basic story: In 1972, Brugger met a Amazonian Indian (who spoke excellent German) named Tatunca Nara, who claimed to be a member of a hidden tribe that kept a great secret.  This secret involved ancient astronauts from a solar system named Schwerta, and a network of underground cities these space travellers built beneath South America. The most important of these cities was known as Akakor.

It all sounds fairly unbelievable, true--and it becomes even more so with the revelation that ol’ Tatunca Nara was really Günther Hauck, an alimony-dodging German ex-patriot. But the important thing from a gaming perspective is that these guys gave maps.

One of these is the upper (above ground) Akakor, and the other is the lower subterranean portion. Different websites disagree on which is which, so take your pick--"entertainment purposes only," and all that:

Here’s a nifty cross-section showing the underground portion, and one of the Star Trek-esque hallways:

Read more about it here, and find these maps (and more) here. Add some bullywugs, maybe some yuan-ti--or Nazis if your tastes run to pulp--and you’re ready to roll.  Crystal skulls strictly optional.