| First Name | Surname | Profession First Word | Profession Second Word | Clothing | Hat |
| George/Georgia | Pulpit | Occult | Detective | Trenchcoat | Fedora |
| Nicolas/Nicola | Narthex | Magical | Investigator | Leather jacket | Stetson |
| Tobias/Titania | Choir-Loft | Supernatural | Freelancer | Pinstriped suit | Bowler |
| Jonah/Johanna | Tabernacle | Mystery | Consultant | Evening dress | Top hat |
| David/Deborah | Sacristry | Paranormal | Specialist | Morning suit | Boater |
| Arthur/Amelia | Belfry | Twilight | Operative | Cassock | Biretta |
| Richard/Rosamund | Iconostasis | Witch | Finder | Seersucker suit | Bishop Andrewes cap /Canterbury cap [That is...] |
| James/Janet | Chancel | Crypto- | Questor | Nehru jacket | Capotain [IE] |
| Constantius/Constance | Hymnboard | Transdimensional | Agent | Wax jacket | Flat cap |
| Habbakkuk/Harriet | Lectern | Shadow | Barrister | Legal robes | Horsehair wig |
Friday, 30 March 2018
Occult Detective Pastiche
A little outside my normal material. Instantly generate a pastiche/parody occult detective with 6d10!
Sunday, 25 March 2018
Civic Elves
The concept of Elves in the City may conjure up a number of images to you. A standard one might come from something like the Shadowrun games; an urban setting inspired by a mix of fantasy and cyberpunk, dropping woodland creatures into the urban sprawl of the twentieth century. Elves with leather jackets and piercings, with keyboards and terminals, with switchblade and uzi.
[Incidentally, if there isn't a late twentieth century Role playing system called With Switchblade and Uzi, there ought to be.]
Your mind might turn to the Dragon Age games: the setting - the world of Theldas, draws from Medieval Europe (unlike Shadowrun). A certain section of the Elven population dwells in human cities, in ghettos known as Alienages. As you might expect, the friction between the two groups is greater than in other examples of fantasy games or books.
These are hardly the only examples of their kind. The Warhammer Fantasy pseudo-Atlantis of Ulthuan is filled with Elven cities. Tolkien himself describes Elven cities: Gondolin being perhaps the most famous. More recently, I understand the Netflix motion picture Bright to have linked elves very directly with twenty-first century Western affluence (the porcelain complexion elves have been often portrayed with being likely relevant).
I should like, however, to draw a line swiftly under these images. Let us discard the elf directly influenced by a twenty-first century conception of urban life; let us also put to one side the pure-Elven cities of high fantasy. A more cosmopolitan city (probably human-run) is brought for your consideration - one with Elven districts, rather than alienages or ghettoes.
However, these are still Elves on the Tolkien model. Long lived, skilful, thoughtful, graceful. What sort of communities might they build?
It might look a little like the Inns of Court, or an Oxbridge college. The comparison is made not in terms of social function, or professions of the inhabitants - though Elves could certainly be professors or barristers; an Elven judge doesn't just make precedent, he IS precedent.... [The notion of Elf-Rumpole must be quashed immediately.]
No, the comparison is made in terms of architecture and institutional process. The architectural angle suggests itself easily enough: relatively self-contained regions, well-madeplaces with wealth enough to keep them maintained (elves, even if not necessarily hugely wealthy, are presumably willing to work hard at keeping their homes up to scratch), cobblestones worn smooth and glossy by innumerably footsteps. The Gothic and Jacobean buildings possessed by some of Inns of Court or colleges are fitting: Peter Jackson's cinematic adaptation of Lord of the Rings uses a sort of Gothic revival style for Elven buildings, focussing on the naturalistic features of Gothic architecture and snipping away any very bright colours. (Although this gentleman makes the comparison to Art Nouveau).
(Incidentally, I am not suggesting that Oxbridge colleges or the Inns of Court have always been neat, clean, 'Elf-worthy' spots. In the days of Dr Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith, for instance, I am by no means sure that the Temple was.)
[I have discussed the Arts and Crafts movement, roughly contemperenous with the Gothic revival here - this article may be considered a companion piece of sorts.]
Consider for comparison...
...or...
...or indeed, the Palace of Westminster.
Of course, Elven architecture would be less ecclesiastical (if not, however, irreligious). The images of Rivendell above also have something of the vernacular about them (Cf. Dragestil). Perhaps Gothic revival Elves or Oxford Movement Elves are something for another day.
One could also have Elves take up a more Classical or Georgian form - in which case perhaps an Elven community might look like New Town, Edinburgh next to the cramped tenements around the Castle and crags. However, enough of architecture for a time.
Let us also think on the nature of the institutions referenced above. Old fashioned in certain regards. Wealthy, if not as wealthy as corporations - and with a less profit-driven motive (regardless of how much money gets made). Prestigious and influential, certainly - bur prestige and influence not based on raw power or numbers or deep coffers. (Wizards often get the University model thrust towards them in fantasy fiction - but I feel Elves could have it attributed to them successfully).
Elves don't strike me as terribly antisocial: capable of being alone and prospering, certainly. But the notion that they would adhere to one another in the metropolis - so that one might have of refuge from the follies and transience of the human life (without the Elves in question actively despising humanity - those that do like as not stay in the forest or the isles).
Moreover, if one were to ask after the foundation of such a place it might be that the courts and gardens of the Elven Quarter were built after they had been exiled, when the Dark Lord occupied the forests of the Verdant Dale...(&c.). Migrations into cities for Tolkien-esque Elves does not seem a process that would occur naturally.
I bear no grudge to Shadowrun or Bright. But here is a vision not of the Urban fantasy sub-genre, though it is firmly based in the city - hence the title I have used here, Civic Elves. Elves in the city not entirely divorced from their roots in Tolkien - or indeed his inspirations.
[Incidentally, if there isn't a late twentieth century Role playing system called With Switchblade and Uzi, there ought to be.]
Your mind might turn to the Dragon Age games: the setting - the world of Theldas, draws from Medieval Europe (unlike Shadowrun). A certain section of the Elven population dwells in human cities, in ghettos known as Alienages. As you might expect, the friction between the two groups is greater than in other examples of fantasy games or books.
These are hardly the only examples of their kind. The Warhammer Fantasy pseudo-Atlantis of Ulthuan is filled with Elven cities. Tolkien himself describes Elven cities: Gondolin being perhaps the most famous. More recently, I understand the Netflix motion picture Bright to have linked elves very directly with twenty-first century Western affluence (the porcelain complexion elves have been often portrayed with being likely relevant).
I should like, however, to draw a line swiftly under these images. Let us discard the elf directly influenced by a twenty-first century conception of urban life; let us also put to one side the pure-Elven cities of high fantasy. A more cosmopolitan city (probably human-run) is brought for your consideration - one with Elven districts, rather than alienages or ghettoes.
However, these are still Elves on the Tolkien model. Long lived, skilful, thoughtful, graceful. What sort of communities might they build?
It might look a little like the Inns of Court, or an Oxbridge college. The comparison is made not in terms of social function, or professions of the inhabitants - though Elves could certainly be professors or barristers; an Elven judge doesn't just make precedent, he IS precedent.... [The notion of Elf-Rumpole must be quashed immediately.]
No, the comparison is made in terms of architecture and institutional process. The architectural angle suggests itself easily enough: relatively self-contained regions, well-madeplaces with wealth enough to keep them maintained (elves, even if not necessarily hugely wealthy, are presumably willing to work hard at keeping their homes up to scratch), cobblestones worn smooth and glossy by innumerably footsteps. The Gothic and Jacobean buildings possessed by some of Inns of Court or colleges are fitting: Peter Jackson's cinematic adaptation of Lord of the Rings uses a sort of Gothic revival style for Elven buildings, focussing on the naturalistic features of Gothic architecture and snipping away any very bright colours. (Although this gentleman makes the comparison to Art Nouveau).
(Incidentally, I am not suggesting that Oxbridge colleges or the Inns of Court have always been neat, clean, 'Elf-worthy' spots. In the days of Dr Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith, for instance, I am by no means sure that the Temple was.)
[I have discussed the Arts and Crafts movement, roughly contemperenous with the Gothic revival here - this article may be considered a companion piece of sorts.]
 |
| From Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings. Consider that tracery; other views available here. The pillars and colonnades in this clip are also a good from the Gothic revival point of view, though the painted artwork is rather more naturalistic than below - and the arches less pointed. |
Consider for comparison...
 |
| Interior, All Saints' Church, Cambridge (Image from Wikipedia) |
 |
| Interior, All Saints, Margaret Street, London - once again from Wikipedia. |
Of course, Elven architecture would be less ecclesiastical (if not, however, irreligious). The images of Rivendell above also have something of the vernacular about them (Cf. Dragestil). Perhaps Gothic revival Elves or Oxford Movement Elves are something for another day.
One could also have Elves take up a more Classical or Georgian form - in which case perhaps an Elven community might look like New Town, Edinburgh next to the cramped tenements around the Castle and crags. However, enough of architecture for a time.
Let us also think on the nature of the institutions referenced above. Old fashioned in certain regards. Wealthy, if not as wealthy as corporations - and with a less profit-driven motive (regardless of how much money gets made). Prestigious and influential, certainly - bur prestige and influence not based on raw power or numbers or deep coffers. (Wizards often get the University model thrust towards them in fantasy fiction - but I feel Elves could have it attributed to them successfully).
Elves don't strike me as terribly antisocial: capable of being alone and prospering, certainly. But the notion that they would adhere to one another in the metropolis - so that one might have of refuge from the follies and transience of the human life (without the Elves in question actively despising humanity - those that do like as not stay in the forest or the isles).
Moreover, if one were to ask after the foundation of such a place it might be that the courts and gardens of the Elven Quarter were built after they had been exiled, when the Dark Lord occupied the forests of the Verdant Dale...(&c.). Migrations into cities for Tolkien-esque Elves does not seem a process that would occur naturally.
I bear no grudge to Shadowrun or Bright. But here is a vision not of the Urban fantasy sub-genre, though it is firmly based in the city - hence the title I have used here, Civic Elves. Elves in the city not entirely divorced from their roots in Tolkien - or indeed his inspirations.
Friday, 23 March 2018
Sphinx Specimens
Having made this post suggesting a series of Sphinxes as dragon substitutes, I have been meaning to provide some examples. Consider the specimens below those very examples - the equivalent of Skerples' Grand Lair. The Reptilian corollary to the former post is in effect, after a fashion.
***
The ancient city of Ophidopolis was built atop the rocky bluffs of the Viprous Rise above the River that bisects the desert. The caverns below served any number of purposes for the residents; sewers, mines, middens, tombs. But they were also quite capable of sheltering other things. Warm-blooded things, that hide from the nurturing sun.
Now that Ophidopolis has dwindled, the bulk of trade and the population moving to the city's former harbour at Pythia's Cataract, they have only become more bold. Five of the greatest are monstrous sphinxes, amalgams of beasts with the wits of men....
***
Phalkus
Lair: The Rose-Red Canyon was once the main entrance to the caverns. In the warren of gates, shaft entrances, yards and offices, an Androsphinx has made a home.
Sphinx: Phalkus is the size of a lorry. His fur is constantly serving to catch the sand and dust that settles into the Rose-Red canyon, and has taken on this colour - unless he has been freshly groomed by his Servants, when his colour appears rather similar to tanned, leathery skin. The fur of an androshpinx is less extensive than other sphinxes - his skins is visible beneath the fur, though it is of a hue with it.
Phalkus can breathe out a great cloud to cover himself, so he can move through the canyon during the day without overheating. This makes his presence obvious, but it often disorients or discomforts those around him. Phalkus is willing to take advantage of this.
Desires: a regular flow of tribute and allegiance. Phalkus has no objections to letting folk into the caverns, but notes who has gone through and thus who precisely should be shaken down if they try to leave. He has a number of arrangements with possibly-legitimate businessmen in Pythia's Cataract to exploit the caverns for what can be found. Phalkus would happily deal with the City Fathers for something more permanent and secure, though they have not thought it wise or proper to deal with a sphinx.
Hoard: ledgers, markers, tally sticks. Records of who has passed by; items of their clothing with which to track them. Magic items that assist with the same, as well as enchanted parchment necessary for magically binding covenants.
Followers: a number of dog-kobolds, mostly resembling golden retrievers. They are fine trackers and scouts, often put to this use by the Sphinxborn warriors of Phalkus (and aided by his collection of scent-samples).
Phalkus's Sphinxborn are remarkable human-looking, differing principally in the shape of eyes and placement of ears. Their armour deliberately mimics lion limbs and paws, to get into the proper sphinx-attitude. They are called on more often as guards and bouncers than warriors, but should not be underestimated.
Phalkus's Sycophants tend to serve as scribes and witnesses or archivists, maintaining the ledgers and records. A few are skilled sketch artists, capable of making mug-shots for the archives. Phalkus himself can remember most of those who have passed by, but the kobolds and Sphinxborn need a helping hand. They tend to done rose-red clothing like the canyon. Many are undead or re-animated in some fashion, sustained by Phalkus's covenants and deals. Many are there unwillingly.
Alliances: deals regularly with Khyrsowex, but doesn't trust him. The bull-headed sphinx bruises his pride.
He dislikes the sincerity of Chindasuinth, though has a hidden awe for Gyravagne.
Trade Goods: information, principally. His kobolds make for fine trackers. Phalkus is always good for a loan of one kind or the other.
***
Gyravagne the Grey
Sphinx: A hiercosphinx, about the size of a Church, with the colouration of a peregrine falcon (grey head, back and wings, tawny/dappled belly and flanks). She is an extravagant beast, given to great spontaneous displays of might. The notion of a rehearsed procession or protocol is rather lost on her.
Gyravagne can breath whirlwinds and has almost total control of her environment for the one thing she enjoys best - flight. Hieracosphinxes tend to be self-absorbed, she is no exception. Do not suggest that she might enjoy flying elsewhere. She has a notion of her limitations in the desert and does not care to consider them overmuch.
Lair: perched on the brink of a chasm, wide enough for Gyravagne to fly in. The chasm is very wide and is said to be bottomless. [It almost certainly leads to the Veins of the Earth.] A series of ramshackle dwellings for her Sphinxspawned circle a wide landing ground. A separate chamber for her moments of rare privacy is actually a naturally occurring opening in the side of the chasm. Some of her Sphinxspawned are digging shafts down to facilitate contact.
Desires: somewhere new to fly in. Some one to fly with. More ways of controlling the weather.
Hoard: flying machines, ancient and modern; an aviary; sphinx-size grooming and physical training devices.
Followers: her dog-kobolds tend to resemble greyhounds or whippets: aerodynamic and slight. Most like to make gliders and flying machines to imitate their mistress. She indulges them, like pets, often summoning the winds for them. However, the loss of one or two into the chasm does not appall her.
The Sphinxborn resemble raptors and birds of prey; for one to be born resembling Gyravagne is considered a great fortune. They are not built for flight and tend to spend their time obsessively patrolling the perimeter of the lair and putting the kobolds in their place. Gyravagne regards them as glum, fussy servants: useful, but rarely entertaining.
Her Sycophants are basically her ground crew: grooms, physiotherapists, meteorologists specialising in the microclimate of the chasm and the effects of her whirlwinds. They tend to have a genuine interest in her. A chosen few have ridden on her back as she flies. This is as exciting and as amazing as you think it is.
Alliances: None that seem lasting. Regards Chindasuinth as sufficiently disinterested in her interests to be a decent ally of convenience.
Gravagne regards Chelloron as insufferably low-minded and Phalkus as a grubby profiteer. However, she finds some measure of ground with the powerful and candid Khyrsowex.
Trade Goods: Gyavagne tends to get by on bluster and bravado. However, she has discovered sufficient seams of precious minerals in her flights, and prompts her followers to excavate them accordingly.
***
Chindasuinth the Confessor
Sphinx: A criosphinx, the size of a barn. His wool-cum-fur is white and fleecy. Obsessed with the correct method of any given process.
A priest of his own church, imitating as perfectly as possible the customs of a major established faith above ground, especially in matters of ritual. (To those venturing into his realm, this is deeply unsettling, like a dragon celebrating mass. It might say grace first, but it is still liable to eat you.) Chindasuinth's customs have naturally diverged somewhat from the orthodox path.
Chindasuinth regards the faith he has adopted as theologically sound and thorough: the right way to go about the matter of existing. He has no (as-such) plan of good works or welfare for his flock, but regards their presence in the rituals and schooling in the faith as the be-all and end-all of his duties (duties which he is incredibly attentive to).
Lair: a series of narrow caverns, honeycombed into one large Church like building. The portals in are watched closely. A number of warren-cloisters have been excavated for his followers.
The plan is very like that of a Church, but the high altar and all the places for the High Priest must be criosphinx-sized, rather distorting the proportions of certain sections.
Desires: converts, alignment with the above-ground hierarchy (whom he would no doubt regard as heresiarchs), the means to expand his church. Theological debate.
Hoard: theological tomes, liturgical vestments and gear, manuals and encyclopaediae from his former searches for meaning and method.
Followers: the kobolds around Chindasuinth are generally collie-like: upright and attentive. The can be found attending to smallholdings of fungus or in workshops when not at worship. Chindsasuinth regards them as lay brethren requiring careful shepherding.
His Sphinxborn bear a resemblance to really muscular fauns. They regard themselves as in training for the Defence of the Faith and are treat this with a very real seriousness: their neatest co-religionists are above ground.
The Sycophants around Chindasuinth fulfil all the specialised roles of divine worship: torchbearers, choir chorus, cantors, thurifers, Church wardens. None are as such mummified, but many cling to life tenuously through the patterns of Chindasuinth-led worship.
Alliances: Chindasuinth has a Don Camillo-Peppone thing ongoing with Chelloron. They are unlikely to work together, except against common enemy.
He regards Khyrsowex as making poor use of his flock; he actively spurns the worldly Phalkus.
Trade Goods: Worked goods: Chindasuinth's previous occupations do him good service in putting his flock to work. Religious art is also in abundance - if the work of kobold paws delights you.
***
Chelloron
Sphinx: a jackal-headed sphinx. She is gregarious, arch and patient. Her pelt is a rusty black. Chelloron is the approximate size of a village marketplace.
Chelloron makes use of all around her. Everything has a use; nothing is to be thrown away. Even her own refuse is considered as in some way an active part of her resources, no matter how worn, pointless or useless any given thing may happen to be. Even noxious substances can be kept and used - possibly as weapons [Germ warfare? She might ask why it is more terrible than other warfare.] She is an active utilitarian - largely divorced from any given code -, an improver - even a do-gooder, with all the negative and positive connotations that brings.
Lair: a former midden. A chasm to the surface, once a pit for all the refuse and spoil of the mine workings and the city above. It is not a foul place, many centuries on. Chelloron tends to perch on a ledge above it.
Desires: Space for her possessions and means of improving them. Whereupon that space will become her possession.
She is pragmatic enough to bargain for (for instance) ingots of steel when it would be to her advantage to have steel, but Chelloron is not discerning.
Hoard: a genuine bounty of objects, put to different uses. You will find very little that serves it's intended function.
Followers: her dog-kobolds are burrowers, nimble chasers, seekers - they resemble Dachshunds and are, relatively speaking, even worse collectors and hoarders than Chelloron. They must be coaxed into use.
Her Sphinxspawn are not the sturdiest of their kind. They tend to the use of traps, of snipers, of ambuscades. They are patient and might be thorough - more like Rangers than Fighters.
The sycophants around her tend to be fallen lords, failed conquerers and former politicians. They have a desperation, a need to put to use everything around them to bolster their cause. They know quite how fast and far one can fall.
Alliances: Chindasuinth has a Don Camillo-Peppone thing ongoing with Chelloron. They are unlikely to work together, except against common enemy.
She appreciates Khyrsowex's farms, but not his attitude. Phalkus amuses her, in a contemptuous fashion - why make use only of folk? How foolish!
Trade Goods: most any common or semi-rare item, but it is probably broken or defaced.
***
Khyrsowex
Sphinx: a bull-headed sphinx. Overbearing, chummy, thinks he has a winning air. Harsh and ruthless when crossed; generous when obeyed or dealt with in what he deems a respectful fashion.
If you want a real world reference, a Southern Gentleman of cliche. He is about the size of a large Church.
Lair: a tightly run and productive series of underground farms, largely rearing mushrooms. Khyrsowex's own habitual chamber lies at the centre of the many passages connecting them.
Desires: a few really good constitutional scholars, lawyers and teachers. He'd like educated servants and a moderately sophisticated society to run. While at it, an expansion of the amount of folk lucky enough to enjoy his enlightened rule would be nice.
Hoard: crops, contented servants, tools, weapons. Minor luxuries of many kinds.
Followers: Khyrsoex's dog-kobolds have the look of German Shepherds: trim and muscular, obedient. They work the fields and watch the boundaries.
His Sphinxspawn are broad, often horned like minotaurs - and surprisingly quick for such bulky creatures. Stronger than you, swifter than you and dedicated to defending their master.
Those sycophants that surround him tend to be merchants, former or current. They know the value of stability; the uses of a settled land and an obedient populous.
Alliances: not quite self-conceited enough to imagine that Phalkus obeys him, but imagines Phalkus fears him. He hopes to suborn Chindasuinth.
Trade Goods: Food, shelter, protection. As long as you want it. As long as you show that you want it.
However, if necessary, Khyrsowex will dip into the petty cash.
***
The ancient city of Ophidopolis was built atop the rocky bluffs of the Viprous Rise above the River that bisects the desert. The caverns below served any number of purposes for the residents; sewers, mines, middens, tombs. But they were also quite capable of sheltering other things. Warm-blooded things, that hide from the nurturing sun.
Now that Ophidopolis has dwindled, the bulk of trade and the population moving to the city's former harbour at Pythia's Cataract, they have only become more bold. Five of the greatest are monstrous sphinxes, amalgams of beasts with the wits of men....
***
Phalkus
Lair: The Rose-Red Canyon was once the main entrance to the caverns. In the warren of gates, shaft entrances, yards and offices, an Androsphinx has made a home.
Sphinx: Phalkus is the size of a lorry. His fur is constantly serving to catch the sand and dust that settles into the Rose-Red canyon, and has taken on this colour - unless he has been freshly groomed by his Servants, when his colour appears rather similar to tanned, leathery skin. The fur of an androshpinx is less extensive than other sphinxes - his skins is visible beneath the fur, though it is of a hue with it.
Phalkus can breathe out a great cloud to cover himself, so he can move through the canyon during the day without overheating. This makes his presence obvious, but it often disorients or discomforts those around him. Phalkus is willing to take advantage of this.
Desires: a regular flow of tribute and allegiance. Phalkus has no objections to letting folk into the caverns, but notes who has gone through and thus who precisely should be shaken down if they try to leave. He has a number of arrangements with possibly-legitimate businessmen in Pythia's Cataract to exploit the caverns for what can be found. Phalkus would happily deal with the City Fathers for something more permanent and secure, though they have not thought it wise or proper to deal with a sphinx.
Hoard: ledgers, markers, tally sticks. Records of who has passed by; items of their clothing with which to track them. Magic items that assist with the same, as well as enchanted parchment necessary for magically binding covenants.
Followers: a number of dog-kobolds, mostly resembling golden retrievers. They are fine trackers and scouts, often put to this use by the Sphinxborn warriors of Phalkus (and aided by his collection of scent-samples).
Phalkus's Sphinxborn are remarkable human-looking, differing principally in the shape of eyes and placement of ears. Their armour deliberately mimics lion limbs and paws, to get into the proper sphinx-attitude. They are called on more often as guards and bouncers than warriors, but should not be underestimated.
Phalkus's Sycophants tend to serve as scribes and witnesses or archivists, maintaining the ledgers and records. A few are skilled sketch artists, capable of making mug-shots for the archives. Phalkus himself can remember most of those who have passed by, but the kobolds and Sphinxborn need a helping hand. They tend to done rose-red clothing like the canyon. Many are undead or re-animated in some fashion, sustained by Phalkus's covenants and deals. Many are there unwillingly.
Alliances: deals regularly with Khyrsowex, but doesn't trust him. The bull-headed sphinx bruises his pride.
He dislikes the sincerity of Chindasuinth, though has a hidden awe for Gyravagne.
Trade Goods: information, principally. His kobolds make for fine trackers. Phalkus is always good for a loan of one kind or the other.
***
Gyravagne the Grey
Sphinx: A hiercosphinx, about the size of a Church, with the colouration of a peregrine falcon (grey head, back and wings, tawny/dappled belly and flanks). She is an extravagant beast, given to great spontaneous displays of might. The notion of a rehearsed procession or protocol is rather lost on her.
Gyravagne can breath whirlwinds and has almost total control of her environment for the one thing she enjoys best - flight. Hieracosphinxes tend to be self-absorbed, she is no exception. Do not suggest that she might enjoy flying elsewhere. She has a notion of her limitations in the desert and does not care to consider them overmuch.
Lair: perched on the brink of a chasm, wide enough for Gyravagne to fly in. The chasm is very wide and is said to be bottomless. [It almost certainly leads to the Veins of the Earth.] A series of ramshackle dwellings for her Sphinxspawned circle a wide landing ground. A separate chamber for her moments of rare privacy is actually a naturally occurring opening in the side of the chasm. Some of her Sphinxspawned are digging shafts down to facilitate contact.
Desires: somewhere new to fly in. Some one to fly with. More ways of controlling the weather.
Hoard: flying machines, ancient and modern; an aviary; sphinx-size grooming and physical training devices.
Followers: her dog-kobolds tend to resemble greyhounds or whippets: aerodynamic and slight. Most like to make gliders and flying machines to imitate their mistress. She indulges them, like pets, often summoning the winds for them. However, the loss of one or two into the chasm does not appall her.
The Sphinxborn resemble raptors and birds of prey; for one to be born resembling Gyravagne is considered a great fortune. They are not built for flight and tend to spend their time obsessively patrolling the perimeter of the lair and putting the kobolds in their place. Gyravagne regards them as glum, fussy servants: useful, but rarely entertaining.
Her Sycophants are basically her ground crew: grooms, physiotherapists, meteorologists specialising in the microclimate of the chasm and the effects of her whirlwinds. They tend to have a genuine interest in her. A chosen few have ridden on her back as she flies. This is as exciting and as amazing as you think it is.
Alliances: None that seem lasting. Regards Chindasuinth as sufficiently disinterested in her interests to be a decent ally of convenience.
Gravagne regards Chelloron as insufferably low-minded and Phalkus as a grubby profiteer. However, she finds some measure of ground with the powerful and candid Khyrsowex.
Trade Goods: Gyavagne tends to get by on bluster and bravado. However, she has discovered sufficient seams of precious minerals in her flights, and prompts her followers to excavate them accordingly.
***
Chindasuinth the Confessor
Sphinx: A criosphinx, the size of a barn. His wool-cum-fur is white and fleecy. Obsessed with the correct method of any given process.
A priest of his own church, imitating as perfectly as possible the customs of a major established faith above ground, especially in matters of ritual. (To those venturing into his realm, this is deeply unsettling, like a dragon celebrating mass. It might say grace first, but it is still liable to eat you.) Chindasuinth's customs have naturally diverged somewhat from the orthodox path.
Chindasuinth regards the faith he has adopted as theologically sound and thorough: the right way to go about the matter of existing. He has no (as-such) plan of good works or welfare for his flock, but regards their presence in the rituals and schooling in the faith as the be-all and end-all of his duties (duties which he is incredibly attentive to).
Lair: a series of narrow caverns, honeycombed into one large Church like building. The portals in are watched closely. A number of warren-cloisters have been excavated for his followers.
The plan is very like that of a Church, but the high altar and all the places for the High Priest must be criosphinx-sized, rather distorting the proportions of certain sections.
Desires: converts, alignment with the above-ground hierarchy (whom he would no doubt regard as heresiarchs), the means to expand his church. Theological debate.
Hoard: theological tomes, liturgical vestments and gear, manuals and encyclopaediae from his former searches for meaning and method.
His Sphinxborn bear a resemblance to really muscular fauns. They regard themselves as in training for the Defence of the Faith and are treat this with a very real seriousness: their neatest co-religionists are above ground.
The Sycophants around Chindasuinth fulfil all the specialised roles of divine worship: torchbearers, choir chorus, cantors, thurifers, Church wardens. None are as such mummified, but many cling to life tenuously through the patterns of Chindasuinth-led worship.
Alliances: Chindasuinth has a Don Camillo-Peppone thing ongoing with Chelloron. They are unlikely to work together, except against common enemy.
He regards Khyrsowex as making poor use of his flock; he actively spurns the worldly Phalkus.
Trade Goods: Worked goods: Chindasuinth's previous occupations do him good service in putting his flock to work. Religious art is also in abundance - if the work of kobold paws delights you.
***
Chelloron
Sphinx: a jackal-headed sphinx. She is gregarious, arch and patient. Her pelt is a rusty black. Chelloron is the approximate size of a village marketplace.
Chelloron makes use of all around her. Everything has a use; nothing is to be thrown away. Even her own refuse is considered as in some way an active part of her resources, no matter how worn, pointless or useless any given thing may happen to be. Even noxious substances can be kept and used - possibly as weapons [Germ warfare? She might ask why it is more terrible than other warfare.] She is an active utilitarian - largely divorced from any given code -, an improver - even a do-gooder, with all the negative and positive connotations that brings.
Lair: a former midden. A chasm to the surface, once a pit for all the refuse and spoil of the mine workings and the city above. It is not a foul place, many centuries on. Chelloron tends to perch on a ledge above it.
Desires: Space for her possessions and means of improving them. Whereupon that space will become her possession.
She is pragmatic enough to bargain for (for instance) ingots of steel when it would be to her advantage to have steel, but Chelloron is not discerning.
Hoard: a genuine bounty of objects, put to different uses. You will find very little that serves it's intended function.
Her Sphinxspawn are not the sturdiest of their kind. They tend to the use of traps, of snipers, of ambuscades. They are patient and might be thorough - more like Rangers than Fighters.
The sycophants around her tend to be fallen lords, failed conquerers and former politicians. They have a desperation, a need to put to use everything around them to bolster their cause. They know quite how fast and far one can fall.
Alliances: Chindasuinth has a Don Camillo-Peppone thing ongoing with Chelloron. They are unlikely to work together, except against common enemy.
She appreciates Khyrsowex's farms, but not his attitude. Phalkus amuses her, in a contemptuous fashion - why make use only of folk? How foolish!
Trade Goods: most any common or semi-rare item, but it is probably broken or defaced.
***
Khyrsowex
Sphinx: a bull-headed sphinx. Overbearing, chummy, thinks he has a winning air. Harsh and ruthless when crossed; generous when obeyed or dealt with in what he deems a respectful fashion.
If you want a real world reference, a Southern Gentleman of cliche. He is about the size of a large Church.
Lair: a tightly run and productive series of underground farms, largely rearing mushrooms. Khyrsowex's own habitual chamber lies at the centre of the many passages connecting them.
Desires: a few really good constitutional scholars, lawyers and teachers. He'd like educated servants and a moderately sophisticated society to run. While at it, an expansion of the amount of folk lucky enough to enjoy his enlightened rule would be nice.
Hoard: crops, contented servants, tools, weapons. Minor luxuries of many kinds.
His Sphinxspawn are broad, often horned like minotaurs - and surprisingly quick for such bulky creatures. Stronger than you, swifter than you and dedicated to defending their master.
Those sycophants that surround him tend to be merchants, former or current. They know the value of stability; the uses of a settled land and an obedient populous.
Alliances: not quite self-conceited enough to imagine that Phalkus obeys him, but imagines Phalkus fears him. He hopes to suborn Chindasuinth.
Trade Goods: Food, shelter, protection. As long as you want it. As long as you show that you want it.
However, if necessary, Khyrsowex will dip into the petty cash.
***
Why visit the caverns beneath old Ophidopolis?
Wealth. Magical items of unknown heritage. Desperation. Knowledge. Centuries old cultural artefacts. Obligation. All these might drive you in, but the Five above will drive you out.
Why visit the caverns beneath old Ophidopolis?
Wealth. Magical items of unknown heritage. Desperation. Knowledge. Centuries old cultural artefacts. Obligation. All these might drive you in, but the Five above will drive you out.
Saturday, 17 March 2018
Clark Ashton Smith: End of the First Impressions
I have finished Emperor of Dreams now, and intend to finish up or follow up any thoughts in this post.
That Weird Fiction of the 1930s United States has HP Lovecraft on the East Coast, Robert E Howard in Texas and Clark Ashton Smith on the West Coast seems very neat, if purely coincidental. [I want to see a Raymond Chandler pastiche where Philip Marlowe meets an old down-on-his-luck CAS in a California backwater.]
CAS still seems to like mummies - and has a very strong notion of them, not just as Egyptian themed vampires but as something more. If all monsters are supposed to tap into some kind of existing fear, it is interesting to consider what the mummy might be. Perhaps some kind of invocation of the past and being trapped in it; perhaps some kind of active, worldly malevolent power (Egypt as the oppressor - of God's Chosen, the Israelites) - one that firmly believes you can take it with you.
Same with Gorgons, incidentally. It would be interesting to encounter a horror story around Gorgons rather than retreading Perseus in some form.
'The Root of Ampoi' - decent stuff, this. Suitable framing device, well though through - it doesn't quite take sides, which is an advantage. Make this into a television episode or something [Black Mirror of Galadriel?] and it would become a wonderful salient in the Culture Wars.
There's some real Grand Guignol over-the -top horror here; apply yourself to 'A Good Embalmer' for this sort of thing. I have learnt that there was an adaptation of 'The Sourcerer's Return' starring Vincent Price. This does not surprise me.
Zothique never quite seems to coalesce into anything more definite for me than The Thousand and One Nights with a superfluity of mummies. The good stories set in Zothique never seem to be about Zothique or to rely on the atmosphere of Zothique. That the living kingdoms are outnumbered by the dead is clear - but it never embraces the Dying Earth so well as Vance or Wolfe. Not that we need blame CAS for this.
Averoigne turns into something a deal less delightful than one might perhaps have thought. The tale 'The Beast of Averoigne' is possibly the best in the collection. 'Mother of Toads' just feels rather crass.
Hyperborea continues to delight - 'The Seven Geases' vies with 'The Door to Turn in terms of scope and playfulness. 'The Theft of Thirty-Nine Girdles' is a good straightforward piece of roguery - something which more could turn their hands to, quite free of supposed heroics or attempts to make us get in touch with characters of a very different time and place. However, despite being a rather pure heist story, this tale also ends with the disappearance of a sorcerer - one who was instructed specifically to avoid the occult this time round and stick to chemistry.
It's this sort of thing that cuts across CAS's tales being described as decadent; no-one ever gets to delight overmuch in their wickedness, or so it seems. Perhaps it is not surprising that 1930s America would not publish such; perhaps this is the equivalent of the villainous gangster getting away with crime until the very end of the final reel when the police rush in - but it raises a wider question about 'decadent' literature. Is it ever totally decadent? Surely not, if some moral intervenes. But it would be difficult to call it literature (in the status laden, judgemental use of the word). A tale where a wizard summons up a succubus and has a jolly good time isn't really doing a great deal with the plot or characters, in some ways. It is pretty much pornography - whatever the actual content (IE, a wizard entreats a demon to destroy his enemies - and they are promptly destroyed with no ill consequences to the wizard). This needn't be bad - but it may well be limiting.
(A tale where a wizard summons up a succubus and she turns out to be a person in her own right isn't quite decadent, totally or partially; not so much a courting of otherworldly powers as getting to know someone from another culture. This is different from deliberately embracing that which one knows to be not of one's kind; something of definite otherness and irreconcilable difference. I have not seen The Shape of Water [TOPICAL] but it strikes me as being the former rather than the latter).
CAS's life is fascinating and oddly sad. An autodidact, raised in an isolated cabin in the Sierras, who dwelt with his parents until their death. An early-published poet, who never lived up to early promise and popularity. He never quite made a living from his stories, especially in later life, taking up part-work where he could find it. So, no, he never made it to France. He survived HP Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard, but seems to have lived a life not unlike theirs. CAS was oddly in touch with the needs of reality for an author of such elaborate fantasies.
***
I am certainly glad to have read CAS's stories, however down on some of them I might have been. Part of this is just taking such a large dose of them; I am doing this with some of Tim Powers's short stories currently. This is a lifetime's work - it should not be odd if things repeat; they were not being written as close to one another as I read them. Take a trip to Hyperborea or Zothique yourselves; the journey is quite something.
***
Pick up the collection yourself, or head over to Eldritch Dark for short stories and some of Clark Ashton Smith's art and sculpture.
 |
| From the Gollancz Fantasy Masterworks collection. Cover by JK Potter. |
That Weird Fiction of the 1930s United States has HP Lovecraft on the East Coast, Robert E Howard in Texas and Clark Ashton Smith on the West Coast seems very neat, if purely coincidental. [I want to see a Raymond Chandler pastiche where Philip Marlowe meets an old down-on-his-luck CAS in a California backwater.]
CAS still seems to like mummies - and has a very strong notion of them, not just as Egyptian themed vampires but as something more. If all monsters are supposed to tap into some kind of existing fear, it is interesting to consider what the mummy might be. Perhaps some kind of invocation of the past and being trapped in it; perhaps some kind of active, worldly malevolent power (Egypt as the oppressor - of God's Chosen, the Israelites) - one that firmly believes you can take it with you.
Same with Gorgons, incidentally. It would be interesting to encounter a horror story around Gorgons rather than retreading Perseus in some form.
'The Root of Ampoi' - decent stuff, this. Suitable framing device, well though through - it doesn't quite take sides, which is an advantage. Make this into a television episode or something [Black Mirror of Galadriel?] and it would become a wonderful salient in the Culture Wars.
There's some real Grand Guignol over-the -top horror here; apply yourself to 'A Good Embalmer' for this sort of thing. I have learnt that there was an adaptation of 'The Sourcerer's Return' starring Vincent Price. This does not surprise me.
Zothique never quite seems to coalesce into anything more definite for me than The Thousand and One Nights with a superfluity of mummies. The good stories set in Zothique never seem to be about Zothique or to rely on the atmosphere of Zothique. That the living kingdoms are outnumbered by the dead is clear - but it never embraces the Dying Earth so well as Vance or Wolfe. Not that we need blame CAS for this.
Averoigne turns into something a deal less delightful than one might perhaps have thought. The tale 'The Beast of Averoigne' is possibly the best in the collection. 'Mother of Toads' just feels rather crass.
Hyperborea continues to delight - 'The Seven Geases' vies with 'The Door to Turn in terms of scope and playfulness. 'The Theft of Thirty-Nine Girdles' is a good straightforward piece of roguery - something which more could turn their hands to, quite free of supposed heroics or attempts to make us get in touch with characters of a very different time and place. However, despite being a rather pure heist story, this tale also ends with the disappearance of a sorcerer - one who was instructed specifically to avoid the occult this time round and stick to chemistry.
It's this sort of thing that cuts across CAS's tales being described as decadent; no-one ever gets to delight overmuch in their wickedness, or so it seems. Perhaps it is not surprising that 1930s America would not publish such; perhaps this is the equivalent of the villainous gangster getting away with crime until the very end of the final reel when the police rush in - but it raises a wider question about 'decadent' literature. Is it ever totally decadent? Surely not, if some moral intervenes. But it would be difficult to call it literature (in the status laden, judgemental use of the word). A tale where a wizard summons up a succubus and has a jolly good time isn't really doing a great deal with the plot or characters, in some ways. It is pretty much pornography - whatever the actual content (IE, a wizard entreats a demon to destroy his enemies - and they are promptly destroyed with no ill consequences to the wizard). This needn't be bad - but it may well be limiting.
(A tale where a wizard summons up a succubus and she turns out to be a person in her own right isn't quite decadent, totally or partially; not so much a courting of otherworldly powers as getting to know someone from another culture. This is different from deliberately embracing that which one knows to be not of one's kind; something of definite otherness and irreconcilable difference. I have not seen The Shape of Water [TOPICAL] but it strikes me as being the former rather than the latter).
CAS's life is fascinating and oddly sad. An autodidact, raised in an isolated cabin in the Sierras, who dwelt with his parents until their death. An early-published poet, who never lived up to early promise and popularity. He never quite made a living from his stories, especially in later life, taking up part-work where he could find it. So, no, he never made it to France. He survived HP Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard, but seems to have lived a life not unlike theirs. CAS was oddly in touch with the needs of reality for an author of such elaborate fantasies.
***
I am certainly glad to have read CAS's stories, however down on some of them I might have been. Part of this is just taking such a large dose of them; I am doing this with some of Tim Powers's short stories currently. This is a lifetime's work - it should not be odd if things repeat; they were not being written as close to one another as I read them. Take a trip to Hyperborea or Zothique yourselves; the journey is quite something.
***
Pick up the collection yourself, or head over to Eldritch Dark for short stories and some of Clark Ashton Smith's art and sculpture.
Sunday, 11 March 2018
A Man of the World
I have written before about the odd position of the Bard class as far as it exists in the semi-realisms of the tabletop. It has recently occurred to me that another manifestation of the social skills-loremaster character could be considered, beyond propaganda officers.
Anyway, there's been a rumbling notion in the back of my brain for a while about an 18th Century setting to put together, which needs a lot of finessing - something called (sometimes) White Hot Sparks from the Crucible of the Enlightenment. This post over at Against the Wicked City is worth considering. Into this, one would not wish to drop the Bard of Early Medieval savagery or the minstrel of Late Medieval courtly romance.
An alternative suggested itself: a social interaction focused character: the Man of the World*.
[*The Phrase fits the class; though it is not bounded by sex. However, those characters from literature I may reference in the course of this post are generally men - just as with wizards.]
So, here's how it breaks down in terms of prospective bard subtypes:
A Bard-proper knows the Iliad.
A Herald knows the Almanac de Gotha.
A Man of the World knows people.
An Envoy knows policies.
What sort of character can I envisage? If the typical wizard is Gandalf or Merlin and the typical fighter Lancelot or Conan, who is the Man of the World?
Well, Friar Tuck might be one example. Experienced, older, a fighter when necessary but not by choice, desirous of worldly comfort - none of which stops him being committed to Robin Hood's cause. (His appearance in Ivanhoe as 'the Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst' might be a good touchstone).
Falstaff is more explicitly comic than Friar Tuck - and less moral. Baron Munchasen may be worth referencing.
What has the Man of the World done? Well, I have two conceptions of him.
One is explicitly higher up the social scale: she's done the Grand Tour of Europe (or equivalent), met plenty of people, picked up plenty of skills: gone on campaign . There is something quite picaresque about it.
The other is a veteran, but not a skilled fighter or any kind of elite necessarily: just used to the pressures of campaigning life. He knows where the best billets are, how to find food, what kind of food to find, where to get news. He was in the retreat from Caspianstadt and served on the Guelphine borders.
The character of Captain Bluntschli from Bernard Shaw's Arms and the Man is perfect for this (see a quote from his introduction below), however good his social standing.
How does the character work?
Well, as before with the Bard, I dislike songs as magic. The Man of the World's powers come from a combination of anecdotal knowledge ('I saw worse at the Siege of Caspianstadt'), connections ('I used to know the Colonel quite well,'), small but well chosen provisions ('Have a sip of this, take your mind off it...'), promises of relief in difficult times ('I know a fine restaurant in the Wormwood Quarter that does an excellent dinner.')
Let's refer to the Next 52 Bard Class.
The basic stats all stay the same, but the magic is going to be re-trimmed.
Charm-school spells still fit in nicely with the roguish or social element of the Man of the World (even if the more explicitly magical elements take some explaining beyond 'He's just that persuasive' - the Man of the World has to say just why someone should sit up and pay attention).
The spells occur by A) social charm, anecdotes, bonhomie among the party and B) careful use of equipment.
Starting equipment for the 18th Century Man of the World figure I had in mind might include:
'Of course I have a sword, as a man of Quality.'
Box of calling cards
Box of other peoples cards [So he can point to the address of somebody who will vouch for him...]
Box of playing cards
Box of snuff
Box of comfits
Hip-flask of fine brandy
Elegant note-paper, ink, pen and sealing wax
Respectable clothing
Personal grooming tools [Varies with setting/character, of course - shaven/unshaven, men with cosmetics or without, &c.]
Levelling up requires a cash investment generally for new spells and the like: the Man of the World gets more/better luxuries with which to keep people going. (This conjures up the image of a high-level Man of the World trundling along an air hostess drinks trolley full of miniatures: the GM had best indicate to the players that alcohol is only part of the process). Preparing a 'spell' is necessary ('Where did I leave that hip flask?'); making sure you look respectable or producing an actual, written letter of introduction (fake or otherwise) is going to add bonuses.
The 'Veteran' model of the Man of the World is more likely to have high-quality rations and military moonshine than the above list.
Likewise with the Abjuration school spells: these can be introduced via anecdote, &c. But the explicitly supernatural stuff (Holy Weapon, Remove curse) must be cut out.
Planar spells are completely out. No teleporting Falstaff for you. However, by way of recompense, the Man of the World gets the Next 52 Enchanter and Diviner cantrips from the specialist wizard classes. The Enchanter is self-explanatory; the Diviner cantrip derives from sheer experience and is accompanied by an anecdote ('At the Siege of Caspianstadt, I had to dig a musket ball out of my pal's leg with only a fork....' which is why I get a I get a surgeon background word for an hour; 'I was shipwrecked in the Buccaneer's Archipelago and had to live on shellfish for a fortnight...' which is why I get a forager background word for an hour.)
The truth of the anecdote is optional.
Why can't just anyone carry around letters of introduction, comfits, grooming gear, cards &c.?
Well, sure, they can and are encouraged to do so (why not carry round things that may help socially?). But to get a predictable result from it, to one with confidence - this takes time and training. The Man of the World has gained that, somehow.
Why isn't the Man of the World living on an estate somewhere? Why isn't he successful, if he's been at this a while?
Experience robs the Man of the World of a settled life - and money passes through his hands quickly (no-one will take his IOUs). He might have known the Duke of Ruthsay when they were boys, but they have clearly taken different paths. The Grand Vizier or the Old General might spare a little time for the Man of the World - for old times sake, but won't neglect affairs of state on the strength of a old and distant acquaintanceship.
[POST SCRIPT - a few words; what does an evil Man of the World look like? A bit like Falstaff; a bit like Barry Lyndon in the end of Act One; a bit like Harry Flashman at his worst - certainly like Harry Lime. Demetrios in Eric Ambler's Mask of Demitrios is worth a mention. Richard Roper from Le Carre's The Night Manager is a more likely candidate than Blofeld.]
Anyway, there's been a rumbling notion in the back of my brain for a while about an 18th Century setting to put together, which needs a lot of finessing - something called (sometimes) White Hot Sparks from the Crucible of the Enlightenment. This post over at Against the Wicked City is worth considering. Into this, one would not wish to drop the Bard of Early Medieval savagery or the minstrel of Late Medieval courtly romance.
An alternative suggested itself: a social interaction focused character: the Man of the World*.
[*The Phrase fits the class; though it is not bounded by sex. However, those characters from literature I may reference in the course of this post are generally men - just as with wizards.]
So, here's how it breaks down in terms of prospective bard subtypes:
A Bard-proper knows the Iliad.
A Herald knows the Almanac de Gotha.
A Man of the World knows people.
An Envoy knows policies.
What sort of character can I envisage? If the typical wizard is Gandalf or Merlin and the typical fighter Lancelot or Conan, who is the Man of the World?
Well, Friar Tuck might be one example. Experienced, older, a fighter when necessary but not by choice, desirous of worldly comfort - none of which stops him being committed to Robin Hood's cause. (His appearance in Ivanhoe as 'the Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst' might be a good touchstone).
Falstaff is more explicitly comic than Friar Tuck - and less moral. Baron Munchasen may be worth referencing.
What has the Man of the World done? Well, I have two conceptions of him.
One is explicitly higher up the social scale: she's done the Grand Tour of Europe (or equivalent), met plenty of people, picked up plenty of skills: gone on campaign . There is something quite picaresque about it.
The other is a veteran, but not a skilled fighter or any kind of elite necessarily: just used to the pressures of campaigning life. He knows where the best billets are, how to find food, what kind of food to find, where to get news. He was in the retreat from Caspianstadt and served on the Guelphine borders.
The character of Captain Bluntschli from Bernard Shaw's Arms and the Man is perfect for this (see a quote from his introduction below), however good his social standing.
MAN. I've no ammunition. What use are cartridges in battle? I always carry chocolate instead; and I finished the last cake of that yesterday.
RAINA (outraged in her most cherished ideals of manhood). Chocolate! Do you stuff your pockets with sweets—like a schoolboy—even in the field?
***How does the character work?
Well, as before with the Bard, I dislike songs as magic. The Man of the World's powers come from a combination of anecdotal knowledge ('I saw worse at the Siege of Caspianstadt'), connections ('I used to know the Colonel quite well,'), small but well chosen provisions ('Have a sip of this, take your mind off it...'), promises of relief in difficult times ('I know a fine restaurant in the Wormwood Quarter that does an excellent dinner.')
Let's refer to the Next 52 Bard Class.
The basic stats all stay the same, but the magic is going to be re-trimmed.
Charm-school spells still fit in nicely with the roguish or social element of the Man of the World (even if the more explicitly magical elements take some explaining beyond 'He's just that persuasive' - the Man of the World has to say just why someone should sit up and pay attention).
The spells occur by A) social charm, anecdotes, bonhomie among the party and B) careful use of equipment.
Starting equipment for the 18th Century Man of the World figure I had in mind might include:
'Of course I have a sword, as a man of Quality.'
Box of calling cards
Box of other peoples cards [So he can point to the address of somebody who will vouch for him...]
Box of playing cards
Box of snuff
Box of comfits
Hip-flask of fine brandy
Elegant note-paper, ink, pen and sealing wax
Respectable clothing
Personal grooming tools [Varies with setting/character, of course - shaven/unshaven, men with cosmetics or without, &c.]
Levelling up requires a cash investment generally for new spells and the like: the Man of the World gets more/better luxuries with which to keep people going. (This conjures up the image of a high-level Man of the World trundling along an air hostess drinks trolley full of miniatures: the GM had best indicate to the players that alcohol is only part of the process). Preparing a 'spell' is necessary ('Where did I leave that hip flask?'); making sure you look respectable or producing an actual, written letter of introduction (fake or otherwise) is going to add bonuses.
The 'Veteran' model of the Man of the World is more likely to have high-quality rations and military moonshine than the above list.
Likewise with the Abjuration school spells: these can be introduced via anecdote, &c. But the explicitly supernatural stuff (Holy Weapon, Remove curse) must be cut out.
Planar spells are completely out. No teleporting Falstaff for you. However, by way of recompense, the Man of the World gets the Next 52 Enchanter and Diviner cantrips from the specialist wizard classes. The Enchanter is self-explanatory; the Diviner cantrip derives from sheer experience and is accompanied by an anecdote ('At the Siege of Caspianstadt, I had to dig a musket ball out of my pal's leg with only a fork....' which is why I get a I get a surgeon background word for an hour; 'I was shipwrecked in the Buccaneer's Archipelago and had to live on shellfish for a fortnight...' which is why I get a forager background word for an hour.)
The truth of the anecdote is optional.
Why can't just anyone carry around letters of introduction, comfits, grooming gear, cards &c.?
Well, sure, they can and are encouraged to do so (why not carry round things that may help socially?). But to get a predictable result from it, to one with confidence - this takes time and training. The Man of the World has gained that, somehow.
Why isn't the Man of the World living on an estate somewhere? Why isn't he successful, if he's been at this a while?
Experience robs the Man of the World of a settled life - and money passes through his hands quickly (no-one will take his IOUs). He might have known the Duke of Ruthsay when they were boys, but they have clearly taken different paths. The Grand Vizier or the Old General might spare a little time for the Man of the World - for old times sake, but won't neglect affairs of state on the strength of a old and distant acquaintanceship.
[POST SCRIPT - a few words; what does an evil Man of the World look like? A bit like Falstaff; a bit like Barry Lyndon in the end of Act One; a bit like Harry Flashman at his worst - certainly like Harry Lime. Demetrios in Eric Ambler's Mask of Demitrios is worth a mention. Richard Roper from Le Carre's The Night Manager is a more likely candidate than Blofeld.]
Sunday, 4 March 2018
Clark Ashton Smith: First Impressions
I have been reading some of Clark Ashton Smith's short stories for the first time and wish to record a few of my thoughts on a writer so influential in certain corners of the fantasy RPG circuit. To make you aware - I have been working from the Gollancz Fantasy Masterworks edition The Emperor of Dreams. Please note that I have only started this collection - there is a way to go yet!
To begin at the beginning: 'The Abominations of Yondo'. Right away, what does one absorb? The names - Yondo, the Inquisitors of Ong. The somewhat purple prose: 'fallen cedars that rotted by fallen mausoleums, on whose lichen-blotted marble fat chameleons crept with royal pearls in their mouths.' The colour palette is likewise vivid. (Dunsany doesn't quite fall into the same camp, by virtue of sheer mysticism).
A few things to note of this, based on how it re-occurs in later stories. The names conjure up every low-grade fantasy that has been parodied or pastiched, quite possibly deservingly. Overblown names with too many apostrophes; the [PROFESSION] of [PLACE] formulations. You can think of plenty of ways to mock it.
It doesn't feel necessary to do so here. These are short stories: the background, the setting will never been completely filled in (a pencil sketch, not an il painting). Throwing a character of whom one knows little or speaking of an unknown place - that means that certain aspects of (say) the Inquisitors of Ong will forever remain concealed.
CAS is of course, writing in a different age for a different audience. That wasn't uppermost in my mind when reading these, but it means that our media-savvy minds are not quite the correct tools to delve into stuff that may appear cliche or unsophisticated.
Lots of antagonists forces appear to be religious sects and inquisitions: this may be a Gothic hangover (Cf. The Monk, the Castle of Otranto, The Pit and The Pendulum). Indeed, the one purposefully medieval story so far(one of the Averoigne tales) lacks any mention of the Church (other than perhaps by implication) - quite possibly to preserve the sunny tone.
That very story - 'A Rendezvous in Averoigne' - is oddly breezy for a vampire tale. The assaults of the villain are ineffectual and beaten back with reasonable precautions whilst in his castle. There's probably a good story about vampiric hubris in there somewhere, but this seemed to be more about the Arcadian delights of Averoigne - and the sinister things somewhere behind it.
Another story to comment on would be The Sorcerer's Return. A little predictable (the chap who acts like an evil wizard practices the black arts? Shocker!). But the tone of events, the workings of study, of languages and study and editions - it is the world of the antiquarian, the historian, the palaeographer - MR James, not HP Lovecraft.
The Hyperborea stories are a different kettle of fish people. [Sorry.] For a place so far toward the Arctic, the northern or beyond-northern elements are there, though dimly (elk-goddess, ice age). Could it be any elder age? Perhaps, but CAS works it sufficiently well in to be interesting and textured. The protagonists are often as amoral and callous as Vance's Cugel - see 'The Tale of Satampra Zeiros'.
'The Door to Saturn' is the best of these thus far - a super example of the Weird as a mix of Science Fiction and Fantasy. Both the starting tale in Hyperborea and the journey undertaken are fascinating - with an inquisitor again, you'll note. The very alien landscape of Saturn (of which I want a little more) is good; the names and languages change agreeable - names 'foreign ' to the 20th century reader change into names 'alien' to the human reader. This is how unpronounceable names are done well, if you will. The tone is quite light - despair is not in the foreground, whatever the plight of our protagonists.
One Zothique story so far - 'The Empire of the Necromancers'. A good idea, well executed, but not very good at implying a sense of place or setting in the same way as other Dying Earth stories. I must see how this develops.
A few final thoughts: Was CAS ever actually in France? What was his education? [Yes, there is a chapter on this in the Afterword.]
I never quite seem to be certain of the shape of things; this need not be a problem - but there is plenty of architectural description.
This might be called The Emperor of Dreams, but it seems too fine shaded, too pointed in all aspects to be entirely dreamlike.
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| Pictured. |
A few things to note of this, based on how it re-occurs in later stories. The names conjure up every low-grade fantasy that has been parodied or pastiched, quite possibly deservingly. Overblown names with too many apostrophes; the [PROFESSION] of [PLACE] formulations. You can think of plenty of ways to mock it.
It doesn't feel necessary to do so here. These are short stories: the background, the setting will never been completely filled in (a pencil sketch, not an il painting). Throwing a character of whom one knows little or speaking of an unknown place - that means that certain aspects of (say) the Inquisitors of Ong will forever remain concealed.
CAS is of course, writing in a different age for a different audience. That wasn't uppermost in my mind when reading these, but it means that our media-savvy minds are not quite the correct tools to delve into stuff that may appear cliche or unsophisticated.
Lots of antagonists forces appear to be religious sects and inquisitions: this may be a Gothic hangover (Cf. The Monk, the Castle of Otranto, The Pit and The Pendulum). Indeed, the one purposefully medieval story so far(one of the Averoigne tales) lacks any mention of the Church (other than perhaps by implication) - quite possibly to preserve the sunny tone.
That very story - 'A Rendezvous in Averoigne' - is oddly breezy for a vampire tale. The assaults of the villain are ineffectual and beaten back with reasonable precautions whilst in his castle. There's probably a good story about vampiric hubris in there somewhere, but this seemed to be more about the Arcadian delights of Averoigne - and the sinister things somewhere behind it.
Another story to comment on would be The Sorcerer's Return. A little predictable (the chap who acts like an evil wizard practices the black arts? Shocker!). But the tone of events, the workings of study, of languages and study and editions - it is the world of the antiquarian, the historian, the palaeographer - MR James, not HP Lovecraft.
The Hyperborea stories are a different kettle of fish people. [Sorry.] For a place so far toward the Arctic, the northern or beyond-northern elements are there, though dimly (elk-goddess, ice age). Could it be any elder age? Perhaps, but CAS works it sufficiently well in to be interesting and textured. The protagonists are often as amoral and callous as Vance's Cugel - see 'The Tale of Satampra Zeiros'.
'The Door to Saturn' is the best of these thus far - a super example of the Weird as a mix of Science Fiction and Fantasy. Both the starting tale in Hyperborea and the journey undertaken are fascinating - with an inquisitor again, you'll note. The very alien landscape of Saturn (of which I want a little more) is good; the names and languages change agreeable - names 'foreign ' to the 20th century reader change into names 'alien' to the human reader. This is how unpronounceable names are done well, if you will. The tone is quite light - despair is not in the foreground, whatever the plight of our protagonists.
One Zothique story so far - 'The Empire of the Necromancers'. A good idea, well executed, but not very good at implying a sense of place or setting in the same way as other Dying Earth stories. I must see how this develops.
A few final thoughts: Was CAS ever actually in France? What was his education? [Yes, there is a chapter on this in the Afterword.]
I never quite seem to be certain of the shape of things; this need not be a problem - but there is plenty of architectural description.
This might be called The Emperor of Dreams, but it seems too fine shaded, too pointed in all aspects to be entirely dreamlike.
Crystal Substitutes
As you may or may not be aware, crystals are currently rather contentious in certain corners of the internet.
Therefore, for those of us wishing to remove all crystals from our Rings of Power, Amulets of Might, &c, I have hastily composed the following table of substances that may be put in their place.
Therefore, for those of us wishing to remove all crystals from our Rings of Power, Amulets of Might, &c, I have hastily composed the following table of substances that may be put in their place.
- Amber
- Jet
- Pearl/Nacre
- Ebony/other exotic wood
- Ivory/Bone
- Horn/Claw/Tooth (cut to shape or au naturel)
- Hair/Fur (in a suitable sealed container)
- Scale (dragonscale particularly desirable)
- Brightly coloured plumage/butterfly wings (in suitable sealed container)
- Skin (in a suitable sealed container)
- Tiny oil painting
- Polished stone (none-precious)
- Petrified wood
- Calligraphy on paper (in a suitable sealed container)
- Porcelain
- Enamel
- Stained glass
- Millefiori
- Mirror
- Two of the above; roll again
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| Better than any crystal. [Source: http://webapps.fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk/explorer/index.php?qu=roman%20glass&oid=28432] |
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