Thinking Greyhawk

Over the past month, I've been reading some historical fantasy (Between Two Fires and His Black Tongue), some straight historical stuff (rpg supplements from Codex Integrum and the season on Frederick II of the podcast History of the Germans), and most recently, taking a real look at the World of Greyhawk (1980) folio.  All this stuff knocking around in my head led me to believe it might be interested in borrowing an old idea from Miranda Elkins and doing a series of blog posts developing a version of Greyhawk derived from the folio, with a Medieval history sort of feel.

I'll be using the 1980 folio as the only "canon" though I'm not opposed to taking material from the 1983 boxset and the Dragon articles written between and around the time of both publications. I'm trying to avoid more recent Greyhawk material. In keeping with the other recent inspirations, I'm going channel the historical wargamer Gygax over the pulp fan Gygax, and also I'll be using some of the ideas derived from examination of the pre-Greyhawk implied setting of D&D.  

Weird Revisited: Midnight in the House Tenebrous

This post first appeared in 2011...

 

There are places in Nla-Ogupta--that ancient, decadent, Venusian Venice--where Terrans do not go. The Street of Blue Vines was one of those. The buildings along it crowded close, as if trying to conceal some secret. The uncanny glow of bioluminescent lantern-jellies that cling to haphazard lines seem dimmer than elsewhere--as if they too were conspirators. It's said that in millennia past, when Sumer was young, the Street of Blue Vines was a place where cultists trafficked with inhuman gods. Old Venus-hands, deep in their cups, spin tales of cannibalism, and alien sexual rites. That's what the rumors say.  No Terran knows, and if any polite Venusian knows, they don't speak of it to off-worlders.

But on this night, a Terran does wind his way down the serpentine Street of Blue Vines. His stride is unhesitating--he hasn't come this way accidentally. He moves purposely to the darkened, leaning structure which bears no sign or legend, but nevertheless is known to the denizens of Nla-Ogupta's underworld as the House Tenebrous. He has come seeking this house, and the service it sells.  He's come to buy a man's death.

The Street of Blue Vines gets its name from the eerie, electric indigo vines and foliage that entwine 'round its most infamous denizen, the House Tenebrous. The House only permits entrance at night--in fact, it may be that it can only be located at night.

A seated, robed figured, appearing as a short and portly man, his features completely hidden in a cowl, asks any visitor who he or she might wished kill, and why. The figure’s voice sounds distant, and tinny, and seems to emanate from all around. The man never moves, even in the slightest.  Sometimes visitors get the impression that there are others in the room--the feeling of eyes upon them, or the hint of motion in the shadows of the audience chamber. Psychically sensitive individuals report “hearing” distant, unintelligible, whispers, and an unpleasant mental sensation not unlike smothering.

If the man chooses to accept the commission, the price is variable, and not always in money.  If a goal can be discerned from House's representative's payment demands, it is that they seem to be aimed at reducing Terran influence on Venus.

Eventually, though a space of week or months may pass, all victims of the House Tenebrous are found dead somewhere in Nla-Ogupta (or in one case, on a ship having recently departed there) without any apparent signs of violence or physical injury. Victims always appear to have died in their sleep, though often their face and bodies are contorted as if in fear or pain.

Godbound: The Power of Grayskull

This was not my original "other idea" for Godbound by Kevin Crawford, I mentioned in my post a Greek myth-based Godbound game, but it occurred to me since then, and I thought it was good enough to share. Masters of the Universe (okay, He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, for those who came to it from the cartoon) is essentially a world of fantasy superheroes, exactly the sort of thing Godbound does, though maybe not so stereotypically.

Eternia is a shard of what was an advanced civilization, spanning multiple planets, perhaps multiple planes (all presided over maybe by semi-divine beings known as Trollans). Either its science or its magic was so advanced that there was no difference between the two. The Great War brought that civilization to an end and shattered the cosmos. The once great master control center/central terminus of the Ancient Ones collapses into a ruin. Its folded, multi-dimensional structure is partially perceivable millennia later as a gray, skull-visaged fortress of stone. Castle Grayskull to the uncomprehending civilizations that would follow.

The power of Grayskull is palpable and known. From all over Eternia, from shards of nightmare worlds, beings come seeking its power for themselves. These seekers are more than human. They are those imbued with strange powers by exposure to ancient energies, or wield ancient weapons. Grayskull chooses its champions, though, to defend its secrets.

You get the idea. One could, of course, jettison all the silly MotU names--or keep them if they seem integral. The sort of nonsensical terrain of Eternia makes more sense when it's just the condensed highlights of something once much more coherent and larger, kept functional by magitech. Likewise, the sort of random powers/prosthetics of the characters can be explained as idiosyncratic manifestations of ancient magic tools/artifacts.

Weird Revisited: Beneath the Fog Sea

The original of this post appeared in 2012...

The children of port cities are wont to crowd the docks when any airship comes in, but none generate the excitement that the return of a vessel laden with strange, subnebulous treasures does. Many’s the young lad or lass who dreams of one day being one of the daring divers who brave weird miasmata and battle strange creatures to win fortune and fame.

The modern world has four strata. The highest is the upper atmosphere of relatively benign flying things. Just beneath are the High-Lands of plateaus and mountain-sides where humanity dwells. Lapping at these lands at the lowest elevations is the Fog Sea, a region of roiling, glowing, multicolored mists. These mists are eldritch things: toxic, mutagenic, or both, with lengthy and concentrated exposure. Inhospitable though this region may be to humans, there are many flying or floating creatures which make it their home.

The deepest depths of the fog shroud the lowest strata: the Low-Lands, the Undersea. Here one may find true oceans of water (gray and toxic from absorbing the overhanging fog), but more importantly, here lie the ruins of a once great civilization. This is thought to be the ancient home of man, before whatever happened, happened, forcing him to seek higher ground. Ancient treasures--both of wealth and knowledge--were left in these ruins. Though sailing a whole vessel through the fog is generally considered too risky a move, divers and diving craft are sent down to reclaim these treasures.

The fog isn’t the only danger. If the strange flying and floating things weren’t enough, the ruined cities themselves are inhabited by monsters. Some are mutated animals, others are humanoids--perhaps the degenerate descendants of the humans left behind. These savages view divers as violators of their territory at best and potential meals at worse. In the shadowy depths, divers do battle with these creatures, steel against steel, as firearms often misfire dangerously when submerged in the fog. The psychoactive properties of the mists have given strange powers to the creatures that dwell in it--but sometimes limited exposure does the same for divers, too.

Despite the dangers of death or loss of humanity, the rewards are great. There is no shortage of youths willing to sign on for a voyage beneath the Fog Sea.

Random Paths from the Crossroad of Worlds

In Incredible Hulk #300, Dr. Strange tried to get read of the menace of the Hulk (who was in one of his brutish menace periods) but banishing him to another dimension. The Hulk ended up at the Crossroad of Worlds in a trippy, Ditko-esque space. Throughout the next 313 issues, he went to a number of weird worlds. The details of these worlds would make interesting places to visit in a fantasy rpg, but the brief, descriptive names given to the them by the folks at the Marvel Universe Appendix are in many ways even better for just getting the creative juices flowing.

Here's the list made into d30 random table (I had to add one to the end to get 30):

1. Crossroad of Worlds (choose a path, roll again!)
2. Acid Rain World 
3. Barren World 
4. Burning World 
5. Daniel Decyst's World 
6. Demon World of the N'Garai 
7. Desert World
8. Devil World 
9. Frozen World 
10. Furry Blue People World 
11. Glob World of Floating Things 
12. Idol World 
13. Mist World 
14. Octopod World
15. Paradise and the City of Death 
16. Poisoned World of Spine Creatures
17. Purple Giant World
18. Quicksand World 
19. Radiation Monster World 
20. Robot World 
21. Sky Shark World 
22. Swamp World
23. Toad World 
24. Vacuum World 
25. War World 
26. Underwater World 
27. Wind World 
28. Yellow Dwarf World 
29. Purple World of Exile
30. Chiming Crystal World

The Planetary Spheres

I posted this on G+ a few days ago, but I thought I should share it here, as well...

There are seven spheres whose aetheric densities allow them to be reached by the technology of Man. With the Earth as our reference point, the planets can grouped thusly:

The Postlapsarian Worlds, thither went the Nephilim and the Atlanteans following the Deluge:

Saturn: Ringed with the petrified and crumbling corpses of titans and monsters. A rebellious demiurge imprisoned in its litharge-colored mists.

Jupiter: The peripatetic court of the most convivial of monarchs in continual celebration. Visitors glide down from the several moons on bat wings to hunt giant beasts in a sea of endless, variegated storm clouds.

Mars: Empires clash, and machine brains compute the scientific perfection of eternal war.

There was once another world between the spheres of Mars and Jupiter, but the iniquity of its people destroyed it.

The Prelapsarian Worlds, closer to the Sun and the Demiurge that dwells within:

Venus: Torrid jungles and vast, shallow oceans. Strange and beautiful plant women.

Mercury: Blazing court of the heliocephalic Emperor, a Philosopher-King.

Luna: The pallid, coralline gardens and laboratories of the Fair Folk. The fae themselves, ashen, luminous, and moth-winged, and their insectoid Selenite servants.

Fortress of Fear

Tales say the grim citadel congealed from a wanly luminous cloud that came down from ulterior stars. Surrounded by a blasted landscape, cloaked in mists, it crouches like some alien crustacean, black, hunched, and spined.  It thrums always with a sound part machine and part beating heart, and that sound is the insistent hunger of the Fear Lords.

Art by Mitch Grave

These Lords are well named; they draw their sustenance from the emotion fear in all its varieties. For eons they have been shut outside; only their hunger can reach into the cosmos. On this world and all the others where the fortress has appeared, they have fed through the actions of the master of the fortress. A creature with a face like a mask of flexible bone, he is their emissary, their general, and their will and soul. He commands their legions of terror: automatons powered by the soul-remnants of captives who died in abject fear in the fortress's chambers of horrors.

Art by digitalinkrod

We Made Our Own

My first foray into "role-playing game design" was a G.I. Joe game. I still have it, but I don't know where it is at the moment, but I remember the basics. It was the mid-eighties, my group had been playing TSR's Marvel Superheroes, and dabbling in universal table-based games. They all made it look so easy.

I think it used attributes similar to FASERIP, though instead of descriptively named levels, it used numbers 1 to 10. The filecards on the back of the G.I. Joe packages (and helpfully collated in one place in the G.I. Joe: Order of Battle limited series put out by Marvel) made it easy to adapt the lists of training and qualified expert rating with various weapons into skills.

We played it on more than one occasion. Enough that I was inspired to make a second game using the same (highly derivative system) based around the Transformers. That was even easier because the Transformers packaging even had abilities and ratings:

I don't think we ever played Transformers. We also never got around to playing the Wrasslin' Roleplaying Game made by a buddy of mine, born from his love of the UWF, and (as I recall) based on roughly the same engine.

Clowns from the Clouds

There is, they say, a wandering, cloud island, that is home to clowns. These are no mere performers but the thing the mummers ape, fey and changeable beings not of this world.

Where the cloud island passes in it's maundering way, the clowns come down among normal folk, dropping from the sky under motley umbrellas, or sliding down shafts of light. They put on carnivals, perform farces, and throw out candies. After they have gone, people are sometimes found missing, particularly children.

Sometimes when the island passes, the clowns don't come down but instead drop candies of preternatural flavors and small items imbued with magic: a hand mirror, a short sword, a jar of skin cream, a pack of gum. There are rumors that these come in trade--or are perhaps stolen--from the Moon. There are tales spun of daring thieves sneaking on to the cloud island to rob the clowns' treasure stores, but as far as is known, these are just stories.

Other tales purport to come from people who have visited the cloud island and returned. These seldom mention  treasure stores, but do describe colorful tents scattered among cyclopean stone ruins (that may predate the clowns) and the rare tree, strewn with mists and carnival lights. The anarchic clowns careen between merriment and slumber. No clown ever seems to die, no matter what sort of violence is done to them. 

Sometimes, for reasons unknown, a clown falls from the island. These strange,sad creatures become wandering tramps, losing much of their magic and too often turning drink.

[Note: The Clown Island belongs to a world other than the world of Weird Adventures--unless of course, you want it there.]

Beneath the Fog Sea

The children of port cities are wont to crowd the docks when any airship comes in, but none generate the excitement that the return of a vessel laden with strange subnebulous treasures does. Many’s the young lad or lass who dreams of one day being one of the daring divers who brave weird miasmata and battle strange creatures to win fortune and fame.

The modern world has four strata. The highest is the upper atmosphere of relatively benign flying things. Just beneath are the High-Lands of plateaus and mountain-sides where humanity dwells. Lapping at these lands at the lowest elevations is the Fog Sea, a region of roiling, glowing, multicolored mists. These mists are eldritch things: toxic, mutagenic, or both, with lengthy and concentrated exposure. Inhospitable though this region may be to humans, there are many flying or floating creatures which make it their home.

The deepest depths of the fog shroud the lowest strata: the Low-Lands--the Undersea. Here one may find true oceans of water (gray and toxic from absorbing the overhanging fog), but more importantly, here lie the ruins of a once great civilization. This is thought to be the ancient home of man--before whatever happened, happened, forcing him to seek higher ground. Ancient treasures--both of wealth and knowledge--were left in these ruins. Though sailing a whole vessel through the fog is generally considered too risky a move, divers and diving craft are sent down to reclaim these treasures.

The fog isn’t the only danger. If the strange flying and floating things weren’t enough, the ruined cities themselves are inhabited by monsters. Some are mutated animals, others are humanoids--perhaps the degenerate descendants of the humans left behind. These savages view divers as violators of their territory at best--and potential meals at worse. In the shadowy depths divers do battle with these creatures, steel against steel--as firearms often misfire dangerously when submerged in the fog. The psychoactive properties of the mists have given strange powers to the creatures that dwell in it--but sometimes limited exposure does the same for divers, too.

Still, despite the dangers of death or loss of humanity, the rewards are great. There is no shortage of youths willing to sign on for a voyage beneath the Fog Sea.

Stuck in My Head

I keep thinking about a post-apocalyptic fantasy plus super-science game, played in FASERIP, maybe. Something like a well-known toy and cartoon property, but less kiddy: like the equivalent of Savage Sword of Conan to its Conan the Adventurer.

A world where the heroes are like this:

And they fight foes like this:

In situations like this:

Let's Go to the Video...

In case you haven't see enough of me on video, here's another I chance.  I hosted a round table--this one between Evan, Jeremy, Richard and Robert, wherein they discuss their cool rpg settings in the science fantasy vein.

Check it out.  At least skim it for the good parts--and then check out their blogs.

Tourist in Other Worlds

While I’m increasingly ambivalent about Google+ overall, I’m completely positive on gaming via Hangouts.  Not only have I been playing my Weird Adventures game there, I’ve gotten a chance to play with some other bloggers in their games.

Twice now, Horvendile Early, gambler and pistoleer, has ventured forth into the wilds of Erik’s Wampus Country. Orwendill, fighter and artist (of tasteful nudes) has had one outing with that dubious coterie, the Nefarious Nine, in Chris Kutalik’s Hill Cantons.  Tonight, an as yet unnamed Chaos-tainted soldier from a grim future is going to kill things as a part of a Warband courtesy of Mike Davison.

I’m also playing in Scott’s (he of the Huge Ruined Pile) strict textualist AD&D game, though that’s play by post via G+.

The gaming itself is great, after so much writing about gaming, but what I may like even more is getting to put a face and voice to all those posts I’ve read.  I suppose that sort of connecting with folks in a shared hobby is exactly the sort of stuff social media is suppose to for.  

That and pictures of cute animals with humorous captions.

Stupid Little Fairies

An elvish sorceress from the eldritch future world sometimes called the "Planet of the Elves" blasts a couple of pesky ultraterrestrials.  These creatures are said to flit across the ether on their shifting-patterned wings, but more commonly arrive in craft of some sort.

Sorceresses shouldn't be confused with "wizards" who are a whole another sort of being, separate from elves, dwarves, or their lesser kin.  Wizards are extremely dangerous for many reasons--not the least of which being all seem to suffer from some form of insanity, the product of their quest for power at all costs.

Elsewhere, in a dwarven tavern, an adventurer regales the other patrons with a tale.  The trophy under his foot is the head of one of the Metal Men who are sometimes encountered in the ruins. Some are friendly; some are not.

Both pieces are by the very talented Steve LeCouilliard.

Everybody have a good Memorial Day weekend. I'm starting mine early!

Beneath the Planet of the Elves

Every elf or dwarf is aware of the horrors that lurk in the underground ruins of the long dead race of Man: crawling things with superstitiously shunned names, lurching things with nigh unpronounceable names, and oozing things left fearfully unnamed. But none of those evoke more horror than the Cult of the Dread God.

The cultists are utterly subterranean, emerging only briefly at night.  They resemble elves or dwarves, for the most part, except that they are taller and their features (when they are seen) are coarse and with an unhealthy waxiness.  They all dress in the vestments of their order and reveal little more than their faces.

The cultists possess powers of the mind allowing them to stun or control even the most strongly willed elf or dwarf.  They march their victims, puppet-like to their own sacrifice--for that is what the cultists seek when they emerge from their underground temples or monasteries.  Little is known of their hungry god other than his name--which is not commonly spoken for fear of drawing his attention--and that name is Ba’am. No elf has seem the god or his altar and lived.

There are adventurers' tales that suggest their waxy countenances are not the true faces of the cultists, but merely masks.  Whatever they were before, their god has changed them in strange ways. Tales speak of glimpses of bruise-colored tendrils writhing beneath their masks and uncovered heads, hairless and rugous, pulsing with malevolent intelligence.

Planet of the Elves

In elven village and dwarven hamlet, elders warn children of the dangers of venturing too far into the wilderness.  Out there in the wastes, the well-worn admonitions say, lie half-buried ruins--the blasted and timeworn remnant of a world that was.

Reckless youths and greedy treasure-seekers have long ignore the warnings of their mothers and fathers. They brave the wilds to seek out these ruins, where tribes of giant Hairy Ones and worse things hunger for elf (and dwarf) flesh, and they delve into subterranean depths where baroquely insane wizards give flesh to monsters out of nightmare.

Many of these foolhardy adventurers don’t return home.  The skillful and lucky ones that do win glory as well as treasure.  They become heroes--for the wise amongst their peoples well know that every  bit of forgotten knowledge or ancient artifice brought up from underground brings their races closer to wresting the world from the grip of Man’s long ago folly.

Dwarf-Land: The Celestial Empire

Here's another mysterious location in Scott's very cool Dwarf-Land that he's leaving for individual DMs to develop.  Given the information presented in Scott's original document, here's my unofficial take:

The Celestial Empire of the China Men is far from Dwarf-Land proper.  It is said to lie a distance farther than from the earth to the moon--which is not so great a distance in Dwarf-Land as in the world we know, but still very far. Merchant caravans from this far-flung empire follow tortuous trails, passing through desert wastes, dessicated seas, and strange-spired cities, and with them they bring the legend and rumor that has formed the total of dwarvish knowledge of this land.

The China Folk are so named because all wear masks of fine porcelain among outsiders--or perhaps (as some travelers’ tales say) their faces are, in fact, made of living porcelain.  Perhaps lending credence to this claim, the skin of high born persons of the China Folk is exceedingly fair and unblemished, often a perfect match for their masks.

The masks are not precisely mobile, but they do change expression. This always happens suddenly.  At one moment, a China Man’s visage man be a mask of joviality, the next, a mask of irritation--but it remains always a mask.  Their aspects change less frequently than the faces of unadorned men, only marking extreme swings of emotion. Canny traders from Dwarf-Land cultivate keen ears for reading Chinese voices.  

The masks tell something of social class.  Those of the peasantry are often grotesque in countenance, with exaggerated grins, outsized noses, or bushy brows.  Their expressions seem to represent the essential character of the person wearing them.  Peasant masks are often chipped or at the very least spider-webbed with fine fractures.

The masks of the upper class are simpler, perhaps more dignified, in mein.  However, even the most  staid among them is not above painting on some brightly colored decoration or swirling pattern for feasts or appearances at court. Courtiers often wear bemused grins beneath shrewdly narrowed eyes; Courtesans favor tiny, puckering bows of crimson painted on fullest swell of their lips. The nobility often sport well-manicured beards and drooping moustaches.

Those of the upper class would die of shame (perhaps literally--Celestial Emperors have been known to order ritual suicide if their serenity is disturbed by unsightliness) if their masks were chipped or cracked.  The palace of their Emperor is said to be filled with cushions and pillows so that the fine china masks of His August Personage and his most beauteous wives and courtesans are never put at risk of damage.

The only exception to the pristine visages of the aristocracy are among the warrior caste. Some ferocious generals have been known to go to battle with the faces of grinning, horned demons.  A certain feared assassin of the Empire is said to wear a mask with a long and prominent crack running from his eye down his cheek, like a deep and unending river of tears.

Dwarf-Land: The Empire of Zoob

Scott of the Huge Ruined Pile remarked that the Empire of Zoob is one of the locations in his very cool Dwarf-Land that he was going to leave for individual DMs to develop.  Given the information presented in Scott's original document, here's my unofficial take:

The folk of the Empire of Zoob are a secretive lot, freely sharing only two things with outsiders: commerce (which fills their coffers with gold) and cunningly devised tortures (which they work upon any and all who transgress their elaborate and harsh legal code). The nigh-paranoid secrecy of Zoob extends to the workings of its government. It is known that the Empire is ruled by a Cabal of  Magi, but the members of this body never appear in public and only make their will known through edicts issued on anthropodermic broadsheets posted in public fora.

The religion of Zoob is likewise somewhat obscure.  It's primary faith, the Cult of the Weird God (liturgically named Undying ul-Zoob-ra in the Empire), is divided into several sects adhering to different interpretations of the pronouncements of the god's numerous (the exact number also being a point of contention) prophets. The Undying ul-Zoob-ra, Himself,--or perhaps an earthly beast holy to the god (this is one of the doctrinal issues the sects argue over)--dwells in a palace-cage in Zoob's holy city of Baphoum. The god (or holy beast) appears as a giant anteater with the ears of an ass and the wickedly clawed limbs of a cassowary. At the Festival of Yala-ul-Zoob, the beast is led through the streets by gilded chains held by his attendant clerics so that his holy talons may trample ecstatic worshippers, thus ensuring their place in Paradise. 

Men of Zoob dress in elaborate and colorful robes. They refuse to be seen in public without jeweled turbans and veils that hide their faces, save their kohl-rimmed, exotically colored eyes. Women wear little but gold ornamentation, tiny, sweetly chiming bells, and intoxicating perfumes. The Dance of the Bloody Scimitars, performed by a group of the women of Zoob selected by lottery when an execution draws nigh, is said to be the sight of a lifetime--and indeed it must be, as few if any outsiders survive it.

Mention My Name in Wermspittle

Or maybe it’s better if you didn’t. I’m not sure I want my name on the twitching lips of a drug-addled veteran of the Sewer-Militia who has “seen the elephant” (and never recovered), or spoken in the harsh rasp of plague-ravaged refugee right before he chomps down on a gore worm sausage.

If you haven’t been following the fecund imagination evident in Hereticwerks then let Wermspittle be your first introduction to it. The titular Wermspittle is a dark fantasy city that burrows beneath the Dung Age right into a trippy world of parasites and pathogens--something like a Cronenberg film version of Warhammer Fantasy as written by William S. Burroughs. Oh, and build that decaying structure atop a foundation of public domain weird and scientifiction (fun and educational!).

If that sounds good to you, let me just say my high concept summary doesn’t do the depth of the setting justice. Check it out, and all the other cool stuff at Hereticwerks.

Invading Mars

The first thing that strikes any Earthling visiting Mars for the first time is that Mars is old. The seas and lush vegetation of its youth have given way to anemic canals and barren rock and sand. Many of its canal cities are more ancient than Sumer--and even these are young compared to the ruins that dot the dust-choked wastes.

The Great Powers of Earth came to Mars hoping steal knowledge and wealth from the dying world. It was the first planet to be conquered with the arrival of the Age of Space and with good reason. The 1898 invasion that had nearly ended the human race had come from the red planet, after all. When man mastered the psychic technologies of the Invaders, it was only natural to want to strike back.

The Invaders weren’t actually from Mars, of course. That had only been a staging point. But the old canal cities of the true Martians had been waystations for space travelers in the past, and they still held ancient secrets. In the arid wastes there were underground complexes, the abandoned redoubts of ancient Martian civilization, constructed when they burrowed in to survive their world growing inhospitable. These subterranean ruins contain treasures both magical and mundane.

Treasure-hunters, thieves, and spies flock to the colonial cities. The British and French have governmental presences and peacekeeping forces. The Americans are represented by soldiers of fortune and freewheeling traders. The Russians are divided between White Russian spies, dreaming of a czarist resurgence, and Communist agitators, looking to make Mars more Red. German agents of the Nazi Ahnenerbe or the more shadowy Vril Society search out secrets for their mysterious “Aryan” masters in Agartha.

The Martians themselves tolerate these new invaders like all the others over the millennia. The canal and Lowland dwellers are generally solicitous and eager for Earth coin--though there are occasional small scale uprisings, and always there are rumors of murderous cults that wish to purge Mars of alien influences. The grim highlanders, however, seldom recognize colonial authority. They act as bandits and are often organized around fanatical ghazaerai monks.