Swords must be sharpened, or they lose their edge. Armour must be leaned and oiled, or it will rust. If you find an old battle-axe, it will be indeed of restoration before use. Magic wands and staffs are no different in that they must be maintained, but of course, the problems and the solutions are rather different.
This article will be discussing magical items that are used to cast spells. This is treated as distinct from, say, a sword that magically bursts into flame. IE, Sting glows blue when orcs are about - but this is part of the nature of Sting. Power is not directed through it in the same way as, say, a wand in Harry Potter. I've used wands or staffs as the example - but, for instance, an athame or amulet could suffer similar problems.
This assumes a semi-Vancian magic - a wand is 'loaded' with spells, but may only be able to take one form of spell (like a relatively specialist gun and ammunition). Said wand may draw upon magic as a whole to recharge itself. The below is hopefully flexible enough to be applied across systems.
1. Permanently Submerged
How does it happen? What effects does it have? A magic wand or similar is submerged in water for longer than a day. It begins to take on the nature of the water and gains a permanently damp and slick surface, producing a substance called Thaumoleum, the colour of corroded bronze (this can be used as a base for low-quality potions, though the hands of those who handle it can be permanently marked). Handling said wand now becomes much more difficult.
How to fix it? Dry it off and keep it dry. Then place it in an oven lit or sustained by magical flames for a day.
2. Breaks the Law of Gravity
How does it happen? What effects does it have? The wand has slipped away from its mooring in this world. It begins to defy weight, though it still possesses mass. This is not cumbersome, initially. In time, it will slip your hand and disappear into orbit. It is thought that this may be down to a spell-caster's arrogance.
How to fix it? Stop using it. Perhaps permanently. If this is not an option, tethers are recommended.
3. Murmuration and tintinnabulation
How does it happen? What effects does it have? Wands, if unused, may store a great deal of potential magic within them. An unused wand, thus, if struck, dropped or touched, may sound like a bell or cymbal. The fabric of the wand has become as resonant as the metal of a bell.
How to fix it? Use it as much as possible in a short space of time. You must discharge every spell and leave it empty.
4. Reduced scope
How does it happen? What effects does it have? Eroded, abraded or lessened by physical means: if these happen to a wand, but the wand itself is still largely intact, it will function, but not nearly as well. A fireball will fly less far; an illusion cannot be cast at the same distance - and may be less convincing, expressing less of the sorcerer's intentions.
How to fix it? Painstaking craftsman's work to repair the physical elements of the wand without replacing any undamaged portions. Certain varnishes can be used, for instance - but their making is costly, and those with the knowhow are rare.
5. Back to Nature
How does it happen? What effects does it have? The wand has had its magical centre knocked askew and the material of the wand seeks to return to the natural state of it's substance. A wooden staff will start to grow shoots and leaves; a leather item will take on the texture of living skin; a metal rod will morph into a polished rod of ore, with vein of stone.
How to fix it? Isolate the wand from all magic using a lead casket, having first discharged every spell. Keep it within said casket at least for a day, far away from all wielded magics. Lead studs, pushed into the wood of a staff can also dissipate this effect - whilst making said staff much more unstable.
[At least one magician has cultivated this quality, producing a staff with a branch protruding from it that grows a single apple each day.]
6. Exothermic
How does it happen? What effects does it have? If a magic wand does not produce sound or light by its spells, it will grow in temperature slowly but surely. This will not alter the form of the wand - a metal wand will not melt or glow - but it can still scorch flesh if not dealt with.
How to fix it? Use the wand to light a fire in a quiet place. It must burn for at least an hour - and you must watch it burn. As the fire burns, the wand will reduce its temperature.
I may write a few more of these.
Wednesday, 1 May 2019
Sunday, 21 April 2019
Entertaining a Notion: The Lannisters are Spaniards
Websites and the mouths of colleagues are abuzz with the latest and last series of HBOs adaption of A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones. Whilst I am familiar with the series, my interest waned sometime ago; this is a pungent and apt criticism. Besides, I do not watch much in the way of television these days.
Anyway, I might as well share this with you as a pet theory. It is of little significance really, but may provoke thought.
It is commonly known that A Song of Ice and Fire draws upon Medieval European history for much of its inspiration: the Wars of the Roses are frequently mentioned. This has spawned various articles, images, &c mapping on bit of Westeros or another to Europe - or vice versa.
Some of these have more worth than others, but I like to see folk thinking about history and how it can be applied to a certain kind of narrative. However, I'd tend to quibble with at least one of their interpretations. Dorne certainly may be thought of as Spanish: we even have authorial fiat on this. However, I should say that it rather represents a Moorish Spain - with a different faith, different mores and somewhat distinct physical features.
If we can map most of Westeros to Western Europe, what of the rest of the Iberian Peninsula? Some can be put in the Dornish Marches. But I'd like to make a case that The Westerlands, home of House Lannister can be thought of as having similarities with Northern Spain.
The mountainous terrain is perhaps one example of this - though that alone is scarcely enough. The long, ocean-facing coast line compares well to the Atlantic, with a sort of Bay of Biscay to the south. Its inhabitants are closer to the capital and court of Westeros than other regions (Dorne, the North and the Iron Islands are somewhat peripheral). The most famous castle of the region is Casterly Rock - which is almost a phonetic reading of Castille. The Lannisters have as their arms the lion: not unique to Spain, but pointing nicely to the Kingdom of Leon. The insistence on wealth and gold maps nicely onto an Early Modern Spain, reaping the rewards of Europe's discovery of the Americas.
[The notion that A Song of Ice and Fire speaks as often to the Early Modern as to the Medieval is not new; however, given Martin was willing to put a Late Medieval Venice equivalent and Pseudo-Babylon on the same continent (and stick down the Colossus of Rhodes at the entrance of the lagoon), linking it all to one time period is a fools errand.]
Said trade might also correspond nicely to the Kingdom of Aragon. We have at least one Westerlands name straight out of Spain: Jaime. Wikipedia suggests that this is simply in the style of distorted real world names, as 'Eddard' for Edward; perhaps, but I mention it anyway. House Westerling, a Westerlands house of narrative relevance bears several sea-shells on its coat of arms - which feels rather like a reference to Santiago de Compostela with its Pilgrim trail and sea-shell badge.
Is all this proof? Barely. But we construct parts of our images of fictional worlds from real places. Here is a little material to perhaps make those images richer.
Anyway, I might as well share this with you as a pet theory. It is of little significance really, but may provoke thought.
It is commonly known that A Song of Ice and Fire draws upon Medieval European history for much of its inspiration: the Wars of the Roses are frequently mentioned. This has spawned various articles, images, &c mapping on bit of Westeros or another to Europe - or vice versa.
Some of these have more worth than others, but I like to see folk thinking about history and how it can be applied to a certain kind of narrative. However, I'd tend to quibble with at least one of their interpretations. Dorne certainly may be thought of as Spanish: we even have authorial fiat on this. However, I should say that it rather represents a Moorish Spain - with a different faith, different mores and somewhat distinct physical features.
If we can map most of Westeros to Western Europe, what of the rest of the Iberian Peninsula? Some can be put in the Dornish Marches. But I'd like to make a case that The Westerlands, home of House Lannister can be thought of as having similarities with Northern Spain.
The mountainous terrain is perhaps one example of this - though that alone is scarcely enough. The long, ocean-facing coast line compares well to the Atlantic, with a sort of Bay of Biscay to the south. Its inhabitants are closer to the capital and court of Westeros than other regions (Dorne, the North and the Iron Islands are somewhat peripheral). The most famous castle of the region is Casterly Rock - which is almost a phonetic reading of Castille. The Lannisters have as their arms the lion: not unique to Spain, but pointing nicely to the Kingdom of Leon. The insistence on wealth and gold maps nicely onto an Early Modern Spain, reaping the rewards of Europe's discovery of the Americas.
[The notion that A Song of Ice and Fire speaks as often to the Early Modern as to the Medieval is not new; however, given Martin was willing to put a Late Medieval Venice equivalent and Pseudo-Babylon on the same continent (and stick down the Colossus of Rhodes at the entrance of the lagoon), linking it all to one time period is a fools errand.]
Said trade might also correspond nicely to the Kingdom of Aragon. We have at least one Westerlands name straight out of Spain: Jaime. Wikipedia suggests that this is simply in the style of distorted real world names, as 'Eddard' for Edward; perhaps, but I mention it anyway. House Westerling, a Westerlands house of narrative relevance bears several sea-shells on its coat of arms - which feels rather like a reference to Santiago de Compostela with its Pilgrim trail and sea-shell badge.
Is all this proof? Barely. But we construct parts of our images of fictional worlds from real places. Here is a little material to perhaps make those images richer.
Saturday, 20 April 2019
Valkyries vs Vampires
My last post, tying into the Harry Clarke Project drew on (and obliquely referenced) both the Swan-Maidens of Norse myth and the image of the Vampire. Said Maidens overlap with Valkyries, to some degree or the other.
Therefore, an idea naturally occurs, spurred by the attraction of alliteration. This may hopefully be dropped in at will into a wider narrative.
Our bold heroes are travelling, when they come across the remains of a battle. Fairly recent, too - both sides have retreated, but the dead and dying litter the field. But in the midst of the carnage, figures are moving.
The shapes of armed, beauteous women descend (possibly on horses, perhaps on wolves, conceivably on giant ravens). Valkyries, choosers of the slain. They are picking the battlefield for heroes, to recruit them for the armies of the Allfather*. How can these adventurers see the psychopomps such as these? Presumably they've been around enough magic for it to have had a permanent effect.
If you are unwilling to dig up or make up a unique set of valkyrie rules, I imagine they couls be 'glossed' as high level paladins.
A list of Valkyries might include:
Brünnhilde(soprano)
Waltraute (mezzo-soprano)
Helmwige (soprano)
Gerhilde (soprano)
Siegrune (mezzo-soprano)
Schwertleite (contralto)
Ortlinde (soprano)
Grimgerde (contralto)
Rossweisse (mezzo-soprano)
Therefore, an idea naturally occurs, spurred by the attraction of alliteration. This may hopefully be dropped in at will into a wider narrative.
Our bold heroes are travelling, when they come across the remains of a battle. Fairly recent, too - both sides have retreated, but the dead and dying litter the field. But in the midst of the carnage, figures are moving.
The shapes of armed, beauteous women descend (possibly on horses, perhaps on wolves, conceivably on giant ravens). Valkyries, choosers of the slain. They are picking the battlefield for heroes, to recruit them for the armies of the Allfather*. How can these adventurers see the psychopomps such as these? Presumably they've been around enough magic for it to have had a permanent effect.
If you are unwilling to dig up or make up a unique set of valkyrie rules, I imagine they couls be 'glossed' as high level paladins.
A list of Valkyries might include:
Brünnhilde(soprano)
Waltraute (mezzo-soprano)
Helmwige (soprano)
Gerhilde (soprano)
Siegrune (mezzo-soprano)
Schwertleite (contralto)
Ortlinde (soprano)
Grimgerde (contralto)
Rossweisse (mezzo-soprano)
But amongst the corpses, others lurk. Vampires are preying on the dead (or more likely, the dying) of the battlefield. They are not just here for blood, however. Skilled (if defeated) warriors could be of use as thralls, risen from the dead and under their master's spell.
The Vampires are accompanied by various undead and human minions- the latter very much in the Renfield vein. Among other things, said minions can assist their masters in picking over the battlefield or holding parasols.
A list of Vampires might include:
Graf von Orlock
Sir Francis Varney
Lord Ruthven
Count Alucard
Prince Mamuwalde
(None of the above are known for their vocal work.)
Why might Vampires and Valkyries fight? The main source of conflict here is over resources. Even if it is the spirit of a fallen warrior that gets taken up by a Valkyrie to Asgard, the source of a vampires nourishment is not purely in bodily fluids. Even a lightly touched soul is 'locked down' by vampiric influence.
Why might our heroes back one side or the other?
Do you want to be a vampire? Wouldn't that be cool?
Are any of your party half-giants? Have they grown up with tales of the wickedness of the Aesir?**
Does the cleric belong to some Pseudo-Christian faith that despises the pagan gods?
How might said cleric feel about vampires?
Does an eternity of battle really sound that good an afterlife?
Presumably, the long-lived earthbound vampires have deeper pockets than valkyries....
...but the valkyries are better suited to return favours - and more likely to keep their promises.
*Probably Odin, or an ersatz version. Though the use of Tyr could be appropriate.
** There are people writing about just this sort of thing. I can't find it, but I do recall some article pointing out that Ragnarok is revenge for the death of Ymir - entirely to be expected, and perhaps even praised by Norse standards.
Presumably, the long-lived earthbound vampires have deeper pockets than valkyries....
...but the valkyries are better suited to return favours - and more likely to keep their promises.
*Probably Odin, or an ersatz version. Though the use of Tyr could be appropriate.
** There are people writing about just this sort of thing. I can't find it, but I do recall some article pointing out that Ragnarok is revenge for the death of Ymir - entirely to be expected, and perhaps even praised by Norse standards.
Friday, 12 April 2019
Harry Clarke Project: The Hawk-Dandy
Armour Class: as leather
Hit Dice: 4
Movement: twice that of a human, but they can fly.
Attacks: two elegant ritual blades, kept hidden under the robe. Charm spells, at the GM's discretion.
Damage: 2d6
No. Appearing: 1
Morale: 8
Treasure: rather little. The robe becomes rather less magnificent upon a Hawk-Dandy's death, the blades less sharp. Some Hawk-Dandies do keep trophies.
Alignment: Neutral
The Hawk-Dandy or Ornifopter appears as a comely young man stepping through thin air. He wears unfamiliar clothing, loose and robe-like, somewhat resembling feathers. Though it is largely unfamiliar, it nonetheless generally strikes the observer as being rather fine and costly.
Hawk-Dandies dwell in the most impressive locations possible. If the Ornifopter is not poising artistically, or regarding others, or dropping a bon mot into a conversation, they will absent themselves. They dare not eat, groom or complete other personal tasks in the presence of others.They will in fact attempt to kill those that observe them bathing or dining. Pressing them for details of the same is foolish.
This has meant that some see them as semi-divine, the equivalent of the Swan-Maidens that attend upon some in the Divine Realm. To intrude upon them would be an offence. To inquire after them would be fruitless.
There is another account of the Hawk-Dandy. A Hawk-Dandy was once human - albeit a magically gifted one. Naturally, they attended one of the prestigious academies of magic. In such schools, there are those pupils that begin to focus less on their studies and more on the social scene and the possibilities fine clothes and delicate conversation can offer. More magic is focused on the self, upon image - and prestigious image at that. In time, a secret of magic becomes clear: your image can override the world around you.
However, if you spend all your time looking cool, looking cool is about all your magic will offer to you: and you dare not stop looking cool. The student withdraws into the image and is consumed by it, becoming something of elegance and power - under narrow conditions. A Hawk-Dandy's former tutors regard them with pity and resignation, the way a chemistry teacher might regard a bright pupil now working for a notoriously vicious drug cartel.
The meeting of Hawk-Dandy with Hawk-Dandy often results in a duel.
This has been a post for the Harry Clarke Project, started over at Cavegirl's Game Stuff. It is submitted under Creative Commons Attribution 4.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
Friday, 29 March 2019
The Eighteenth Century and the Enlightenment: A Loose Overview of Portrayals
This has come about for three reasons: Coins and Scroll’s new project; the imminent demise of G+ and having recently finished two novels set during the eighteenth century: Thackeray’s History of Henry Esmond and Thomas Pynchon’s Mason & Dixon.
I do not claim that this is to be a comprehensive account of the ways the eighteenth century has been portrayed, but it may be of interest. There is a good distillate of Early Modern mores and technology by Joseph Manola at Against the Wicked City.
"1. Everyone has guns. 2. Telescopes exist. 3. Printing is commonplace. 4. People have access to stimulants as well as depressants. 5. People have access to painkillers. 6. People might have access to phosphorus. 7. Rich people have pocket-watches."
Perhaps this post may offer material to create something like.
Before I begin, I shall be indulging ‘the long eighteenth century’ as a definition: taking the start as 1689. The focus of my regard shall be English language media.
FIRST, PIRATES
The pirate film is at least, in part, perhaps an essential introduction to the technologies and ways of the eighteenth century. Gunpowder weaponry is widespread; so is transoceanic travel. Rich cargos can be found in distant lands, as can the profits of same. Some portions of the world are charted, but by no means all of it. The difficulty of states exerting their authority on far-flung regions is clear.
It is interesting, looking at the summaries of some early pirate films, to see what degree piracy is forced upon our hero, perhaps as a response to injustice: Captain Blood has his start after the Bloody Assizes of Judge Jeffreys. There may be a background of pure rogues, but the hero has his reasons –which become everyone’s reasons. The Mutiny on the Bounty (as popularly portrayed) has something of this. Thinking on it, there seem to be few instances of explicit criminality as a motivation, however much it maybe gloried in.
An exception exists for Stevenson’s Treasure Island: Long John Silver, the archetypal pirate may be an amiable rogue, but his compatriots are hardly portrayed as anything like as good-natured. The revolt of the crew of the Hispanola is not quite an expression of liberty and heroism.
NOBILITY AND NATION BUILDING
Certainly in English literature, there is a great deal of this. The eighteenth century sees upheaval, to be sure, but this brings questions of identity to the fore. It is no strange thing that various British patriotic anthems date from this time. The Jacobite Rebellion, the exploits of the Duke of Marlborough and the Seven Years War all contribute to this.
Thackeray’s History of Henry Esmond tackles both Jacobite plots and the War of the Spanish Succession, while his Barry Lyndon (and Kubrick’s film of the same) brings up the Seven Years War as central to Redmond Barry’s advance in the world. The flaws and nobility of the Jacobite Cause are played off against one another by Thackeray, as high hopes and self-sacrifice give way to a disappointing reality.
Barry Lyndon is a wonderful film for this article: the long, high, isolating rooms; the low lighting from candles; the violent backdrop to a genteel world - even the children's magician with his invocation of the spectrum of visible light.
Another aspect of this is the world of letters. Thackeray brings the explosion of 18th century pamphleteers and essay writers to the fore in Henry Esmond; the title character even contributing to that world. There is a laissez-faire approach to the pamphlets: they can be censored and might well be, but the roots of the free press are on display here - and part of political discourse.
SQUALOR AND PREDATION
It will have not have escaped your notice that the Victorian author dominated the section titled Nobility. Well, Thackeray has his share of rogues and shabby deeds, but I do not think it wrong to say that the note of Squalor is clearer in later works.
 |
| The mind goes instantly to Gin Lane. |
Two great recent accounts of the Enlightenment, Thomas Pynchon’s Mason & Dixon and Neal Stephenson’s Baroque Cycle rest soundly in this regard. Both take a certain delight in charting the course of scientists and aristocrats through grime-ridden city streets. Whilst the crowding and rapid growth of the Industrial Revolution might not have swollen cities, there is plenty of space for rookeries, debtor’s prisons, prostitution and slums. Even where Stephenson brings kindly or noble motives to the fore, one eye is on the squalor and pain of the times. Pynchon, however coated by conspiracy and framing device, is nothing if not more forthright in this.
For both authors, this is especially the case for the Transatlantic Slave Trade. Even if by both the treatment of slaves is contextualised as one of many unequal relationships of the time rather than a unique ill, it is still singled out and condemned by protagonists. (Stephenson deals with both the taking of slaves by the Barbary Corsairs as well as the trade of slaves in Sub-Saharan Africa). This is scarcely surprising for authors writing in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Of course, given the actual course of historical events, any rebellion or liberation needs must be a small scale affair.
The Picaresque dominates both: the high frivolity of massive wigs and frockcoats encountering sewage and upset. Which is distinct from the practicalities of everyday life (consider this chap, for instance).
MEASUREMENT AND ITS ABUSES
I have written on here before about Map of a Nation and the history of the Ordnance Survey. Even if that grows a little out of even the Long Eighteenth Century, it is still relevant at to consider. Not that that counts as a work of fiction.
Given the fame of astronomer George Mason and surveyor Jeremiah Dixon, their exploits in charting the Maryland-Pennsylvania border are front and centre here. The adverse effects of chopping a line through the landscape and the unintended (or, given Pynchon's Jesuit conspiracies, utterly intended) effects thereof are made quite clear - by the presumed knowledge of the reader as regards the eventual significance of the Mason-Dixon line, if no more. The first portion of Mason & Dixon deals with the Transit of Venus in 1761; this is another indicator of the propensity for measurement by the minds of the eighteenth Century. Taking and repeating accurate measurements - learning the span of the globe and the particular parts thereof - is all part of the Enlightenment project.
The world, by such methods, becomes easier to traverse and to comprehend - for those at the centre of information networks, at any rate. [If you want to bring up Seeing Like a State at this point, you can. However, the ills of Modernism are still a way off.] 'Mapping' as a concept extends to other fields - think, for instance, of the Linnean taxonomy.
WHAT ARE WE LEFT WITH?
Most of Manola's points stand. But we are looking not just at the Early Modern, but the incipient modern, for good and ill: the growth of political discourse, the mapping of the world and the drawing of boundaries, global commerce. Of course, it isn't the Modern World. It's all the discarded ideas and first efforts and groundwork that contributed, bundled up and dressed in a periwig. There's doubtless a lot I've missed (the American War of Independence, for one) - but these are some of the notes portrayal of the eighteenth century offer up.
Wednesday, 20 March 2019
In which a number of Biblical Settings Come Together
For those of you in Great Britain and with a television license, I shall mention that Darren Aranofsky's Noah is on BBC iPlayer. I watched it, having seen it upon release in the cinema; by my lights, it held up (especially comparing its constant sincerity to the latest Marvel snark-fest). Goodness knows what it does for you.
To briefly make a few points - this is a Biblical film drawing from the four Chapters in the Book of Genesis, as well as numerous of Aronofsky's own expansions and interpretations. The result steers clear of the historical drama angle of other Biblical films. The setting is more temperate in climate than the Near and Middle East; industry and environmentalism arise as themes; motivations are unclear, as is the divine will. Plus Anthony Hopkins appears as Methuselah wielding a flaming sword.
Firstly: let us compose a melange of the settings of Biblical films: the grand cast-of-thousands cities of Ben-Hur or The Ten Commandments with the empty spaces and industrial degradation of Noah. The harsh deserts of the former two also have an appearance. That is landscape; for society, we must think of a set of decadent empires and their verges, with subject peoples caught between them. Lost artefacts and the ruins of lost kingdoms crust the land. The empires of the day may be cruel, but not unthinkingly so (Marsala as the exception, not the rule). Nonetheless, their presence to the people of the periphery may be hateful. At this point, I shall reference the 2009 American television serial Kings, based on the Biblical book of the same name (this is the only decent-ish clip I could find: Ian McShane as Not-Saul seems a compelling choice).
The supernatural also dots the periphery of these empires; from magical rocks (the zohar of Noah) to giants to signs and portents: the wilderness is the place for all these things. Thus it is a source of potential power, resulting in high-stakes conflict over magical artefacts (IE, Raiders of the Lost Ark; there is something appealingly recursive about a version of Raiders in a near-Bibilical setting) or powerful substances (Mad Max with Bronze-Age angel designed chariots and firearms powered by combustable rocks).
A free-wheeling combination: Bread and Circuses on one hand and vast industry-scarred wilderness on the other. Perhaps rather better as a thought experiment than anything else.
To briefly make a few points - this is a Biblical film drawing from the four Chapters in the Book of Genesis, as well as numerous of Aronofsky's own expansions and interpretations. The result steers clear of the historical drama angle of other Biblical films. The setting is more temperate in climate than the Near and Middle East; industry and environmentalism arise as themes; motivations are unclear, as is the divine will. Plus Anthony Hopkins appears as Methuselah wielding a flaming sword.
Firstly: let us compose a melange of the settings of Biblical films: the grand cast-of-thousands cities of Ben-Hur or The Ten Commandments with the empty spaces and industrial degradation of Noah. The harsh deserts of the former two also have an appearance. That is landscape; for society, we must think of a set of decadent empires and their verges, with subject peoples caught between them. Lost artefacts and the ruins of lost kingdoms crust the land. The empires of the day may be cruel, but not unthinkingly so (Marsala as the exception, not the rule). Nonetheless, their presence to the people of the periphery may be hateful. At this point, I shall reference the 2009 American television serial Kings, based on the Biblical book of the same name (this is the only decent-ish clip I could find: Ian McShane as Not-Saul seems a compelling choice).
The supernatural also dots the periphery of these empires; from magical rocks (the zohar of Noah) to giants to signs and portents: the wilderness is the place for all these things. Thus it is a source of potential power, resulting in high-stakes conflict over magical artefacts (IE, Raiders of the Lost Ark; there is something appealingly recursive about a version of Raiders in a near-Bibilical setting) or powerful substances (Mad Max with Bronze-Age angel designed chariots and firearms powered by combustable rocks).
A free-wheeling combination: Bread and Circuses on one hand and vast industry-scarred wilderness on the other. Perhaps rather better as a thought experiment than anything else.
Saturday, 2 March 2019
Ilium and a Post-Literate Post-Apocalypse
Another brief post, but in the same tent (roughly) as the Trojan War piece from a few weeks ago.
I have been digging into Dan Simmons's Ilium of late, rereading in between other works. His work tends to either detailed historical horror (IE, The Terror, Black Hills) or far-future space opera with heavy reference to literature (Ilium/Olympos, but more prominently, Hyperion).
Anyway, one strand in Ilium/Olympos concerns the folk ('old-style humans') on a far-future earth who live century-long life spans with rejuvenation every twenty years. Their lives are idle and hedonistic, all necessary tasks for survival being carried out by biological robots ('the Voynix'). Teleportation nodes provide for all transport. Fatherhood is basically unknown, thanks to some tampering allowing for sperm storage - though women are only permitted one child. Said old-style humans can't even read.
They are set in a world where familiar features have warped and changed. Paris (population 25,000 - and considered a metropolis) has a vast crater at its centre and is overshadowed not be the Eiffel Tower but by a vast statue of a naked woman - semi-transparent and filled with a photo-luminescent red liquid (a 'Lost Age artefact'). For some reason, the Golden Gate bridge is now by Macchu Picchu. In the unpopulated areas between teleportation nodes of the 'faxnet', resurrected species lurk (smilodons, allosaurs and more). Folk killed by them, can be resurrected - if close enough to a node.
Functions similar to a smartphone, if more advanced, have been implanted into the residents of the future - but are taken so as part of nature that most of these functions have been forgotten. This, and most of the state of being enjoyed by folk in this time are the workings of the Post-Humans dwelling in a vast orbital ring (hence 'Old-style humans).
These are the remnants of humanity, dwelling in the structure of a forgotten world, lacking the skills or curiosity to explore or develop much; lightly and subtly governed by those who have gone before.
***
This is merely the setting. Then everything falls apart: the teleport ceases, the voynix turn nasty and things collapse - and no-one knows how to cope, miserable eloi that they are.
Think The Culture - but no Contact, no Special Circumstances - and then all the Minds vanish. And everyone is useless.
Naturally, the protagonists are the exception - or at any rate, get a head start on a vicious learning curve. Assisted by Odysseus, son of Laertes and a televison-equivalent viewing of the Trojan War (I won't explain that bit here, but this is the Classical connection).
***
I think this strand of Ilium has potential: quite a few post-apocalyptic settings have humanity in the ruins of the old world - but tend to have some form of community come together already by the start of the story. Likewise, there are a variety of settings where poorly understood technology looms over all (generation ship stories like Orphans of the Sky or Non-Stop do this), though the fruitless hedonism angle rather calls to mind Logan's Run. Perhaps more recent and relevant is the strangely named Horizon Zero Dawn, summarised and discussed in tabletop terms at Throne of Salt: the mechanical beasts that imitate prehistory especially.
But of course, the tribes of Horizon Zero Dawn or the monks of A Canticle for Liebowitz are fully developed by the start of the narrative. No-one has to work out hunting and gathering from scratch, let alone forging anti-voynix weapons. One could perhaps look to Kingdom Death Monster and its settlement and technology mechanics - scaled as appropriate (not to mention the extensive reskin!).
This feels quite current, in its way. Your technology has failed you now; you can't fix it and you didn't make it and now all your skills are useless (You used to work out? Super set of abs, but can you kill a charging aurochs? You used to garden? Lovely tulips, what do you know about crop rotation?). Humankind didn't just pull the ladder up after itself: they burnt the drokking ladder! An immediate switch from garden parties to fighting tyrannosaurs, with the accompanying learning curve.
Throwing in a visit from Odysseus (or similar) would be a way to soften things - but this is taking a catapult into Fantasy RPG land very quickly. Being able to read is nigh-on magic; being able to read and understand even more difficult: Old-Style humans probably don't even have a system of measurements. At the tabletop one could factor this in - using non-inidcative or nonsense names for real-world concepts (A mile is a faga; a hard drive is a blarter) in in-universe texts. Translation could evolve slowly.
You may wish to read Ilium and its sequel Olympos first. Don't ask me where the Proust-reading Jovian robots come into all the above, however.
I have been digging into Dan Simmons's Ilium of late, rereading in between other works. His work tends to either detailed historical horror (IE, The Terror, Black Hills) or far-future space opera with heavy reference to literature (Ilium/Olympos, but more prominently, Hyperion).
Anyway, one strand in Ilium/Olympos concerns the folk ('old-style humans') on a far-future earth who live century-long life spans with rejuvenation every twenty years. Their lives are idle and hedonistic, all necessary tasks for survival being carried out by biological robots ('the Voynix'). Teleportation nodes provide for all transport. Fatherhood is basically unknown, thanks to some tampering allowing for sperm storage - though women are only permitted one child. Said old-style humans can't even read.
They are set in a world where familiar features have warped and changed. Paris (population 25,000 - and considered a metropolis) has a vast crater at its centre and is overshadowed not be the Eiffel Tower but by a vast statue of a naked woman - semi-transparent and filled with a photo-luminescent red liquid (a 'Lost Age artefact'). For some reason, the Golden Gate bridge is now by Macchu Picchu. In the unpopulated areas between teleportation nodes of the 'faxnet', resurrected species lurk (smilodons, allosaurs and more). Folk killed by them, can be resurrected - if close enough to a node.
Functions similar to a smartphone, if more advanced, have been implanted into the residents of the future - but are taken so as part of nature that most of these functions have been forgotten. This, and most of the state of being enjoyed by folk in this time are the workings of the Post-Humans dwelling in a vast orbital ring (hence 'Old-style humans).
These are the remnants of humanity, dwelling in the structure of a forgotten world, lacking the skills or curiosity to explore or develop much; lightly and subtly governed by those who have gone before.
***
This is merely the setting. Then everything falls apart: the teleport ceases, the voynix turn nasty and things collapse - and no-one knows how to cope, miserable eloi that they are.
Think The Culture - but no Contact, no Special Circumstances - and then all the Minds vanish. And everyone is useless.
Naturally, the protagonists are the exception - or at any rate, get a head start on a vicious learning curve. Assisted by Odysseus, son of Laertes and a televison-equivalent viewing of the Trojan War (I won't explain that bit here, but this is the Classical connection).
***
I think this strand of Ilium has potential: quite a few post-apocalyptic settings have humanity in the ruins of the old world - but tend to have some form of community come together already by the start of the story. Likewise, there are a variety of settings where poorly understood technology looms over all (generation ship stories like Orphans of the Sky or Non-Stop do this), though the fruitless hedonism angle rather calls to mind Logan's Run. Perhaps more recent and relevant is the strangely named Horizon Zero Dawn, summarised and discussed in tabletop terms at Throne of Salt: the mechanical beasts that imitate prehistory especially.
But of course, the tribes of Horizon Zero Dawn or the monks of A Canticle for Liebowitz are fully developed by the start of the narrative. No-one has to work out hunting and gathering from scratch, let alone forging anti-voynix weapons. One could perhaps look to Kingdom Death Monster and its settlement and technology mechanics - scaled as appropriate (not to mention the extensive reskin!).
This feels quite current, in its way. Your technology has failed you now; you can't fix it and you didn't make it and now all your skills are useless (You used to work out? Super set of abs, but can you kill a charging aurochs? You used to garden? Lovely tulips, what do you know about crop rotation?). Humankind didn't just pull the ladder up after itself: they burnt the drokking ladder! An immediate switch from garden parties to fighting tyrannosaurs, with the accompanying learning curve.
Throwing in a visit from Odysseus (or similar) would be a way to soften things - but this is taking a catapult into Fantasy RPG land very quickly. Being able to read is nigh-on magic; being able to read and understand even more difficult: Old-Style humans probably don't even have a system of measurements. At the tabletop one could factor this in - using non-inidcative or nonsense names for real-world concepts (A mile is a faga; a hard drive is a blarter) in in-universe texts. Translation could evolve slowly.
You may wish to read Ilium and its sequel Olympos first. Don't ask me where the Proust-reading Jovian robots come into all the above, however.
Thursday, 28 February 2019
Shrines and Columns
It's been quite a gulf since the last post. Here's something short, however, that I'd like to share.
You may recall that I have an interest in Church architecture and in where that sits in urban surroundings. One oversight from that post - pillars and columns. Not those sat on by stylites, nor memorials like Nelson's Column or the Monument to the Great Fire of London (known, helpfully, as the Monument). We might also consider the Islamic world and the place of the minaret.
I refer to Columns bearing Trinitarian or Marian images. Here's a simple-ish one, from Prague.
This is from a city in Moravia. Wikipedia lists eighteen sculptures as well as many reliefs: the Holy Trinity above and numerous saints below. Yes, there is a small chapel inside. I very much hope it is still functional and that processions of priests will troop out to it occasionally, disturbing traffic in the town square.
It is deliciously complex and prominent as a setting for something. Perhaps it would be some manner of Peculiar in a fictional setting. Within the fabric of the city, it would certainly be the focus of municipal concern and the devotion of city-dwellers. The start or finish, perhaps, of a procession.
If you take nothing else from this, make it an understanding of how cramped and layered a European city could be - the strangeness of historical buildings and the uses thereof.
You may recall that I have an interest in Church architecture and in where that sits in urban surroundings. One oversight from that post - pillars and columns. Not those sat on by stylites, nor memorials like Nelson's Column or the Monument to the Great Fire of London (known, helpfully, as the Monument). We might also consider the Islamic world and the place of the minaret.
I refer to Columns bearing Trinitarian or Marian images. Here's a simple-ish one, from Prague.
 |
| Thank you, Wikipedia. |
Of course, this is hardly an unknown. Tall monuments, from Trajan's Column to Cleopatra's Needle to the Menhirs of Brittany are hardly news. But some of these get impressively Baroque.
 |
| From Vienna. Thank you, Wikipedia - again. |
My own understanding of Baroque architecture may have been muted by the English variety (all due respect to Sir Christopher Wren), but that is still an impressive piece of cloud-wreathed work. But let's go one better.
 |
| Thank you, Wikipedia - a third time. |
It is deliciously complex and prominent as a setting for something. Perhaps it would be some manner of Peculiar in a fictional setting. Within the fabric of the city, it would certainly be the focus of municipal concern and the devotion of city-dwellers. The start or finish, perhaps, of a procession.
If you take nothing else from this, make it an understanding of how cramped and layered a European city could be - the strangeness of historical buildings and the uses thereof.
Saturday, 9 February 2019
The River People and the Sea People
Here's something. A simplification of the ancient world for the purposes of deriving a flavourful setting.
Two points of derivation, coming from recent reading (as well as a visit to the current exhibition at the British Museum): Gene Wolfe's Soldier of Sidon (and, therefore, Latro in the Mist) and The Ancient Greece of Odysseus by Peter Connolly. The latter is an old textbook I recall from school: the benefit in it coming not from the summary-style retelling of the Iliad and Odyssey, but from the links it makes to Mycenaean artefacts and Trojan archeology, being an introduction to things like the Boar's tusk helmet, the figure-of-eight shield and the Dendra armour. This is coupled with a very pleasing set of illustrations by Connolly, that impart a slightly less clean-cut look to the Classical World (next to what one might call the 'Clash of the Titans' approach). The Greeks and Trojans have fringed skirts to their tunics - rather than the clean white edges of other visions - as well as thick-featured, stiff-bearded faces.
Two points of derivation, coming from recent reading (as well as a visit to the current exhibition at the British Museum): Gene Wolfe's Soldier of Sidon (and, therefore, Latro in the Mist) and The Ancient Greece of Odysseus by Peter Connolly. The latter is an old textbook I recall from school: the benefit in it coming not from the summary-style retelling of the Iliad and Odyssey, but from the links it makes to Mycenaean artefacts and Trojan archeology, being an introduction to things like the Boar's tusk helmet, the figure-of-eight shield and the Dendra armour. This is coupled with a very pleasing set of illustrations by Connolly, that impart a slightly less clean-cut look to the Classical World (next to what one might call the 'Clash of the Titans' approach). The Greeks and Trojans have fringed skirts to their tunics - rather than the clean white edges of other visions - as well as thick-featured, stiff-bearded faces.
 |
| An illustration from The Ancient Greece of Odysseus. Note the odd, Sea People derived 'feather hat' on Aeneas (back, right). Note also the horned helmets! |
Anyway, all this produces a certain dichotomy from a broad-brush stroke account of the ancient world: between the islands of the Aegean and the Eastern Mediterranean, and the river kingdoms of the Fertile Crescent.
Throw into this a certain form of popular history: the sort that produces web articles with titles like 'Alexander the Great: Not so Great! Six Reasons WHY'. (This sort of thing irritates me as a rule: not because it comes to such a conclusion, but more because of its use of a contradiction to the established record as a piece of clickbait - to say nothing of the kicks people get out of being the 'brave new revolutionaries'. But apparently I'm not averse to using it for fantasy settings.)
Also, because I can find a way to put him into anything, C. S. Lewis. In The Dark Tower, a paperback anthology with some of his short fiction and portions of unfinished projects one comes across a few chapters of After Ten Years, which would have been a novel about Menelaus (called Yellowbeard) and Helen after the Trojan War; it is fruitless to speculate too much, but perhaps it would have been rather like Lewis's other novel of the ancient world, Til We Have Faces. (More on the titular tale of the Tower here). Aside from a lovely first chapter detailing the squalor and discomfort of forty men squatting inside a wooden horse for twelve hours, the description of the sack of the Trojan Palace feeds quite nicely into this.
"The room was full of a sweet smell, you could smell the costliness of it. The floor was covered in soft stuff, dyed crimson. There were cushions of silk piled upon couches of ivory; panels of ivory also upon the walls and squares of jade brought from the end of the world. The room was of cedar and gilded beams. They were humiliated by the richness. There was nothing like this at Mycenae, let alone at Sparta; hardly perhaps at Cnossus. And each man thought 'Thus the barbarians have lived these ten years while we sweated and shivered in huts on the beach.' "
Naturally, looting ensues.
SO: this is the world of a new setting. Forget Plato, forget Aristotle, forget the Parthenon. The Greeks are the Orcs of this setting: savages, raiders - who live on rough islands in the salt waters. Alexander, King of Macedon? The equivalent of the Urak-Hai. Even cunning Odysseus, remember, had to prove his identity at the end of the Odyssey by a feat of arms, bending and shooting a bow. Their alignment is chaotic.
They come from the sea, from the storms. They even worship the God of the Seas, the Earthshaker, the Great Chaos!
They are raiders and fighters, for those barren islands will not support crops like the fertile river mud will.
Some of them even ride horses, pressing their thighs against a beast of the field rather than fighting from the war-platform of a chariot.*
They don't oil their beards. They don't even wear trousers!
The civilised folk are the Babylonians, the Egyptians, the Persians who live on rivers, by the tamed water. At this point, we should note the Babylonian myth of Marduk slaying Tiamat, dragon-spirit of the salt waters. The link between the sea and chaos is rather well established by the Chaoskampf of comparative myth. These riverfolk are also scholars: astronomers, builders of the great ziggurats, recorders of history, wisdom, law and prophecy (Leviathan and Dagon needn't be the only Biblical reference here). I would note also at this point the cosmopolitan make-up of the Persian Armies in Herodotus and the allies of Troy in the Trojan War (Ethiopians and Amazons). Lawful alignment, of course.
Goodness knows how the Phoenicians and Hittites fit into all this. Semi-chaotic profit-driven merchants for the former and mountain-dwelling dwarf-archetyple smiths respectively, perhaps.
Of course, the 300** style portrayal of Sparta fits in marvellously well here as a noble savage or barbarian hero. However, this all needs a little more work before it comes together; perhaps a map. But I'm still somewhat satisfied with the background workings of it described here.
*I'm aware that the Greeks of the Trojan War used chariots and that cavalry-proper rather than chariots, but for the sake of accentuating the difference in the setting, I'm doing this. Besides, the Old Testament-esque feel of a law against riding a horse with ungirded thighs works rather well.
**Mandatory reference at this point to the Keiron Gillen graphic novel Three, which works rather well as the anti-300, making it clear quite how unpleasant Sparta could be. Very worthwhile read; the paperback edition comes with interview-commentary by a Professor of Spartan and Peloponnesian Studies.
Throw into this a certain form of popular history: the sort that produces web articles with titles like 'Alexander the Great: Not so Great! Six Reasons WHY'. (This sort of thing irritates me as a rule: not because it comes to such a conclusion, but more because of its use of a contradiction to the established record as a piece of clickbait - to say nothing of the kicks people get out of being the 'brave new revolutionaries'. But apparently I'm not averse to using it for fantasy settings.)
Also, because I can find a way to put him into anything, C. S. Lewis. In The Dark Tower, a paperback anthology with some of his short fiction and portions of unfinished projects one comes across a few chapters of After Ten Years, which would have been a novel about Menelaus (called Yellowbeard) and Helen after the Trojan War; it is fruitless to speculate too much, but perhaps it would have been rather like Lewis's other novel of the ancient world, Til We Have Faces. (More on the titular tale of the Tower here). Aside from a lovely first chapter detailing the squalor and discomfort of forty men squatting inside a wooden horse for twelve hours, the description of the sack of the Trojan Palace feeds quite nicely into this.
"The room was full of a sweet smell, you could smell the costliness of it. The floor was covered in soft stuff, dyed crimson. There were cushions of silk piled upon couches of ivory; panels of ivory also upon the walls and squares of jade brought from the end of the world. The room was of cedar and gilded beams. They were humiliated by the richness. There was nothing like this at Mycenae, let alone at Sparta; hardly perhaps at Cnossus. And each man thought 'Thus the barbarians have lived these ten years while we sweated and shivered in huts on the beach.' "
Naturally, looting ensues.
SO: this is the world of a new setting. Forget Plato, forget Aristotle, forget the Parthenon. The Greeks are the Orcs of this setting: savages, raiders - who live on rough islands in the salt waters. Alexander, King of Macedon? The equivalent of the Urak-Hai. Even cunning Odysseus, remember, had to prove his identity at the end of the Odyssey by a feat of arms, bending and shooting a bow. Their alignment is chaotic.
They come from the sea, from the storms. They even worship the God of the Seas, the Earthshaker, the Great Chaos!
They are raiders and fighters, for those barren islands will not support crops like the fertile river mud will.
Some of them even ride horses, pressing their thighs against a beast of the field rather than fighting from the war-platform of a chariot.*
They don't oil their beards. They don't even wear trousers!
The civilised folk are the Babylonians, the Egyptians, the Persians who live on rivers, by the tamed water. At this point, we should note the Babylonian myth of Marduk slaying Tiamat, dragon-spirit of the salt waters. The link between the sea and chaos is rather well established by the Chaoskampf of comparative myth. These riverfolk are also scholars: astronomers, builders of the great ziggurats, recorders of history, wisdom, law and prophecy (Leviathan and Dagon needn't be the only Biblical reference here). I would note also at this point the cosmopolitan make-up of the Persian Armies in Herodotus and the allies of Troy in the Trojan War (Ethiopians and Amazons). Lawful alignment, of course.
Goodness knows how the Phoenicians and Hittites fit into all this. Semi-chaotic profit-driven merchants for the former and mountain-dwelling dwarf-archetyple smiths respectively, perhaps.
Of course, the 300** style portrayal of Sparta fits in marvellously well here as a noble savage or barbarian hero. However, this all needs a little more work before it comes together; perhaps a map. But I'm still somewhat satisfied with the background workings of it described here.
*I'm aware that the Greeks of the Trojan War used chariots and that cavalry-proper rather than chariots, but for the sake of accentuating the difference in the setting, I'm doing this. Besides, the Old Testament-esque feel of a law against riding a horse with ungirded thighs works rather well.
**Mandatory reference at this point to the Keiron Gillen graphic novel Three, which works rather well as the anti-300, making it clear quite how unpleasant Sparta could be. Very worthwhile read; the paperback edition comes with interview-commentary by a Professor of Spartan and Peloponnesian Studies.
Sunday, 6 January 2019
The Priesthood of the Rope: A New Class
It was after the great convocation of the faith in the Seventh Century of the Dominion of the Faithful that a great wave of new preachers, hermits and holy men emerged. Many emulated the model of St Roak or St Clunia, taking quite drastic vows of poverty, and encouraging others to do the same. To return to the roots of the Faith was the plan, however much the world had changed in the intervening years. Many of these new movements only lasted one generation; some waned in popularity naturally, some amalgamated with existing religious orders - some fell into darkness and error and were disbanded by order of the College of the Rite.
However, of all these orders the friars popularly known as the Brethren or Priesthood of the Rope have endured, despite the distance between their common practices and the views of the hierarchy. The Order of the Blessed Kordon (named for their founder) are known as mendicants, generally without fixed monastic communities - though a permanent station is kept by brothers of the order in the Holy City. They live simple lives, going amongst the poorest of the slums or to villages in the most desolate regions, bringing the Faith's message of comfort to the lowest - often living solely on the charity of those on the road with them. Founded in a time of much violence, among the pacifistic dictates of the order is that a member must not bear a knife longer than the length of their hand - and that it must only have a single edge. (By the letter of the law, they may borrow other bladed implements- the example is given of a scythe to work in the fields - but to keep them longer than the work requires is forbidden.)
The Brethren of the Rope are recognised by their simple robes, generally of whatever brown cloth can be readily found and belted about the middle with a simple rope, rather than a sash or belt. They are well-loved among many of the poor and are often lauded as examples of simple faith and the endurance that comes from it. Many are the miracles attribute to their piety
What is rather less well known is that the Order, for all their distance from the militarised aristocracy and profession of peace, are permitted to defend themselves, but are obliged to do solely through the use of the rope by which they are known. Snares and nooses have been known to trip unsuspecting highwaymen, lariats to restrain the footpad - the bolas to bring down wild beasts. It is whispered that the use of the rope is not purely defensive either. The rope may be used to restrain, but it can be put to darker purposes. A man-at-arms with many kills to his name must still breathe, and a dark alley-way is a place in which a garrotte may be about the neck before the victim even knows it. The corpses of corrupt taxmen, those running extortion rackets and enemies of the faith are often found without a single blow on their body.
Indeed, it is for this reason that the oppressors of the poor will often wear heavy gorgets about their necks (though it is rumoured that even these will not stop the techniques of Brotherhood of the Rope). It is not uncommon for a member of the Order, when invited to the house of an aristocrat, to be gifted a new set of plain garments, ostensibly as an act of piety - though the new robes will either be lack a rope or possess a subtly weakened cord.
***
Out of Universe, this basically derives from me wondering why the chap with the lasso in Westerns is a goody and the chap with a garrotte in adventure films a baddy. (There is probably a very decent paper to be written by some semiotician on the connection between the lasso and the noose.*) It is also a sort of development of the 'clerics wield none-bladed weapons' idea.
This is a character class for those who want to be this chap on the left...
....this chap in Pankot Palace...
...the sort of character played by this chap...
...and with a spot of Friar Tuck for good measure. Add something of the wuxia martial arts picture as desired: how spectacular do you want your rope antics to be?
I've used the term brethren a great deal above, as well as the Western European Medieval norms of my Terrae Vertebrae setting. Naturally, neither masculinity nor Europe are necessary for the class, though some degree of organised religion probably is. The idea of the character class should be flexible enough to accommodate a dashing Robin Hood or Zorro type, a member of a desperate revolutionary cadre using whatever tactics they can, a sinister enforcer for the religious hierarchy or a peaceful monk caught up in violent surroundings carefully defending himself with non-lethal means.
With that, the nuts and bolts of the affair - using, as before, The Fifty-Two Pages as a basis.
***
THE ROPE PRIEST
Size: 1
HP - d6+1+ CON +/-.
Attack Modifiers - None, initially
Mind Save 7 + WIS +/-
Speed Save 5 + DEX+/-
Body Save 7 + CON +/-
Knowledge Notice Detail Hear Noise Handiwork Stealth Athletics
[X] [ ] [X] [X] [XX] [X]
Starts with one extra Language, and Spells: 1+INT bonus. Spells must come from the Abjuration or Restoration list**. All Rope Priests gain Animate Rope as a Cantrip at Level Two and may cast it a number of times equal to their level each day.
The Rope Priest's sacred weapon is a rope. The Rope Priest's religious motto might likely run something like 'Comfort the Oppressed and Live in Peace' (though this is setting dependant).
The Rope Priest must take the background words Religion and Rope. This ensures that the Rope Priest can manufacture ropes out of suitable materials given enough time, tie intricate knots, strengthen or repair ropes, know roughly how much weight a rope can bear, &c.
Level Advancement: +1 Melee, +1 Missile every Fourth Level
+1 to all Saves every Odd Level
+1 Spell per level
Members of the Rope Priest's Order may entrust him or her with strong thin chains and other rope-like weapons at higher levels or if on a specific mission.
* The only place I can think of that addresses this - not that I have been looking - is the final act of Terry Gilliam's Time Bandits (1981) in which cowboys summoned to defeat Evil yell 'Yee-haw! Let's have ourselves a lynching!', before bringing out the lassos. Given their fate, there is perhaps a degree of unspoken criticism here.
**Throw in Nature spells if desired for a St Francis of Assisi variant.
However, of all these orders the friars popularly known as the Brethren or Priesthood of the Rope have endured, despite the distance between their common practices and the views of the hierarchy. The Order of the Blessed Kordon (named for their founder) are known as mendicants, generally without fixed monastic communities - though a permanent station is kept by brothers of the order in the Holy City. They live simple lives, going amongst the poorest of the slums or to villages in the most desolate regions, bringing the Faith's message of comfort to the lowest - often living solely on the charity of those on the road with them. Founded in a time of much violence, among the pacifistic dictates of the order is that a member must not bear a knife longer than the length of their hand - and that it must only have a single edge. (By the letter of the law, they may borrow other bladed implements- the example is given of a scythe to work in the fields - but to keep them longer than the work requires is forbidden.)
The Brethren of the Rope are recognised by their simple robes, generally of whatever brown cloth can be readily found and belted about the middle with a simple rope, rather than a sash or belt. They are well-loved among many of the poor and are often lauded as examples of simple faith and the endurance that comes from it. Many are the miracles attribute to their piety
What is rather less well known is that the Order, for all their distance from the militarised aristocracy and profession of peace, are permitted to defend themselves, but are obliged to do solely through the use of the rope by which they are known. Snares and nooses have been known to trip unsuspecting highwaymen, lariats to restrain the footpad - the bolas to bring down wild beasts. It is whispered that the use of the rope is not purely defensive either. The rope may be used to restrain, but it can be put to darker purposes. A man-at-arms with many kills to his name must still breathe, and a dark alley-way is a place in which a garrotte may be about the neck before the victim even knows it. The corpses of corrupt taxmen, those running extortion rackets and enemies of the faith are often found without a single blow on their body.
Indeed, it is for this reason that the oppressors of the poor will often wear heavy gorgets about their necks (though it is rumoured that even these will not stop the techniques of Brotherhood of the Rope). It is not uncommon for a member of the Order, when invited to the house of an aristocrat, to be gifted a new set of plain garments, ostensibly as an act of piety - though the new robes will either be lack a rope or possess a subtly weakened cord.
 |
| Chap on the right is probably a superior in the Order. (Painting is Jean-Léon Gérôme's L'Éminence Grise) |
Out of Universe, this basically derives from me wondering why the chap with the lasso in Westerns is a goody and the chap with a garrotte in adventure films a baddy. (There is probably a very decent paper to be written by some semiotician on the connection between the lasso and the noose.*) It is also a sort of development of the 'clerics wield none-bladed weapons' idea.
This is a character class for those who want to be this chap on the left...
 |
| Sean Connery in The Name of the Rose. I add the image more for the sake of the book than the character. |
....this chap in Pankot Palace...
 |
| That's a certain be-hatted and whip-wielding archeologist he's creeping up on, if you hadn't guessed. |
 |
| From The Coen Brothers' Hail Caesar (2016). The scene in question may be seen here: presumably some of the Brethren do this sort of thing for fun. |
I've used the term brethren a great deal above, as well as the Western European Medieval norms of my Terrae Vertebrae setting. Naturally, neither masculinity nor Europe are necessary for the class, though some degree of organised religion probably is. The idea of the character class should be flexible enough to accommodate a dashing Robin Hood or Zorro type, a member of a desperate revolutionary cadre using whatever tactics they can, a sinister enforcer for the religious hierarchy or a peaceful monk caught up in violent surroundings carefully defending himself with non-lethal means.
With that, the nuts and bolts of the affair - using, as before, The Fifty-Two Pages as a basis.
***
THE ROPE PRIEST
Size: 1
HP - d6+1+ CON +/-.
Attack Modifiers - None, initially
Mind Save 7 + WIS +/-
Speed Save 5 + DEX+/-
Body Save 7 + CON +/-
Knowledge Notice Detail Hear Noise Handiwork Stealth Athletics
[X] [ ] [X] [X] [XX] [X]
Starts with one extra Language, and Spells: 1+INT bonus. Spells must come from the Abjuration or Restoration list**. All Rope Priests gain Animate Rope as a Cantrip at Level Two and may cast it a number of times equal to their level each day.
The Rope Priest's sacred weapon is a rope. The Rope Priest's religious motto might likely run something like 'Comfort the Oppressed and Live in Peace' (though this is setting dependant).
The Rope Priest must take the background words Religion and Rope. This ensures that the Rope Priest can manufacture ropes out of suitable materials given enough time, tie intricate knots, strengthen or repair ropes, know roughly how much weight a rope can bear, &c.
Level Advancement: +1 Melee, +1 Missile every Fourth Level
+1 to all Saves every Odd Level
+1 Spell per level
Members of the Rope Priest's Order may entrust him or her with strong thin chains and other rope-like weapons at higher levels or if on a specific mission.
* The only place I can think of that addresses this - not that I have been looking - is the final act of Terry Gilliam's Time Bandits (1981) in which cowboys summoned to defeat Evil yell 'Yee-haw! Let's have ourselves a lynching!', before bringing out the lassos. Given their fate, there is perhaps a degree of unspoken criticism here.
**Throw in Nature spells if desired for a St Francis of Assisi variant.
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