White Dwarf #18 Cover Art (Or Lack There Of)

No artwork this issue, but on the death of the magazine I'm told it received total consciousness. Not the worst cover in the world and it does tie-in with the mini-scenario in this issue but disappointing none-the-less. This was arguably the worst Star Trek movie ever made but most of them were so bad that graduations of badness are hard to assign.  

Wormy Reference Guide - Dragon #47

Summay:
Irving is in a snow-covered land and sees a beautiful winged centauress flying above him. He manages to catch up to her by flapping his wings and flying, though he is able to float in mid-air as well. She wonders if he is a Thaumaturge and he accepts the offer and climbs on her back only to discover that they are in Hyperborea and she changes into an icicle; And then he wakes up and it was all a dream. Looking at the embers of the dying fire Irving isn't surprised he was cold and tosses more logs on his bed before chasing after his dream centauress again.

References:

Centauress, Winged:
A mythical creature perhaps.

Hyperborea:
A cold, cold land,

Irving:
Fire proof as all little red Demons should be.

Thaumaturge:
A type of wizard

The Spear That Roars for Blood - Part 9

Arawn clutched at the formorian's neck and thought to choke away its breath. It gave a gag and stopped its swimming but with one hand broke his grasp and badly wrenched the ranger's arm. Arawn slid back hanging on only by a strand of the giant's hair. It rolled and suddenly Arawn was beneath the water, he held his breath and tried to pull himself to the surface but the formorian was in the way. 

Hand by hand Arawn climbed up the formorian's head by using the sodden hair like a boarding net. The giant rolled again, Arawn was spun and with his feet lashed out. He struck the monster's neck and hooked first one leg then like a scissor trapped the tree-like throat with his other. Arawn squeezed, the formorian began to thrash wildly about. It twisted and clawed at his legs. One mighty hand enclosed his calf in a crushing grip, the formorian's fingers tightened; Arawn clenched his teeth in pain. He tried to reach around the monster's head and claw at its eyes, but the river caught both unaware. A crest of foaming white dowsed their heads and then they were falling free.

Arawn released his grip, the formorian did the same and for a brief second they hung upon the air, the boiling water came rushing up and swallowed them.

The world exploded red. Arawn landed on the giant's chest beneath the pool, the giant landed on its back and a rounded boulder broke its fall. The river pushed them on. Arawn grabbed for the formorian's beard but his arm did not obey. He grabbed again, his left hand answered, the formorian, dead with a broken back, floated to the surface with Arawn hanging on. The ranger's right arm dangled limp, his legs were half submerged. He lay across the monster's neck and twisted its beard around his wrist. With his left hand tangled tight, Arawn leaned back upon the dead creature's chest. The shining sun beat down, the current rushed them both along, Arawn closed his eyes and a red-rimmed darkness was what he took into his dreams.

**

A face of icy living-blue hung before him. The water sent long curling tendrils of greenish silver hair streaming with the current. Her eyes were wide. They shone silver on green, a reflection of her silky hair. Her face was fine and fairer than any Arawn had ever seen, her lips were green as well. She brought them to his own and with her kiss she brought him life. The water in his lungs he breathed like air, he gasped. This was no pleasant dream. He'd drowned, or near enough. She laughed; Arawn heard it clear though muffled by the water between them. He tried to pull away but his arm was dead and his other arm was trapped. Arawn broke her kiss, a sudden sense of loss assailed him; he tried to free his arm.

A pair of bulging eyes looked down. Somewhere in their course the formorian had been flipped over sending Arawn beneath to drown. His hand was still knotted to the formorian's beard but it only served to keep him trapped below the massive bloating corpse. A gentle hand reached out and turned his head he looked deep into the silver eyes and lost himself.

Arawn gave a deep sigh and let the lovely vision draw her hand up his arm and touch the knotted mess of beard. "Ahk-Kee,"" she said and the tangles all came free. She took Arawn's hand within her own and led him away from the formorian's corpse, down the river and to a branching stream.

***

Arawn lay upon a bed of grass, a small tussock pillowed beneath his head. He reached out dreamily with his left hand and stroked the nymph's silken hair. His right arm lay across his chest, bound in a sling of leaves and vines. He watched her as she lay beside him, Nantosvelta, the upper reaches of the Aelphstream had been her domain for ages. Her eyes were open and she stared into his own. A distant memory assailed him, he frowned and looked away. She reached out her hand and touched his cheek, then ran her fingers down his chin.

"Arawn," she said, "you need have no concerns. You are safe here, think only thoughts of love." Nantosvelta turned his head and put her fingers against his lips. She kissed his eyes, then as he slept, kissed his lips and let him rest and heal.

They lay upon a grass-covered hill above a small brisk stream. The Aelphstream had many such children across the hills and lowlands, like branches from a mighty many-fingered tree. Nantosvelta rose and dressed herself in a cloth of shimmering blue, she said a word, "Pit-Ze," and the grass that Arawn rested on grew long and covered him like a blanket of living green. She bent and put her hand upon his brow, "Rak-Kas," she said and Arawn stirred and tossed, but slept.

Nantosvelta ran along the riverbank, the morning sun was bright, the air blew warm. An early spring had come upon the land. She laughed and danced, it had been long since she had found a man to love and this one, no crude hunter, or miner who cut away the hills. This Arawn had a hero's blood, and a hero's wounds as well. His will was strong, he wanted her she knew full well, but some duty pulled him from her arms. She'd cast her spell, twice now, when for most men just a kiss or a mere glimpse of her would do. This strength made him a greater prize. He would be payment for a debt she owed.

Along the southern bank of the Aelphstream she ran, fast as a hart and nimble too. The monsters who had trod along the northern way had passed, she grimaced at the damage they had caused. Ahead, upstream, her mother lived beneath the cold and crystal lake from which the river came. Nantosuelta, she was a queen among their kind, and cold as the lake she made her home.

***

Arawn dreamed or thought he did. A woman green of hair and eye, she brought him to a bed made of living grass and he took her in his arms. But something nagged at him, the dream of love seemed out of place. He tried to clear his eyes of sleep, his arm was bound, his left arm thrashed beneath the covers made of woven grass. He did not wake, but his dream quickly changed.

Darkness covered a sleeping town, guardsman nodded at their posts, no harm had come in living memory to this place, why guard when they knew well that all was safe? Perhaps no greater vigilance could have saved them from their fate. They did not hear or see the thousand sets of padding feet or notice the click and clack of tall waving ladders as they came to rest against the walls. A face of brutish orange-red appeared above the battlement, followed by a thick-muscled arm. The hobgoblin stood above the town, a large curved sword held in its hand, a dozen others joined it around the wall and then a dozen more. They ran for towers that sat astride the western gate. A guardsman, waking from a snoring sleep gave a muffled scream but was cut short, choking on a length of sharpened steel. Ahead, a door, heavy and thick enough to take a ram to knock it down, it was unlocked, unbarred, unwatched. Both towers fell, the screams within alerted none. The lower doors were flung open wide, the hobgoblins raised the main gate's massive bar and pushed each door aside.

An arching bridge crossed the Aelphstream as it flowed along the edge of town. Across it a band of formorians came, they marched without order and without concern, already as masters of this their new domain.

Arawn tried to scream, too late. He knew his warning would not be heard.

***

Nantosvelta stood before a roaring fall. High above, the frozen lake had begun to melt and the river swelled. A wide pool lay beneath the fall, it boiled white, water crashed down and foamed. In her smooth, long fingered hand the nymph held a green translucent stone, a circle, two fish chased each other head to tail, just quite catching a tailfin tip within a grasping mouth. "Mother," she said to the green fish charm. "Mother, I seek an audience."

A whirlpool formed, the waters began to churn and sweep the foaming waves aside. A hollow space appeared at the center of the spiraling water. Nantosvelta leapt and graceful as a diving bird plunged headfirst down the vortex in the pool.

***

Arawn could not wake. Bespelled, he struggled against his formorian foes. He walked the streets of Gorakil like a ghost, witness to a thousand deaths and screams as the sleeping populace wakened to their fate.

Too long the town lay secure among the western borders of the realm. The horror that descended now was stuff that happened only to other folk in minstrels' tales. The monsters spread out and circled round the inside of the walls. They seized the gates to Donag and to Der then slowly fought their way further in, driving the fleeing citizens to the monastery at the center of the town.

From the Aelphstream scores of creatures rose. Beslimed and lank-haired the skarpas, a type of water troll, stepped upon the river bank and ambled to the open northern gate. The formorian guard whose tedious duty was to sit and wait and keep the humans trapped inside their dying town, held closed his nose and mouth as the filthy, stinking creatures passed. They smelled of marsh gas, sludge and bloated putrid flesh, he gagged.

As they passed he called to them. "Hey, you're late. You'll have to fight your four-eyed cousins for a decent meal." They ambled on. If they understood his call they didn't pay it any mind.

White Dwarf #17 - My Life as a Werebear

By Lew Pulsipher

"I traveled the road many times, sat on the porch, played the games, been the dog, everything. I was even the scarecrow for a while."

After running AD&D for years I think all DMs have gone down this path and let their players run monsters. This is an early incarnation of that idea with some interesting twists such as a player running a Blink Dog pack or the example of the Lammasu as a player race/class, The general thrust of the article is that any 'monster' could be run by players and the special abilities of certain monsters only gained through experience which for some would also equate to age.

The examples provided are a good mix of monster types with the Stone Giant shown as perhaps the easiest to convert to a leveled race/class and the Werebear and Blink Dog pack more involved. I'd add more racial abilities to the Stone Giant and deal with the Werebear as a normal character with a specific class that is simply afflicted with lycanthropy. 

Lone Wolf 1e AD&D Conversion - Post 2

I'm a bit behind on my conversion work of the Lone Wolf setting and adventures. I have my copy of the original Magnamund Companion at hand, which is a little treasure of source material. and it will be of immense help filling in the backstory for the characters as they undertake the adventure.

When I picked up the Adventures of Lone Wolf Book 1 'Flight in the Dark' I had no idea where it would lead, or how many books there would be in the series. I plan on working on the conversion in the same way I first played the series; understanding the rules, creating the character, reading the backstory and setting off on the adventure numbered paragraph by numbered paragraph. 

The rules in the book are straightforward but necessarily limited. Conversion to 1e AD&D is also straightforward and with only a few limiting factors at the beginning. Any of the character classes presented in the 1e PHB are available for player characters but the only playable character race is human. Since the Lone Wolf series features Monks who already have a very AD&D feel to them I plan on adding the powers presented in the Lone Wolf books to add or replace the powers granted in the PHB. If this makes the Monk a more desirable class to play then so be it. The setting encourages a Monk-centric style of play and I whole-heartedly approve.

As I work on converting the first adventure book I intend to design it around a party of 4-6 player characters of 1st level. The Kai Monastery will train not only Monks but all character classes. The children of the Warrior Lords of Sommerlund (and beyond) are taught according to their abilities, some as Monks, other as Magic-Users, or Clerics of Isher, High Priestess of the Moon and Kai, Lord of the Sun. Only the wisdom of the Druids is not taught and characters wishing to be Druids will be renegade Cenerese, a race of people defeated in a protracted war with the more trusted Herbalish a holy order of Healers (an NPC class I am developing). 

Some of the creatures found in the Monster Manual I & II and the Fiend Folio will be suitable for the Lone Wolf setting and some of the creatures, such as the ubiquitous Giak, an Orc by any other name, will have unique qualities but many similarities to their AD&D brethren. 

And now to begin. The Story So Far...

In the northern land of Sommerlund, it has been the custom for many centuries to send the children of the Warrior Lords to the monastery of Kai for their training in the varied skilled arts of the land. There they are taught the ways of Warrior, Magic-User, Thief, Assassin, Monk, or the worship of Isher and Kai as Clerics of their faith.

The Kai Monks, Guildmasters, Temple Priests and Priestesses are master of their arts, and the children in their charge love and respect them in spite of the hardships of their training. One day when the children of the nobility have finally passed their apprenticeships they will return home equipped in mind and body to defend themselves against the constant threat of war from the Darklords of the west.

In the olden times, during the Age of the Black Moon, the Darklords waged war on Sommerlund. The conflict was a long and bitter trial of strength that ended in victory for the Sommerlending at the great battle of Maakengorge. King Ulnar and the allies of Durenor broke the Darklord armies at the pass of Moytura and forced them back into the bottomless abyss of Maakengorge. Vashna, mightiest of the Darklords, was slain upon the sword of Ulnar, called 'Sommerswerd', the sword of the sun. Since that age, the Darklords have vowed vengeance upon Summerlund and the House of Ulnar.

Now it is in the morning after the feast of Fehmarn when all the apprentices are judged and those who have proven themselves worthy begin their journey from the Kai Monastery back into the world to gain experience and use the skills they have spent so much hardship to attain. 

As you and your companions bid a sad but joyous farewell to the monastery and your childhood and begin your journey you feel the earth shake beneath your feet and a darkness sweeps across the sky in a wave. A blackness descends upon the monastery, a swirling sphere of nothingness. One of you reaches out with a branch and is thrown back, the branch a shriveled husk that turns to ash where it touched the blackness. 

The sky clears but the black sphere that had swallowed the monastery remains. In a sudden flash of realization you know what you must do. You must set off on a perilous journey to the capital city to warn the King of the the terrible threat that now faces your people; For you are now the last apprentices of the Kai until and if this sphere of blackness can be removed and the fate of those within revealed. 

Repost - Minstrel Tales, Songs & Poems of the Flanaess - A Prayer to Lolth

Minstrel Tales, Songs & Poems of the Flanaess

In my campaign, Bards, Skalds and Minstrels are fairly widespread across the Flanaess. They are sources for information, but much of what they convey is in the form of stories or song or poetry. I'm no poet, or lyricist so I normally convert Earthly songs and poems for Oerthly use.

A Prayer to Lolth

(The Priestess speaks)

She is Evil and huge and beautiful! She is our mother!

She is lustful and lewd! - Spider Queen; we have none other!

In the day she was hidden from us, but we found her moaning in the
shade.

We shudder and give her our will in the darkness; we are afraid.

(The Drow reply)

She sends us pain,
and we bow before her;

She smiled again
and bade us adore her;

She solaced our woe
and soothed our sighing;

And what shall we do
Without her guidence?

(The Priestess speaks)

She is hungry and eats our children; - how shall we feed her?

She takes our young males and our maidens; - ours to obey her!

We are loathed and feared and reviled of all Elvenkind; that is our pride.

She feeds us, protects us, loves us, and kills us; no longer shall we
hide.

(The Drow reply)

Death is strong;
But Lolth is stronger.

Time rules long;
But She rules longer.

She solaced our woe
and soothed our sighing;

And what shall we do
Without her guidence?

"On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus Goddess" By Rupert Brooke 1908 (with minor alterations for Greyhawk).

Wormy Reference Guide - Dragon #44

Summary:
Jack is bent over trying to scrape around the cave for some more Trolls when he is unexpectedly attacked in the behind by the Ethereal Demon released from the Snookerball by Frank. At the same time Bender has made his way to the top of the rise and is cutting Catfish and Frank free from Floyd's bag. Before the Ogre has time to notice the Demon has flown up and attacked his nose knocking him from the top of the small cliff in a FBDOOM!. The Demon goes after the Trolls and Catfish manages to stab it with the knife dropped by Bender even as he loses an arm to the Demon. It turns back into a dissipating cloud of blue smoke before it hits the ground.

References:

Bender:
The little Sallymander manages to climb the cliff and cut Catfish loose from Floyd's bag.

Catfish:
Rescued by Bender he loses an arm to the Ethereal Demon even as he manages to kill it with the knife dropped by Bender.

Ethereal Demon/ Snookerball Demon:
Unafraid of even giant-sized Ogres it manages to cut up Jack's bottom and Floyd's nose before getting knifed and dispatched by Frank. On their death the return to a cloud of blue smoke and disappear.

Floyd:
The Ethereal Demon attacks his nose and sends him stumbling off the small cliff.

Frank:
Trapped in Floyd's bag with Catfish he is rescued by Bender.

Jack:
With his head in the cave searching for Trolls he doesn't see the Ethereal Demon appear buts feels it when its claws tear into his bottom. He thinks it is Floyd playing tricks on him.

Snookerball:
The cracked Snookerball remains quiet and inanimate even when it is nearly hit by Bender's knife.