6. VALKYRIE
(headhunter) (giant killer)
Environment: Long March
In the midst of a mass expulsion, agents comb the queue to find talent.
Be it the dragon cult clear-cutting of the forest sylvan, adreno-junkie billyclub hoppers emptying the slums at the behest of a xenophobic sentient superconductor, or the diversion of the river away from the Better Burgh Bullywog to planting psychotropic jimsonweed, there are a couple truisms in the ensuing parade — first, it's usually the biggest a**h**es that engage in this removal, and second, this fact is not lost on the kids, who are likely to take the actions of the masked jackboots as representative of a larger societal malignancy.
Enterprising entities can hone these emotions toward their own ends.
Aptitudinal Engine - The headhunter recognizes talent where she sees it and may dole out half of her full earned again to a chosen henchman. The catch is, when they level up, the recipient of this largess goes to work for someone more important. The next henchman gets half THESE xp for free, so if you do well enough, Valkyrie, there's a bit of a pyramid for you.
 |
| James Fletcher |
7. BODGE
(lion-in-winter) (greenwood ranger)
Environment: Landfill/Prison Colony
The lion, defeated in a succession war of some kind and due to whatever pieties avowed by the winner not immediately killed but instead thrown to the Fill to be devoured by the Breaker Boys, a particularly savage set of cannibals. Or one of any number similar. You know how this will work.
He wins over the Breakers, whipping them into a frenzy, but just before they march out of that vast garbage junk yard back into the fray, he thinks different of it and stays put (for now). Better to reign in Hell and all that, "what matter where, if I be still the same."
Needless to say, he has not stayed the same, but replaced himself bit by bit.
MacGyverize - It's not that the lion is some sort of mechanical genius, but he has pockets full of funny middle bits that will power anything, and as a result can join A to C through this pocket apiary. It basically functions like magic - the lion can cast spells of the next higher level provided he can give a LOOSE description of the mechanism involved.
.jpg) |
| Maia Trewartha |
(conductor) (guardian)
Environment: Hronesnæss
"Then on the hill that hugest of balefires/ the warriors wakened. Wood-smoke rose/ black over blaze, and blent was the roar/ of flame with weeping (the wind was still), / till the fire had broken the frame of bones,/ hot at the heart." - Beowulf, XLIII
The hill is impossible. Something is buried there. You ride around it rending your clothes and offer supplication. You can't make the full circle. It doubles you back. There is an entity inside — the Windhover. It starts in shadow and slowly becomes more substantial — drifting toward you like a malicious balloon. It follows.
The pilgrims notice two ways — gradually, then suddenly. They panic and claw at each other to escape. "Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee" indeed!
It's fine. The entity is a wave pattern. A good kapellmeister can control its frequency. It's part of the presentation. A really good kapellmeister takes a little bit of the entity with him when he leaves his employment at the crystal cairns.
Black Mass in the Pocket - The entity's reach widens. It walks in a pattern that the conductor more or less understands. With a successful reaction check, the Windhover manifests to any large crowd (be it a throng of devotees or a gaggle of goblins). They will flee in a disorganized jumble — do not pass Go, do not collect $200. No saving throw. The decision has already been made for them. A collective horror takes over and they are part of the Windhover for an instance — once they saw it, it was inside them.
Stand firm you fools! Don't turn your back on it!
 |
| Pete Knifton, r.i.p 10/29/25- one of the greats |
9. EYELESS, NAMELESS
(thrasher) (justifier)
Environment: Heavy Metal Wasteland
You have your basic apex antagonist/boss monster, say a Beholder. There is an open market for these — a need for scheme scheming and Levels 6 to stock. Nothing so garish as the acquisitions department or zebra boat. It's more of a whisper in his ear by lower powers — "Come away, O aberration! To the waters and the territories unrestrain-ed." And he wanders off, much to the locals' relief.
This works fine but eventually becomes industrialized — an electronic beacon with a maternal name ("mumsy" or "shviger" or "genitrix") pulls them in from all over. This hollows out the whole area. There is general rejoicing at the empty lich tombs all over — but a trophic cascade follows that nobody will like.
The thrasher acts as a stand-in. Think the Great Oz in his City, playing at forms — as an Ifrit, as M.O.D.O.K., as a Nibovian Wife. This prevents the under-monsters from elevating a champion and setting off ecological calamity.
Metonymy - The thrasher operates in deep abstraction. If, say, a minor duke present himself to a dragon's court, it may bother him a lot that the dragon itself is absent. The delegated twerp giving him a talking to will illicit irritation, not anxiety. But if he thinks of the twerp AS the dragon in extension — an appendage, no more disparate than a fingernail — he will quake appropriately. Not a majordomo then — the CLAW COUNSELOR or whatever preposterous designation.
So too the thrasher. He can't be hit by non-magical weapons (on a save vs. death magic, sentient critters only - a zombie dumbly swinging a rusted sword will hit him just fine). They assume he can't be and don't even try.
 |
| Skinner |
10. SISTER VALOR AND HER SIBLINGS
(ring bearer-alternate) (mountain man)
Environment: Volcanic Mordorous Analogue
Wheel Long-Barrow - A wheelbarrow of holding. Almost everything in there is completely worthless — even if you put something of value inside, it will come out as a piece of junk. Immune are artifacts, but she won't get her hands on one of those. Until she does. At a critical moment — roll for animal husbandry. Emerikol's Belt Buckle, ostensibly slinging chain lighting around from the clenched fist of the deranged Gnome Om, turns out to be amongst 100 other conchos in the cart. Oops! Off it goes into the ultramafic magma.
 |
| Michal Janicki |
 |
| Ron Cobb |
No comments:
Post a Comment