Landfall!

Never having been a huge reader of comics, I keep forgetting that, during the late '80s and early 1990s, DC Comics published a number of titles based (mostly) on Dungeons & Dragons settings. One of them was set in Krynn, the world of Dragonlance. From what I understand, the Dragonlance comics were prequels that took place before the events of the first novel, Dragons of Autumn Twilight, and consequently introduced a number of original characters to serve as its protagonists alongside more familiar names.

Since I haven't had the chance to read these comics, I don't have much more to say about them specifically. However, I am fascinated to discover that, starting with issue #22 (August 1990), the series had a fair number of issues whose stories took place on the continent of Taladas, the setting of the Time of the Dragon boxed set for which I retain a fondness. I suppose this makes sense. If the comic writers had to keep away from the more familiar War of the Lance storyline, looking to a new and mostly undeveloped part of the larger Dragonlance world is a good choice. 

Did anyone read these or any of the other TSR comics published by DC? Were any of them any good?

Stuck in the Past

As I've no doubt explained previously, I was never much of a comics reader as a kid – or, more precisely, I was never much of a superhero comics reader as a kid. With the exception of Doctor Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts, which I picked up intermittently, the two comics I followed with any devotion were both science fiction titles, Star Wars (about which I've written many times before) and Micronauts (about which I don't believe I have). 

Nevertheless, like all American boys growing up in the 1970s, I was still very much aware of superheroes, thanks in no small part to their TV and movie adaptations, including cartoons. Perhaps because he was Marvel's most popular – and merchandised – character at the time, I had a special fondness for Spider-Man. I loved the terrible 1960s cartoon, which I saw in reruns, as well as the equally awful 1977 live action series, starring Nicholas Hammond of The Sound of Music Fame. I also remember watching the Adam West Batman series, various incarnations of Super Friends, the 1978 Superman movie, and probably others I've long forgotten.

As I got older, I retained a vague affection for the idea of superheroes, especially after I started playing RPGs. I can still vividly recall some of the adventures my friends and I had playing, first, Champions, and, later, Marvel Super Heroes. I remember, too, when we started to see big budget Hollywood movies featuring various costumed characters, starting with Tim Burton's Batman. The release of that movie in 1989 was a major cultural event and its success not only spawned three sequels but also paved the way for yet more superhero movies, a trend that has continued to the present day.

Despite not calling myself a fan of superheroes, I've seen more than my fair share of the superhero movies released in the last three decades, enjoying some more than others. One of the things that's always bugged me about these movies (and other adaptations) is how many of them continue to tread the same ground that their original source material did decades ago. There may indeed be nothing new under the sun, but did we really need to see another version of "The Dark Phoenix Saga?" For that matter, have there been any new superheroes or superhero stories produced in the last couple of decades with any staying power? Why are the biggest pop cultural characters all products of the 1980s or earlier?

I think about this often, most recently during a recent trip with my family. While perusing some weird snacks and candies in a store, I spied a tall, thin, red can featuring what looked to me like Larry Elmore's iconic cover painting for the Frank Mentzer-edited Dungeons & Dragons Basic Set (1984). Drawing closer, it turned that, yes, it was Elmore's artwork on a D&D-branded energy drink calling itself a "Hero's Potion of Power." Intrigued, I bought the thing, but I didn't have the courage to try it. That job fell to my daughter, who declared it "alright, but nothing special." 

On the same trip, we went to a bookstore not far from where I grew up. I hadn't found anything to purchase, so I stood out near the lobby of the store while my daughter paid for a book. When I looked over at the checkout counter, I saw a display filled with little boxes sporting an immediately recognizable color scheme. I did an almost comical double take, because I was sure that my aging eyes must have erred in some way, because I couldn't conceive that I was seeing what I, in fact, was seeing – the familiar blue and brown palette of the AD&D Monster Manual.

Sure enough, that's exactly what it was. Apparently, the boxes contain one of a series of randomized plastic monster figurines based on the illustrations of the original Monster Manual. This, frankly, befuddled me almost as much as the Hero's Potion of Power, but then I've never really understood the appeal of these expensive, randomized "loot boxes." Beyond that, why were the figurines based on the artwork of Dave Trampier and Dave Sutherland rather than more contemporary designs? Did it have something to do with D&D's 50th anniversary? I'm honestly not sure of the answer. For all I know, there may be similar loot boxes available for the monsters of later D&D editions, but my gut tells me that's unlikely to be the case. (If I'm mistaken about this, feel free to correct me in the comments).

Of course, this past Christmas, my wife bought me a Dungeons & Dragons T-shirt that she unexpectedly came across while shopping. She knows I'm normally not a wearer of such things – I abhor the brandification of the game – but the fact that the shirt featured the Erol Otus cover painting of Tom Moldvay's Basic Set was sufficiently unusual that she decided to take a chance. She was right to do so, because I was positively tickled by the gift and often wear it as a sleep shirt (I'd never wear it while out and about – I'm too old for that sort of thing).

I can't help but wonder why it is that, in the pop cultural sphere, so much of what is being presented and sold to us are the products of earlier generations of creative minds. Is this simply the result of a lack of imagination or is it because, on some level, we know that we'll never be able to come up with anything better than our predecessors? If I were to travel back in time to tell my younger self that, decades from now, there'd still be new Star Trek shows and Star Wars movies – or that I couldn't care less about any of them – I doubt he'd believe me and yet here we are. Nostalgia is a hell of a drug, but what does it mean when popular culture spends decades luxuriating in it? 

I'm as happy as anyone to see Erol Otus art on a T-shirt (even if he's unlikely to have profited from it in any way). At the same time, I think there's something not just decadent but even stagnant about endlessly recycling the pop culture of the 50s, 60, 70s, and 80s only even more vapid and rampantly consumerist than before. Have we simply run out of new ideas? Or do the new ideas simply lack the appeal of the older ones? What's really going on here and what does it mean?

White Dwarf: Issue #77

Issue #77 of White Dwarf (May 1986) features an immediately recognizable cover illustration by Chris Achilleos. The image is probably best-known for its appearance on the September 1981 issue of Heavy Metal, though it has appeared in many other places over the years. I've noted before that, compared to Dragon, WD more regularly used re-purposed artwork for its cover illustrations, though I've never come to a satisfactory conclusion as to why this was the case. My best guess is that it was a matter of simple economics, reprinted art being perhaps cheaper than commissioning original art, but I honestly don' know if that's the case. In any event, this particular cover induces a bit of cognitive dissonance in me, since I so strongly associate it with Heavy Metal, not White Dwarf.

Issue #77 is also the last issue under the editorship of Ian Marsh. Marsh only took over in issue #74, so his departure so soon after his installation comes as a bit of a shock. In his final editorial, Marsh states that "the other staff of the magazine" would also be leaving, though he doesn't specify which ones. He seems to obfuscate on the reasons for all these departures, simultaneously reminding readers that Games Workshop was moving to Nottingham and that he and the others "have decided not to accompany it on this move," while also couching their decision as being for nebulous "reasons of our own." The next issue will have a "fresh team" headed up by Paul Cockburn.

The issue proper begins with the reviews of "Open Box." The first of these is Mayfair's DC Heroes, which receives a quite favorable (8 out of 10) review by Marcus L. Rowland, who continues to be the workhorse of the magazine. The Stormbringer adventure Stealer of Souls likewise scores 8 out of 10, while The Sea Elves, a supplement for the Elfquest RPG gets 7 on the same scale. Another Chaosium product, Alone Against the Dark for Call of Cthulhu earns 9 out of 10, but Yellow Clearance Black Box Blues for Paranoia receives only 7 – another example, I think, of where the numerical scores don't quite align with the text of the review itself. Finally, there are reviews of two supplements for FASA's Doctor Who RPG: The Daleks (7 out of 10) and The Master (6 out of 10). 

Dave Langford's "Critical Mass" is mostly forgettable to me, as usual, but he does take note of the death of Frank Herbert, opining that Chapter House: Dune, to which he gave a "mildly favorable" review back in issue #65 might be the end of "galactic power-politicking" in the Dune universe. How I wish that had been true! Colin Greenwell's "2020 Vision" reviews a few movies, most notably Young Sherlock Holmes, a forgettable, even laughable, Steven Spielberg movie that nonetheless does feature one of the earliest examples of a computer-generated character in the history of cinema – a dire portent of things to come.

"The Crazy File" by Peter Tamlyn provides a handful of new "crazies" – zealous devotees of social fads – for use with the Judge Dredd – The Role-Playing Game. The article contains no game statistics; it's pure background information intended to give the referee something inspirational for use in his own adventures and campaigns. "Spellbound" by Phil Masters looks at "magic in superhero games." Again, there's nothing mechanical here. Instead, it's an overview of how magic has been used in comics over the years and then offers advice and examples of how to make use of it in one's own original superhero RPG adventures and campaigns. It's well done in my opinion and helped by the fact that it's not geared toward any particular superhero RPG. 

"The Final Frontier" by Alex Stewart does something similar for Star Trek gaming: it's an overview of the unique characteristics of Gene Roddenberry's science fiction setting and how they can best be used to create enjoyable adventures and campaigns. As a fan of Star Trek – or at least I once was – I think the article is pretty well done for what it is, though I do find myself wondering about its intended audience. White Dwarf used to have lots of these introductory articles in its early days. To see them return so late in its run strikes me as odd, though I'm sure there's a logic to it that eludes me. 

Graham Staplehurst's "A Secret Wish" is an adventure that's written for both D&D and Middle-earth Role Playing. The scenario itself assumes the players take on the role of hobbits and deals with the disappearance and return of Glorfindel. How well it jibes with the actual history of Middle-earth as laid out by Tolkien, I can't rightly say, though, to me, it reads a bit like a work of fan fiction rather than something that could have come from the mind of the Professor himself. "A Cast of Thousands" by Graeme Davis is yet another look at NPCs and how to give them "personality." It's fine, though, as is so often the case with articles like this, I find it difficult to sift through the conventional wisdom repeated for the hundredth time from the genuine insights.

"The Cars That Ate Sanity" by Marcus L. Rowland is a set of car chase rules for use with Call of Cthulhu. Is this something anyone needed? I don't mean to be flippant, but I cannot recall any car chases in Lovecraft's fiction. Maybe my memory is failing me again. Chris Felton's "Gaming for Heroine Addicts" – a clever title – is about how avoid "sexism" in one's games and make them more enjoyable to women. As you might expect, the article is a very mixed bag of topics, not to mention perspectives. I'm not sure the article offers a coherent viewpoint on any of its topics, which range widely and make many assumptions about RPGs, men, women, and everything in between. I've already spent more time thinking about it than it probably deserves.

Joe Dever's "Tabletop Heroes" looks at the best techniques for photographing one's painted miniatures. I found it fascinating and very much appreciated the little diagrams that accompanied the article. They showed the placement of lighting, camera, and background and did a great job of illustrating the principles Dever discusses. "The Travellers," "Gobbledigook," and "Thrud the Barbarian" are all here as usual. "Thrud" pokes fun at superheroes by having the tiny-headed barbarian face off against the All-American Legion of Incredibly Stupid Heroes, such as

After reading Ian Marsh's farewell editorial, I now feel an obligation to read at least a few more issues. I'm genuinely curious now to see how much will change under a "fresh new team" at the helm of White Dwarf. If nothing else, it'll be fascinating purely from a historical perspective. Till then!

By the Guts of the Green God

I've talked about the Sword of Sorcery comic before. It's a remarkable example of DC's multiple forays into the fantasy genre throughout the 1970s. Like most of the other fantasy comics DC published during that time – Arak, Son of Thunder; Beowulf, Dragon Slayer; Claw the Unconquered, Stalker, The Warlord, and more – Sword of Sorcery didn't last long. However, it has the distinction of having adapted several Fritz Leiber stories to the comics medium, including "Cloud of Hate," which appeared in its fourth issue from October 1973. 

As is often the case, the adaptation isn't a straight one, though most of its alterations concern the tale's order of events than their actual content. Likewise, the dialog is not directly taken from Leiber's text, though it's clearly inspired by it. For me, though, the main joy of the comic is its artwork by Howard Chaykin, which is excellent. (In a twist of fate, Chaykin would later return to comics based on Leiber's Lankhmar stories in 2007, only this time as a writer rather than artist.)

A Tale of Two Adaptations

Interestingly, "The Price of Pain-Ease" was adapted twice in comics form. The first one appeared in the first issue of DC's Sword of Sorcery series (March 1973). Veteran Denny O'Neil is listed as writer, while newcomer Howard Chaykin is the artist. This was, in fact, Chaykin's first significant assignment for DC, so the adaptation has a certain historical importance.

As an adaptation of the story, though, it's awful. O'Neil truncated the story, eliminating the ghosts of Ivrian and Vlana, thereby eliminating much of the tale's melancholy tone, not to mention the central motivation of the Twain. I honestly can't fathom what O'Neil was thinking here, as his excisions undercut everything that make "The Price of Pain-Ease" memorable.

Fortunately, Chaykin at least had a chance to redeem himself, though this time as a writer rather than illustrator. At the start of the 1990s, Marvel's Epic imprint published Fritz Leiber's Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, a four-issue series that adapted many of the stories featuring the titular pair, including "The Price of Pain-Ease," which appeared in issue #3 (January 1991). 

Chaykin's adaptation is vastly more faithful to the story than was O'Neil's, which would be enough to set it apart from its predecessor. Almost as remarkable is its artwork, provided by a pre-Hellboy Mike Mignola, with the inking done by the legendary Al Williamson. The Epic adaptations are universally excellent, both in terms of their fidelity and the imagery. Mignola's moody, expressionist style is well suited to Nehwon and especially suits the tone of "The Price of Pain-Ease." All the Epic comics were eventually collected in a single volume by Dark Horse in 2007. It's still in print, so far as I know, and I greatly recommend picking it up, if you've never seen it before.

John Carter in Comics (Part III)

In the mid-60s, Gold Key reprinted the Dell Barsoom Comics of the previous decade. John Carter's next appearance after that was in February 1972, as a back up feature in DC's Tarzan of the Apes issue #207.

The feature is an adaptation of A Princess of Mars and appears over the course of three issues, starting with this one. Plotted by Marv Wolfman and scripted by Joe Kubert, it's penciled and inked by Murphy Anderson in issues #207 and #209 (with Gray Morrow handling #208). 

This particular adaptation is notable for its rather weird interpretation of the Tharks, as seen on this page:

I'd love to know what they were thinking by giving the Green Martians double torsos like this. I find it incredibly off-putting, not to mention having no basis in the text of Burroughs. Interestingly, issue #208, whose artwork is done by a different penciler depicts the Tharks in a more traditional fashion. However, the double-torsoed Tharks return in issue #209, when Anderson resumes his penciling duties. He's also the first artist responsible for drawing DC's interpretation of the incomparable Dejah Thoris.

After these three issues, the adaptation continues in September 1972 in a new comic, Weird Worlds, before concluding in its seventh issue in October 1973. As adaptations go, it's noteworthy only for the fact that, since it was published in the 1970s, the attire of Carter and the Martians is closer to that described by Burroughs in his original stories, something that would have been less likely in earlier decades. Otherwise, I find it merely adequate, despite the involvement of several comics legends.

Imagine Magazine: Issue #21

Issue #21 of Imagine (December 1984) is another themed issue, this time devoted to superheroes. The cover illustration by Steven Kyte depicts Captain Arrow, a character with whom I am unfamiliar, which means he's either a lesser British superhero or original to Imagine. If anyone reading this can provide some insight into the matter, I'd appreciate it. Regardless, it's a fun cover piece and very much in the style of art I remember from the days when I actually read comic books. 

The issue kicks off with "To Save the World," an overview of superheroes and superhero roleplaying by Nige Squires. Taking the form of a compendious history of the genre, Squires uses that history to illustrate how to create adventures and characters for a RPG campaign. It's an interesting approach and enjoyable to read, especially when you consider the time it was written. The comics world was still vaguely intelligible to an outsider in 1985, though mega-crossover events like Secret Wars and Crisis on Infinite Earths were just starting become an unavoidable trend. In any case, I liked the article and think it succeeded in what it set out to do.

Paul Cockburn provides us with "Kiss of Death," a mammoth 12-page adventure for Marvel Super Heroes that includes several detachable pages of battle maps and stand-up figures, as well as stats for Captain Britain (by Pete Tamlyn). Martin Lock writes "Harrier Comics," which is both a discussion of comics publishing in the UK as well as an advertisement for the titular comic company (of which Lock was founder). Again, my lack of knowledge of the British comics scene, aside from 2000AD, limits my perspective and I'd be happy to learn more from readers who know more. Game reviews continue the comics theme, with reviews of Marvel Super Heroes, several Champions supplements, and TOON. There are also reviews of Justice Inc., The Adventures of Indiana Jones (which the reviewer felt was a good idea badly executed) and Psi World, among others. I was struck by just how many products were discussed – more than fourteen in all – and wondered if I'd ever seen so many reviews in a single issue of any gaming magazine before.

Roger Musson pens two articles in this issue. The first is his regular "Stirge Corner" column, which continues to tackle alignment. This time, though, it's Neutrality that catches his attention. Like the others in the series, it's a solid article with some genuine insight. His conclusion, which serves as the conclusion to the whole series, is worth reproducing here:

Altogether, the morals of the average adventurer are somewhat open to suspicion. Of the players I have seen, few have demonstrated a true alignment in any positive sense. The rest have concerned themselves almost exclusively with staying alive, gathering treasure, and gaining experience levels. 

Musson's other piece, "The Curse of the Purple Potion," is a pun-filled story of the sort I adored when I was in high school but that now seems far less funny.

Chris Felton's Pellinore article, "The Arena," presents the City League's gladiatorial and chariot racing arena, along with maps and NPCs associated with it. There's also a simple set of rules to adjudicate chariot racing that includes a hex map of the race track and counters to represent the chariots. John McKeown's "Monsters, Magic & Menageries" is a very unusual article. It covers the process of breeding – and cross-breeding – monsters, a topic I don't believe I've ever seen in a RPG article before. I can't see using it in any games I'd run, but I'm always intrigued by unusual options like this nonetheless.

"For Whom the Bell Jingles" is a "not terribly serious" AD&D adventure by P. Howard, G. Baker, and L. King. The adventure takes place at Christmas and involves the characters rescuing Santa Claus from a demon called Nurk. I'm not a fan of such scenarios, but I know many people like them. Colin Greenland's "Fantasy Media" reviews several movies, including Red Dawn (which he, quite reasonably, pans) and Ghostbusters (which he likes). He also reviews the second Thieves' World novel, Tales from the Vulgar Unicorn and treats it favorably, despite disliking the stories by Philip Jose Farmer and A.E. van Vogt, whom he calls "two burnt-out stars if ever there were." Mike Lewis, in his "Soapbox," compares RPG rulesets to computer hardware and software, a somewhat odd analogy but one that probably seemed very relevant at the time, as affordable personal computers were just starting to appear. Finally, "Rubic of Moggedon" and "The Phalanx" comics return and I continue not to care.

Issue #21 is fine but, for me anyway, not as enjoyable as issue #20. That's not slight against Imagine itself but more of a testament to my own relative lack of interest in superheroes compared to other subjects. I hope that next issue will be more to my liking.

Claw the Unconquered

Back in the mid-80s, my friends and I were very briefly – but intensely – enamored of TSR's Conan Role-Playing Game by David Cook. At the time, I don't think any of us were all that familiar with Conan outside of Marvel's comics or the Schwarzenegger movies, the second of which had come out the summer before the RPG was published. (I had read some of the Lancer Conan books by this point, but they didn't make a huge impact on me)  As I recall, the game had a fun and easy to use character generation system that produced appropriately pulpy characters. One of my friends generated a character who had a physical deformity – a claw on one hand – that was the result of a curse or black magic or something similar. He called the character Talon, which, at the time, I thought was pretty clever, and had many adventures during the Hyborian Age.

Many years later, I learned of the existence of Claw the Unconquered, DC comic that ran for only a dozen issues, beginning in June 1975. Like my friend's character, Talon, Claw is afflicted with a curse – an ancestral demonic pact, we eventually learn – that results in members of his family having a bestial claw in place of his right hand. I don't know if my friend ever read Claw and based his character on it or it's a case of independent invention.

Claw's real name is Valcan, an outlander who has come to the realm of Pytharia, seeking fame and fortune.

Let say right now that the art in Claw is excellent, nearly the Platonic form of what I associate with the comics of my youth. That's not surprising, since it's the work of the late, great Ernie Chan (credited as Ernie Chua, at the time), who worked on many comics during the time, including Conan the Barbarian for Marvel. The writer was David Michelinie, best known for his time at Marvel Comics, a few years later.

Claw's titular appendage is something Valcan hides with a red gauntlet, largely because of the reaction it elicits in others, as we learn early in the first story.

The ruler of Pytharia is named Occulas of the Yellow Eye, who dwells within Castle Darkmorn. As a young prince, Occulas learned of an omen that "the hand of justice," which is "webbed like a dragon's paw," would one day threaten his rule. Concerned for his future, Occulas scoured the world looking for anyone who bore such a mark. Eventually, his agents succeeded, finding the farmer Kregar, who possesses a hand like that foretold by the omen. They first accuse him of treason and then slay him, along with his wife, leaving their infant son an orphan. I trust no one will be surprised to learn that that infant grew up to be Valcan, who was apparently raised by some mysterious individual, who found him shortly afterwards. 

Naturally, when a now-older Occulas hears of a demonic-handed outlander wandering about the streets of his capital city, he takes a keen interest in him and places a bounty of 10,000 dreknars on his head and right hand. 

Truthfully, it's a solid set-up for a sword-and-sorcery comic. Since the title only ran for twelve issues, I assume it nevertheless failed to catch the reader public's imagination. As is so often the case with unsuccessful characters like this, Claw has made cameo appearances in other comics over the years, including in the pages of The Warlord. I wonder if part of the reason for the comic's demise was its perceived similarity to the incredibly popular Conan the Barbarian and The Savage Sword of Conan over at Marvel. If so, I can understand that, given the visuals, but it's a shame nonetheless, since, even in the very first issue, it's clear that Michelinie intended to take the series in a very different direction than did Roy Thomas with his own magazines. At the same time, the 1970s is a graveyard for failed fantasy comics and the fact that Claw the Unconquered is among the dead says little about the quality of its core concept.

Arion, Lord of Atlantis

Throughout the 1970s and into the '80s, DC Comics made multiple attempts to take advantage of the growing popularity of the genre. Of all the comic titles the company published during this time, The Warlord, about which I talked last week, was by far and away the most successful. The Warlord ran for 133 issues plus six annuals over the course of twelve years – a considerable feat in a genre littered with innumerable failures. So successful was The Warlord that DC used it as a platform from which to launch additional fantasy titles, an example of which is Arion, Lord of Atlantis, which began its existence as a back-up feature in issue #55 (March 1982) of that comic.

Arion takes place during an age of magic that preceded the Ice Age.

As the Ice Age overtakes the world, destroying ancient civilization after ancient civilization, Atlantis finds its own stability sorely threatened. Refugees from these other civilizations have fled before the encroaching ice, as have the barbaric cavemen who now seek to take Atlantis by force. Arion is the Lord High Mage and it falls to him to use his sorcery to protect his city. The story begins with Arion exhausted and feeling alone and isolated. His master, Caculha, is dead and his king and the other nobles of Atlantis are, in his opinion, fools. Retiring to his chambers, he is called upon by Lady Chian, Captain of the Royal Guard.

Despite his rude treatment of her, it's clear that Chian loves Arion and wishes only to aid him in his labors. Like a petulant teenager, however, Arion feels ill-used and under-appreciated. There is some truth to his feelings. Atlantis does depend upon him for its very survival and there is no one else in the city who can truly help him. At the same time, the Atlanteans are grateful for his work on their behalf and would gladly do whatever they can to to ease his burdens.

Later, the king asks Arion to read the Oracle of Choloh to seek guidance. Arion complies and, while doing so, is shocked to make contact with the spirit of his master, who speaks to him cryptically of his destiny.

Arion retires to his chambers once more – he does that a lot – to contemplate the meaning of what his master's spirit had told him. But he cannot do that long before the dinosaurs Atlantis keeps in its zoos – yes, you read that correctly – escape and run rampant throughout the city. Arion is called upon to deal with the problem, but finds that his magic has left him. He is unable to command any spells and is forced, alongside the Royal Guard to fight the dinosaurs using only his sword.

This first installment ends with Arion deciding that he needs to seek out the destiny of which Master Caculha's spirit spoke. Perhaps the departure of his magic is tied to this destiny and, if so, he has no choice but leave Atlantis and find it. Arion, Lord of Atlantis would appear in the next eight issues of The Warlord, after which it received its own series, which itself ran for 35 issues. 

I don't think Arion is quite as successful in its aims as was The Warlord. Partly, it's because Arion is himself a somewhat unsympathetic character – a stand-offish, arrogant, and self-absorbed jerk – like Elric but far less compelling. On the other hand, his quest to restore his magic has definite potential as a framing device for his subsequent adventures and the antediluvian world of Atlantis is mythically potent one. All in all, it's not a terrible comic, though it's not as enjoyable as other fantasy comics of the same era.  

The Warlord

Of all the sword-and-sorcery comics that DC Comics introduced in the 1970s, by far the most successful was The Warlord. Introduced in issue #8 of 1st Issue Special (November 1975) before getting his own title in February 1976, the Warlord appeared in 133 issues before the comic concluded in 1988. That's a respectable run for any comic, let alone a fantasy comic. 

Mike Grell created, wrote, and drew The Warlord after having worked at DC Comics for a couple of years on titles as varied as Aquaman, Batman, and Green Arrow. He would later produce a newspaper comic chronicling the adventures of Edgar Rice Burroughs's Tarzan. I find this intriguing, given how much The Warlord mines from the rich veins of one of the seminal works of pulp fantasy, At the Earth's Core. Perhaps this explains the comics' longevity compared to DC's other fantasy efforts – or perhaps I'm letting my own preferences get in the way of an objective analysis again.

Regardless, The Warlord tells the story US Air Force pilot, Travis Morgan who, while flying a covert reconnaissance mission over the Soviet Union, is attacked by missiles. He escapes but his plane is damaged and leaking fuel. To make it back to base safely, he has to plot a new course, one that takes him straight over the North Pole. His hasty course correction proves flawed and Morgan has no option to parachute, despite the inhospitable nature of the Arctic. 

Instead, of snow and ice, he lands in a jungle – as well as a larger, warmer sun in the wrong position for the time of day and a strange horizon. Confused, Morgan tries to gain a better sense of where he is and what has befallen him. What he soon sees is stranger than he had expected.

Red-blooded American soldier that he is, Morgan attempts to save the woman, only to discover that she is well in command of the situation on her own. Not long after she slays the dinosaur, Morgan and the woman are captured and taken to the city of Thera, for an audience with its king. The king's advisor is a sinister man named Deimos, who immediately recognizes Morgan as a threat to his position. Deimos starts to use a magical globe to try to kill Morgan, but he pulls out his sidearm and shatters it with his last bullet. 

The king is suitably impressed and treats Morgan as an honored guest. Needless to say, Deimos doesn't feel quite the same way, nor does the young woman, whose name we learn is Tara. 

Time passes, during which Morgan learns the local language, grows a beard, and begins to understand more of what has happened to him and where he is. 

Tara stays with Morgan and, together, they begin a series of adventures that last for more than a decade, during which time Morgan rises to a position of prominence within the world of Skartaris (as does Tara). The Warlord is enjoyable, if you're a fan of hollow earth pulp fantasies after the fashion of Burroughs. Clearly, DC's readership must have included a fair number of such fans, since, as I said above, the comic continued until 1988. I was never a regular reader, but I caught an issue here or there over the years, thanks to a friend who had an immense collection of these and other comics, and always enjoyed it. It's my understanding that, like many "lesser" DC characters, Travis Morgan has made cameos in other comics in the years since The Warlord ended. If anyone knows more about his subsequent history, I'd loved to know.

Weird Maps V

     In Sneffels Joculis craterem quem delibat
     Umbra Scartaris Julii intra calendas descende,
     Audax viator, et terrestre centrum attinges.
     Quod feci, Arne Saknussemm.

Which bad Latin may be translated thus:

"Descend, bold traveller, into the crater of the jokul of Sneffels, which the shadow of Scartaris touches before the kalends of July, and you will attain the centre of the earth; which I have done, Arne Saknussemm."

The passage above comes from Chapter 5 of Jules Verne's 1864 novel, Journey to the Center of the Earth. I cite it because comic writer Mike Grell, creator of The Warlord (about which more later today), claimed that it's the source of the name of the hollow earth setting of the comic, the Inner World of Skartaris. 

I have a great deal of fondness for the concept of the hollow earth. It's utterly absurd from a scientific standpoint, of course, but it's fun and a part of many foundational pulp fantasies, such as Edgar Rice Burroughs's Pellucidar (which J. Eric Holmes clearly admired as well). In 1990, the late Aaron Allston wrote a pretty clever Dungeons & Dragons campaign setting based on the concept, showing that, even as late as that date, the pulp fantasy literature from which the game sprang had not yet been forgotten. 

Stalker the Soulless

The 1970s were a time of both great instability and great creativity at DC Comics, with new characters being created at a rapid pace and then discarded just as swiftly. This was particularly true of those characters created to capitalize on the growing popularity of sword-and-sorcery themes and concepts, few of whom lasted more than a handful of issues.

A very good example of this is Stalker, premiering in June 1975. Created by Paul Levitz (perhaps best known for his work on The Legion of Super-Heroes) and Steve Ditko (of Spider-Man and Dr Strange fame), Stalker only lasted four issues before being unceremoniously canceled. It's a pity, because there are some clever ideas in the comic that, given time, might have developed into something of lasting interest. As it is, Stalker is, at best, a curiosity for those of us chronicling the history of fantasy themes in pop culture.

Stalker takes its title from its protagonist, who begins as a nameless urchin from the streets of Geranth near the Cold Wastes. Dreaming of one day becoming a great warrior, he seeks out the temple of the god of evil and war, Dgrth – try pronouncing that – and offers the deity his soul in exchange for his martial blessing. Dgrth not only agrees but appears before the young man to give him the power and skills he desires – as well as the moniker of Stalker.

Dgrth is true to his word: Stalker is now a potent warrior of unmatched skill. Unfortunately, he soon finds that he takes no pleasure in his blessing. Dgrth, it seems, has already taken his soul and, with it, his emotions and everything that made him a human being. 

Enraged, Stalker decides to storm Dgrth's hell to force another audience with the god and there to demand his soul be returned to him. After many trials, he succeeds in facing the god of war once more, who explains to him that what he seeks is impossible, for Stalker's soul has already been absorbed into his very being. So long as evil and war existed, he was invincible and there was thus no way for Stalker to reclaim his soul. Rather give up, Stalker instead takes Dgrth's words as a challenge.

It's actually a pretty good setup for a sword-and-sorcery comic, as Stalker travels across the world, attempting to find a way to stop wars and defeat evil without in the process strengthening them – quite a task for a soulless man whose only powers are of a violent nature. The whole thing has a vaguely Moorcockian vibe, which is helped somewhat by Ditko's signature style. Stalker the Soulless is no Elric, to be sure, but, as heroic anti-heroes go, he's much more interesting than Kane. 

Like many of these discarded fantasy heroes from the 1970s, Stalker has apparently made small appearances in DC comics over the years, though I know little of their contents. If anyone knows more about the subsequent history of the character, I'd be interested in knowing about it.

Nightmaster

The rise of fantasy as a popular literary genre can probably be traced to two roughly contemporaneous events: the release of the unauthorized Ace editions of The Lord of the Rings in 1965 and the release of the Lancer Conan series the following year. Together, these books introduced a new generation to concepts and ideas that have since become commonplace in present day popular culture. 

That's why it's no wonder that American comic books quickly jumped on the bandwagon and started introducing fantasy heroes and titles. An early example was Nightmaster, who first appeared in Showcase #82 (May 1969), Unlike many of other DC's efforts, which were quite obviously attempts to match the success of Marvel's Conan the Barbarian, which launched in October 1970, Nightmaster was clearly his own thing. Created by Denny O'Neil and initially drawn by Bernie Wrightson, co-creator of Swamp Thing (and Maryland homeboy), Nightmaster appeared in only three issues before becoming a footnote in comics history (though the character has apparently reappeared several times since the 1990s).

The comic tells the story of Jim Rook, the lead singer and guitarist of a band called The Electrics, and his girlfriend, Janet. After a successful concert, a trio of hecklers(?) – it's not really clear who they are – burst into his dressing room and began harassing Janet. Jim confronts them and a fistfight ensues.

From the vantage point of 2020, it's a peculiar sequence of panels. Clearly, O'Neil was trying to capture something of the clash between Middle America and the burgeoning counter-culture of the late '60s, but it comes across as ... off somehow, but perhaps I am missing something crucial here. 

Long-hair he may be, but Jim Rook is no wimp. He bests all three of his attackers and leaves them lying on the floor. He and Janet then set off, eventually coming upon a strange storefront they've never seen before. The store is called Oblivion, Inc. and, curious, they open the door and step inside. Not long thereafter, Jim and Janet find themselves surrounded by a weird energy.

Jim is separated from Janet and in a place that makes no sense. He begins to think he's died and gone to hell. That's all before he runs into a strange little man who says his name is King Zolto and Rook is in the land of Myrra, another world "that exists in the space occupied by Earth, but on a separate spiritual plane." Zolto adds that he has brought Jim to Myrra by means of magic, because he has need of him.

Using a mystic gem, Jim learns that he is the descendant of the ancient warrior Nacht, who once wielded the Sword of Night before being betrayed and vanishing from Myrra. Zolto hopes that Jim will take up the Sword of Night and use it against the evil warlocks who threaten the world. Naturally, he answers Zolto's call and takes his first steps toward become the hero Nightmaster.

Like a lot of comics from its era, Nightmaster is very peculiar. It's trying very hard to tap into psychedelia while at the same time recalling ancient myths and legends. The result is occasionally trippy but mostly fairly generic. It probably doesn't help that the story really needed visuals on par with Ditko's Dr Strange and that the dialogue is simultaneously too faux highfalutin and too pedestrian. That's unfortunate, because, as I never tire of saying, I have a soft spot for stories about Earthlings transported to other worlds. That's a fine basis for a continuing fantasy series in my opinion. Still, comics like these are foundational to understanding the cultural moment out of which Dungeons & Dragons sprang and thus should be celebrated.

Beowulf, Dragon Slayer

When looking back on the past, it's vitally important to be aware of our unconscious biases. Comic books are a good case in point. From the vantage point of the early 21st century, we might not realize just how big comics were as a medium. Characters with little or no name recognition today, such as the Rawhide Kid, regularly moved more copies of their comics each month than do iconic characters like Batman or Spider-Man today.

I bring this up as a prelude to a question whose answer I wouldn't have known until very recently. The question is "What Marvel comics character headlined a second comic before Spider-Man?" Before answering, allow me to add one more detail: throughout the 1970s, The Amazing Spider-Man was quite consistently Marvel's best selling title. Given that, which superhero could possibly have been so popular that Marvel decided to launch a second series starring him? The answer: Conan.

Though not its best selling title, Conan the Barbarian, penned by Roy Thomas and illustrated by Barry Windsor-Smith, was nevertheless one of Marvel's most popular comics throughout the 1970s – so popular that, in 1974, a second title, Savage Sword of Conan, was launched. Together, they played roles in making Conan the Cimmerian a household name, as well as introducing new generations to sword-and-sorcery literature. It is no exaggeration to say that the 1982 John Milius film would not have been possible without these comics having appeared first, not to mention many other aspects of contemporary Conan fandom.

Looking on the success of Conan the Barbarian, DC Comics made numerous attempts to replicate it, one of which was Beowulf, Dragon Slayer, which premiered in May 1975. Written by Michael Uslan and drawn by Ricardo Villamonte, Beowulf is a strange comic. Issue #1 starts with what appears to be an attempt to retell the Old English epic, but it quite quickly veers off into comic book territory thanks to the inclusion, of among other things, Nan-zee, a supposed Swedish Scylding warrior who instead looks like one of the less memorable of Conan's many female companions. What makes it all the more amusing is that the issue includes a piece by the author, in which he touts the literary value of the comic.

Needless to say, Beowulf, Dragon Slayer did not prove to be as successful as Conan the Barbarian, lasting only a half-dozen issues. Of course, during those six comics, our Geatish protagonist faced off against not only Grendel and his mother but also Satan, Dracula, the Minotaur, and extraterrestrials masquerading as gods – this was the 1970s, after all. This undoubtedly sounds far better than it actually is, unfortunately. Instead, Beowulf is largely forgettable. The comic is noteworthy primarily for being one in a long line of attempts by DC to find their version of Conan. From what I understand, the character has reappeared in recent DC publications, though one wonders why. 

Sword of Sorcery

In the early 1970s, DC Comics acquired the rights to Fritz Leiber's Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser tales, resulting in a very short lived bimonthly fantasy comic series called Sword of Sorcery. Denny O'Neil acted as writer, while Howard Chaykin, Walt Simonson, and Jim Starlin provided the art. Sword of Sorcery only ran five issues, from March 1973 to December of the same year (not counting the lead-in story, which appeared in issue #202 of Wonder Woman). 

During its brief run, O'Neil adapted four of Leiber's short stories ("The Price of Pain Ease," "Thieves' House," "The Cloud of Hate," and "The Sunken Land") and wrote one original tale of the Twain, which appears in issue #3. Interestingly, Chaykin would himself adapt several Nehwon stories for Dark Horse Comics in 2007, this time with Mike Mignola and Al Williamson providing the artwork. 

I'd never seen any of these until fairly recently, since I was quite young when they originally appeared. Overall, they're not bad, roughly comparable to the adaptations you'd see in Marvel's Conan the Barbarian, which predated it by a three years. Indeed, it's quite likely that Sword of Sorcery was part of an attempt by DC to take advantage of the growing popularity of not just Conan, but fantasy stories in general. 

The more one delves into the popular culture of the late 1960s and early 1970s, the more sense the appearance of Dungeons & Dragons at that precise time makes. There was definitely something in the air at the time. 

Pulp Fantasy Library: Arak, Son of Thunder

When I was in college, I knew a guy who was really into comics -- DC comics in particular -- and he decided to bring a significant portion of his collection with him to keep in his dorm room. While certainly an odd decision, I didn't complain, as it afforded me the opportunity to read a lot of comics I'd never seen when they were released. Partly this was because I hadn't been all that interested in comics as a kid (with a few rare exceptions, mostly Marvel) and partly this was because the comics that seemed to be readily available in my neck of the woods were pretty straight forward superhero ones. Although I knew of the existence of comics like Savage Sword of Conan, I didn't regularly see copies of it at any of the drugstores where the neighborhood children bought their comics.

On the other hand, I'd never even heard of Arak, Son of Thunder when it debuted in September 1981. Amusingly, the comic was created by Roy Thomas (along with Ernesto Colón), creator of the aforementioned Savage Sword of Conan and there's a superficial similarity between the two comics. Both feature clever, muscular wanderers who have adventures in an ancient/medieval world. The similarities largely end there, though. Whereas Savage Sword is set in the fictitious prehistorical world of the Hyborian Age, Arak takes place in the real world of the late 8th and early 9th centuries. Admittedly, this "real" world is a legendary one, replete with magic, monsters, and Charlemagne's paladins, but it wasn't wholly imaginary in nature, even if it did play fast and loose with history in the interests of a good story.

Arak's "gimmick" was that its titular character was an American Indian (from a fictitious East Coast tribe) cast adrift in a canoe as a child -- by his father, the thunder god, He-No -- and then picked up and raised by Vikings. Though his real name was Bright-Sky-After-Storm, the Vikings renamed him Erik, which he mispronounced as Arak, giving rise to his nom de guerre. As recounted in the first issue of his comic, Arak spends his early life raiding with his adoptive people, becoming a great warrior, especially skilled with the axe and the bow. During a raid on a monastery, the Vikings find themselves attacked by a monstrous serpent sent by the sorceress Angelica of Albracca (who becomes the comic's primary antagonist). Arak slays the serpent by means of a hammer-shaped cross, leading one of the surviving monks to opine that Arak has a divine mission. Arak himself wonders what god it was, if any, who aided his victory and sets off to find his destiny.

From then on, Arak wanders, for a time settling in one place, but eventually moving on as he continues his personal quest to discover the truth about himself and his dimly-remembered past a continent away. For most of the early issues, Arak is in Frankland, as part of the court of Charlemagne, fighting side by side with his famous paladins against a variety of magical and mundane foes. Among the paladins was the female warrior Bradamante, whose daughter, Valda, is a powerful fighter in her own right, as well as the eventual love interest of Arak. In time, Arak moves on from Frankland and has adventures all across the Old World, meeting both historical personages and mythological monsters. It is my understanding that he eventually returned to North America to be reunited with the tribe of his birth before the comic ended its run in 1985.

Arak, Son of Thunder appealed to me back in college for the same reasons it does now: it's a fun take on historical fantasy with a twist. Certainly it's not very plausible historically but then neither are the tales of Conan. Still, I think Roy Thomas did a terrific job with the comic, presenting both a world and a protagonist worth reading about. It's also a good model for historical fantasy gaming, something I find myself pondering quite regularly. I have no idea how hard it is to find copies of the comic nowadays (I last saw them in the early '90s), but, if you ever come across them, they're worth a read.

The Weeper Reminds Us

"You're never too old ... for evil."

Ah, The Brave and the Bold. I miss you already –– and there are still more episodes to come.

My Friends are Awesome

Thanks to a player in my Dwimmermount campaign and to my partner at Rogue Games, I've got a goodly supply of Kamandi comics to keep me busy, with more on the way. You guys work fast!

If I suddenly start to post a lot about Mutant Future, you'll know why.

Kamandi vs. Devil Dinosaur

I've mentioned before that my history with comics is pretty spotty. I read only a handful of titles when I was a kid, most of them collected by friends or friends of friends. At the same time, my knowledge of the basic outlines of most comic lines is decent enough that I can converse reasonably intelligently about the major characters and storylines of the DC and Marvel universes. So long as you don't expect to know anything about The Stylist or Omega the Unknown, I can generally hold my own, or at least by able to follow the thread of a conversation.

Despite this, I'm still regularly caught off guard when I discover that a character or series I'd previously either known little about or had even dismissed out of hand turns out to in fact be cool. A recent case in point is Jack Kirby's Kamandi, The Last Boy on Earth. Now, in my defense, before Jeff Rients comes down hard on me for not adoring this comic, I have long been aware of it and its use as idea fodder for a Gamma World campaign.

But, for some reason -- I can only assume because Kirby drew and scripted them both -- in my younger days I confused Kamandi with Devil Dinosaur, a comic I did read and found simultaneously ridiculous and frightening.

Anyway, I'm attempting to rectify this gross injustice to Kamandi by acquiring reprints of the old comics. Unfortunately, it looks as if they're darned expensive to buy, so if anyone has any suggestions on how I might be able to fill the gap in my education without breaking the bank, I'd appreciate it.