So I fell a little behind — I do indeed need to finish my overview of the Arduin Grimoire, but stuff happened because, you know, reasons. So here, without further delay, is my article about Volume II, certainly the least bizarre of the bunch, but interesting nonetheless. And also just because, here is a picture of my Guild Wars 2 character, the mighty charr warrior Barin Fierceclaw, and his favorite little friend, Fluffykins.

Barin is on the left, Fluffykins is on the right.

When last we left my exhaustive and wordy overview of David Hargrave’s Arduin Grimoire we had just gotten to what is unquestionably my favorite part of the entire series — the iconic, infamous and in places hilarious Critical Hit Table and its inevitable analog, the Fumble Table.

You may remember that in an earlier post I noted that, among Gary Gygax’s objections to critical hits was the suggestion that enemies and monsters get to inflict crits on PCs, and that if a “20” is a critical, then a “1” must be a fumble. Gygax then went on to claim that when those two suggestions are brought up “the subject is usually dropped,” which always made me wonder who the hell Gygax was talking to. Not only do certain GMs absolutely love to inflict critical hits on players, they also enjoy making them suffer through embarrassing fumbles.

I’m not saying that Hargrave’s tables are the best, or even that they should be used anymore — the whole “max damage” or “double damage” system for critical hits is fine, as is the idea that if you fumble you forfeit your next attack. Then again, people like Paizo make some very nice game aids such as critical hit/fumble decks that give much more flavor to combat and also don’t unduly unbalance the game.

Not so Hargrave’s tables. Their results range from the trivial to the utterly catastrophic and depend entirely on his much-loved percentile die roll. For entertainment’s sake I have painstakingly copied the tables for your amusement, since like so many other aspects of Arduin, they must be seen to be believed.

The Critical Hit chart in all its gory glory.

So Argor the fighter rolls a natural 20. “Huzzah!” cries the DM. “Roll percentile for crit!”

Argor’s player rolls, and gets a result of 02 — he’s hit the mother-lode. “Brain Penetrated, immediate death”.

Yup, an instant death critical. And to add insult to injury, it lists “Damage” as 4-32 points.

Wait a minute… Instant death, and 4-32 points of damage? In the over-powered world of Arduin, 4-32 points wouldn’t even scratch a larger monster like a maggoth, and would badly injure but not kill say, a phraint… So why the damage? Is it for creatures that don’t have discernible brains? Creatures that are immune to crits (though I can’t find any)?

Nah, it’s just “instant death” — the very type of crit that I dislike so much. But it’s described so vividly, it’s a shame not to use it, right?

Okay, never mind. Let’s say Argor rolled a 12. Now his opponent’s artery is cut, and he dies in 1-10 minutes (roll). Can he be healed? Is there any way to escape his fate? Again, no mention.

Other crits inflict small amounts of damage but cause incredible problems — roll a 21-25 and you inflict 1-3 points of damage, but slice you foe’s Achilles’ tendon, causing him to fall. A 26-30 severs 1-5 fingers with damage of 1 for each.

When we get up into high numbers, the damage gets even nastier. A golden roll of 00 results in “Entire head pulped and splattered over a wide area, irrevocable death results,” with a HP loss listed as “Total.” A 99 isn’t much better — Body split in twain, immediate death. A 98 results in “Head torn off, immediate death,” and so on.

Mind you, when I was using this table, for some reason I tended to keep rolling 41-42, causing PCs to die in the most humilliating fashion imaginable — “Buttock torn off, fall, shock.” I was also very proud of myself when I silenced a particularly annoying bard with a roll of 03 — “Voicebox ruined, total voice loss.”

In retrospect, this table is nothing but a huge accident waiting to happen. Remember how I noted that with “instant death” crits, every 1st level fighter has a 5% chance of killing an ancient red dragon with each blow? Well, this table isn’t really all that different. Of the results, 31% result in immediate death, or death within a specified time period. Another 18% result in permanent damage or disfigurement, and 17% result in the victim being rendered unconscious and incapable of further combat. That’s a whopping 66% chance of outright killing, maiming or knocking out your opponent. Despite all the entertaining blood and gore I think I find the table to be a bit too much, especially these days.

The Fumble Table…. Less bloody but still amusing.

The fumble table is, oddly enough, a bit tamer. Results are pretty simple — glancing blow reduces damage by 50%. Weapon twists in hand, reduces damage to 25% and causes the loss of a round. A lost weapon takes either 1-3 or 1-6 rounds to recover. You might slip and fall or bump an ally and cause a loss of attack (what if your opponent’s on the other side of the room? I suppose that calls for a reroll, though it’s once more not specified).

When the fumble table reaches the 80′s however, the fun begins — you may take a blow intended for someone else, or hit the wrong target, inflicting only 75% normal damage. However, a roll of 91-92 results in “hit yourself” (!), inflicting half damage on yourself. A 93-94 means your magic weapon breaks (crap!), a 96-97 means you hit an ally for 50% damage, a 98 means you crit a nearby ally, and a 99%, naturally, indicates that yo have critical hit yourself.

Holy shit — imagine the embarassment: “Aw, crap… I rolled a one!” “Okay, loser… Roll for fumbles.” “Oh my fucking god… I rolled a 99% — I crit myself.” “Damn. Roll on the crit chart.” “A 100%??? FUCK! I pulped my own head and splattered it over a wide area!”

This is the kind of thing that causes unrest. One simply cannot imagine a situation where a fighter, however clumsy, could possibly decapitate himself. When I was running the game, my rationale was that the fumbler had blown the attack so very badly that he had given his opponent an opening, and that the opponent actually scored the critical. That seemed to keep the complaints down, but as noted, I’ve kind of moved away from this particular practice.

(On the other hand, I might go totally Old Skool one of these days and start using the white box D&D rules again… If I do, rest assured that the Arduin Grimoire will be kept close to hand.)

I’ll make the rest of the book quick, since I want to get to the other two supplements without writing an entire freaking novel. A boring travel chart follows, as does a table of were-creatures (including popular were’s such as were-badger, were-weasel, were-spider, were-dragonfly, were-centipede, were-beetle, were-crocodile and were-ape — in a way aren’t we all were-apes, actually?). Hargrave then crams a whole bunch of dinosaurs sea-creatures onto their own individual tables before getting to the onto a single table, followed by an “Escape Table” (listing the chance of escaping a creature’s grasp by level and class), a few useful encounter tables (which I also used heavily),  an incongruous weather table, and a “Random Fog and Mist Generation Chart for Dungeon Rooms” in which we learn that a Gold mist has no smell, 3-foot visibility and sounds like wind chimes, while a Black and White mist smells like “dragon shit” (no, really), 5’ visibility, sounds like distant bells and causes “delayed magikal deafness.”

In addition to everything else, Arduin was as random as fuck.

Next we get a random trap table and a disease chart (“The Most Malignant and Malefic Miseries Known,” including colorfully-named illnesses such as the Green Ague, the Grey Rot and the Red Sleep), before finally getting to the “New Monsters” section.

Here’s the picture I got when I googled “Airshark”… I’m not entirely certain what’s going on here, but I think Twilight Sparkle is clearly pushing the limits of “friendship.”

Like the spells chapter, the monsters section is a bit light, but the monsters are pretty damned memorable. And, in a stunning development, they are actually listed in alphabetical order.

The very first monster was one of my favorites. Here it is, as written:

AIR SHARK: HD: 3+1 to 24+1; AC: 5+2; Speed: 18” to 36” (air only); Dext: 14-18; Number 1-20 (more in special “frenzy” situations); % Liar: too stupid to; Attacks: 1 Bite for 1-8 to 8-80 (the skin can do 1-2 to 1-12 points “scrape” damage on brush bys); Looks: As for each type of shark; Notes: they swim through air like normal sharks do through water. Due to hydrogen gas bladders in their bodies they are highly susceptible to fire, sometimes exploding in a fireball equal to its HD and 5 in diameter for each said HD. They are 100% fear proof. Their rushing attacks bowl over all they hit of their own size or less. 

Now doesn’t that just say it all? Giant, flying, air-breathing, EXPLODING FUCKING SHARKS, MOTHERFUCKER!

The rest of the list shows similar imagination; the blue bellower — a bright metallic glue giant rinocerous beetle that bellows so loudly most unprotected ears are deafened for 1-6 melee rounds); the boogie man — shadowy, semi-winged, horned and fanged nightmare that can pass through solid objects; the deodanth, a creature inspired by the works of Jack Vance that resembles a tall ebon humanoid with flaming red eyes and silver claws and fangs; doomguard — magically animated armor that can teleport at will; hell maidens — voluptuous valkyrie-like warrior women with bare skull heads; kobbits and koblins (use your imagination0, maggoth — huge, grey-white and yellow mottled slugs that stink like cesspools; phraint — 9’ tall bright metallic blue, green or silver grey insect warriors resembling a cross between a mantis and an ant, cold, emotionless and logical, a veritable bug “Mr. Spock”; skyrays — manta-like versions of the skyshark; helltide — 3-9” long army ants; thermites — glowing reddish-yellow, red hot giant warrior termites (one of my favorite puns in the series); and of course thunderbunnies (probably inspired by the movie Night of the Lepus) — Crazed, foam-mouthed jackrabbits that travel in vast herds, their sound like distant thunder, devouring everything in their path.

Errol Otus’ “The Terror”, one of his two contributions to Volume II

The crazed imagination behind Arduin’s monsters is undeniable, and it certainly inspired some of my later work, particularly in the late, lamented Bard Games Talislanta series.

Our exciting trip through the first Arduin Grimoire concludes with a table and descriptions of lesser demons of the Arduin pantheon and an overview of the 21 planes of hell, with vivid descriptions — the second plane is inhabited by sea demons and is “88% deep green, salty warm water with pale green sky, 3 moons, wild tides, a 25-hour day, and frequent storms and typhoons. Islands are heavily jungled with metallic silver plants. The world teams with voracious life, all hungry and most large!”

And that’s one of the more hospitable planes — the third plane averages 350 degrees and is bare, blasted rock constantly scoured by a ferocious wind, while the 13th is covered in methane snows and rivers of ammonia, with deep purple skies and an average temperature of -180 degrees. The 21st plane, home to the greater demons, is extremely radioactive, and full of wrecked (H-bombed) cities and dark red, mutated seas.

The demons themselves are a bit disappointing, each being tied to a different element, with wind demons, ice demons, fire demons and the like. That’s really okay, as I think the real variation comes with the descriptions of greater demons (in a future book), and provides some familiarity in the midst of all of Arduin’s craziness.

And that wraps up Volume I of the Arduin Grimoire. The subsequent volumes are more of the same — random tables incomplete rules, suggestions, monsters, spells, NPCs and tidbits about the world of Arduin.

After the mad roller-coaster ride that was volume I, the second collection of Arduin rules, Welcome to Skull Tower, is a useful and interesting book, but to be honest it really isn’t anywhere near as colorful or eccentric as volume I. I’m mostly going to just hit the highlights, as the insanity returns full-bore in volume III, The Runes of Doom.

That’s not to say that WtST isn’t useful — it’s still chock-full of GM-delighting goodness. The illustrations, this time by Morno (Brad Schenk) are a step up from the early Erol Otus material in the first book which, despite Otus’ future of greatness were still a bit on the crude side.

The book starts off with a plethora of (you guessed it) charts and tables. The first interesting one is also in the same league as the harlot table from AD&D, which is to say the kind of table that drives female gamers up the freaking wall. Yes, it’s the ever-popular (with adolescent boys anyway) Female Attributes Chart. And I’m sure you can imagine exactly which attributes it generates.

Jayne Mansfield and her two friends.

While the table does not go so far as to generate cup size, it does indeed generate measurements for all your female characters using Hargrave’s ever-beloved percentile dice. Here — right now, as I sit at the table typing on my laptop, I’m going to generate a female character’s “attributes.”

First off — naturally — “Breasts”. Not “Bust”… Breasts.  No one ever accused Dave Hargrave of dancing around a subject. Okay, I rolled a 76… Woo-hoo! That’s a whopping 41 inches! Just imagine.

Next I roll for waist measurement and get a 31 — that’s 20. Dang! I’m really trying very hard to envision this fascinating creature, but I think the final measurement — Hips — will have to come first.

Okay, here goes… Hips measurement roll is 37, giving her 35-inch hips.

Now here’s an example of a woman with a 20-inch… OH MY MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN WHAT IS IT???

Damn, what a seductive creature — a shapely 41-20-35. To give you some idea of what this would actually look at, consider this… Jayne Mansfield (see above) had a 41 inch bust, while a terrifyingly-thin Romanian model named Loana Spangenberg (right) claims to have a 20 inch waist. Try melding those two together, and I guarantee the result will haunt your nightmares. To be honest, Spangenberg alone is enough to haunt anyone’s nightmares, so I’ll just let it go at that.

Hargrave then really lays on the charm by saying, “Remember that these rolls CAN have an effect on the charisma of the lady in quesiton. For instance, if the lady’s waist is 34 or so, and she only has  a 36 bust, it’s obvious that she’s fat, thus reducing her looks.”

I seriously think that right now we should be giving Mr. Hargrave a shovel so he can dig himself in a little deeper. Then, unaccountably, he finishes the page by saying “In combat, one tends to find oneself haggling over who can do what. Therefore this DM insists that all who play in this world read and heeed all that is in the Arduin Grimoire.”

Just what that has to do with rolling to determine how big a female PC’s breasts are is not made clear, but hell… It’s Arduin. They don’t have to explain.

He follows this disturbing and rather offensive table with another one titled “True Charisma and its Meaning In Game Play,” giving rules for each Charisma score from 1 to 20. Each score has a “Lie Bonus” (apparently good-looking people are better liars), a “Morale Bonus” (hirelings like fighting for hotties better than uglies, I guess, regardless of their gender) and a “Love Factor” (“How much you affect the opposite sex while trying to woo them”). Of course there are no rules anywhere for how one goes about “wooing” a member of the opposite sex, though if Hargrave was DM you can bet there would be a percentile roll in there somewhere.

The funniest part of the table are the “Actual Looks” and the “Notes” columns. Charisma 1 is described as “Too hideous to look at” and “Would scare a Troll!” A 2 gets you “Extremely ugly; yugh!” and “Poop is prettier!” and so on up to 18 — “A dream, a vision,” 19 — “A god or goddess” and 20 “Undescribable, a mirage.”

I admit that in my youth I did indeed use the Female Attributes chart for my female PCs. I admit it — I didn’t know too many real girls then, so it was at least a substitute.

The next tables are cool, if a bit strange — the “Optional Character Appearance” charts. Using these tables, you can generate hair, eyes, scars, birthmarks, pigmentation and various exotica. In a strange twist, these tables use d20 rather than percentiles. Maybe Hargrave was sick the day he generated them.

Let’s continue with our buxom, wasp-waisted lass. For hair, I roll a 18 — two colors mixed! Rolling again I get a 15 — Yellow (not blonde, mind you… yellow) and a 13 — bald. Okay, half her hair is long, lustrous and bright chromium yellow, and half is, well, just shiny, polished scalp.

For scars I roll a 10 — none. For birthmarks I roll a 1 — a crescent (it doesn’t say where it is, which is probably good). For pigmentation I roll a 14 — medium brown, and for eyes I get the jackpot — natural 20, requiring a roll on the “Special” chart.

On this chart, I roll an 18. The result is “invisible.” WTF?? The footnotes tell me that this means “The eyes are there but look like empty sockets.” Creepy.

Now just for fun I’ll roll on the “exotics” column, and I get a 13. She has no belly button. None.

Gods. Now add all those features to our emaciated hypermammary PC and you’ve got something out of a Clive Barker short story.

Okay, I’ll leave her to your imagination and move on.

Some of Brad Schenk, aka Morno’s, outstanding artwork.

Next we get to more new characters. Star-Powered mages have “matrix gems” implanted in their foreheads allowing them to channel star energy. The gem glows with different colors depending on alignment, which makes it really easy to figure out which starmages to trust. They get double normal mana, but can only cast spells at night under direct starlight. They can also exceed their normal mana levels, but every time they do there’s a percentile chance that a gem will go supercritical and explode, taking the starmages head with it. And oh, yeah — the gem also regenerates all of the mage’s hit points instantly, but also blows up if it absorbs too much damage.

The starmages are, as is typical with Arduin, a very interesting concept with limited use. I’m not entirely certain I’d be all that interested in playing a mage who can only cast spells outside at night under a cloudless sky, and is effectively immortal, except when his forehead-gem blows up. And oh, yeah… Everyone automatically knows his alignment.

The fun continues with rune singers, except this particular class really feels totally broken. Rune singers use magic like other casters, except that they “sing” their spells, taking one full minute per spell level to cast. Higher level singers take less time, but it still seems like an all but unplayable class. In typical fashion Hargrave writes conversationally about the singers — “Now I realize that that’s quite a long time for any mage to be trying to cast, weave or sing any spell, expecially (sic) in a combat situation. However they have one thing that seems to make up for any bad point they may have.”

That is to say that singers can cast multiple spell effects simultaneously, adding their levels together and then averaging the duration for a shorter casting time. Again, this makes no sense. If a rune singer wanted to cast, say Maryindi’s Spell of the Elemental Self, as a 12th-level spell it would then take a full 12 minutes (120 rounds) to cast. If the singer is, say 24th level, he can reduce this time by 24 melee rounds (2.4 minutes), so it would take only 96 rounds — still a long time. The singer could then reduce the casting time by combining the high-level spell with one or more 1st level spells like sleep or mage hand – if he added, say four first-level spells he would then reduce casting time to around three minutes, even though the low-level spells don’t really have any effect. In fact, there’s nothing in Hargrave’s rules to limit the number of spells that could be combined, so why not weave together twenty or thirty low level spells so your 15th level incantation goes off immediately? Again, the rules are vague and ill-defined, but the rune singer still seems like more trouble than it’s worth.

We then move on to other character classes — the Saint (ultra good, never wear armor or weapons, never fight, get some various abilities but also seem unplayable), martial artist, outlaw (a sort of hybrid fighter-thief type), slaver (more or less a rogue/thief type — Hargrave tells us, “Strangely enough, hobbits are occasionally slavers, and when they are, they are some of the cruelest!” thus creating some of the weirdest images that have ever stalked through my head…), and finally the celebrated Courtesan.

“Inquisition” — what many of us would like to do to the halflings in our campaign…

Given that this is my blog, and I think you all know about me, a few words on the courtesan are probably in order. Again, they’re non-combatants who receive a mere d4 hit die, and Hargrave describes them as being classic examples of “courtesans,” such as those women who worked in Renaissance Italy, or the Geishas of Japan. They can brew love and aphrodisiac potions and gain experience for gaining and selling secrets. The concept is again pretty fascinating, but once more the class seems unduly limited.

Various miscellaneous tables follow, including a random reincarnation chart which I used a few times. I distinctly remember my evil female fighter being reincarnated as a kobold and taking weeks to finally find a wizard who could change her back.

We then have another blood-drenched critical hit chart, this one for non-weapon caused injuries. I scarcely can see the difference, as the results are about the same — roll a 34 and you get “genitals torn off”; a 94 is “skull crushed, instant death” and so on. This is followed by a “real medicine” table that lists results of various critical hits, as described by Hargrave’s collaborator Dr.William Voorhees.

And next, in typical Arduin order, comes something that was pretty unusual for those days, a modern firearms table, with damage listed for projectiles by caliber. More equipment and cost tables follow, as do tables for coinage, gems and semiprecious materials.

New magic is next, with more colorfully-named spells like Angborn’s Spell of the Abysmal Itch and Voor-Hing’s Spell of the Eater From Within. The Crimson Bands of Cytorakk also make an appearance, which probably would come to a great surprise to the publisher of Marvel Comics, who came up with the name first and included it in the arsenal of sorcerer supreme Doctor Strange (my favorite comic character when I was a kid).

There’s more magic items, and lots of new monsters, this time in familiar non-alphabetical order, followed by miscellaneous rules for magic, combat and overland travel.

Another awesome illo, this one of a fight with the fearsome animated armor known as the doomguard.

Welcome to Skull Tower concludes with some very fascinating stuff. While most of it can’t exactly be lifted directly for a campaign, it serves as an example of the kind of detail that keeps campaigns interesting. There is information about the seasons in Arduin, the cycle of years (the Year of the Dragon, Year of the Sword, Year of the Scorpion and so on), notable days of the year (the 3rd of Torkus is the holiday Vallorus, when warriors are celebrated; the 10th of Torchund is Equimass, when all are equal from dawn to dusk, etc.), a list of prominent guilds and societies, religious sects, law and punishment, rank and royalty, and finally a brief history of Arduin.

The history is bloody and vivid, even though Hargrave introduces it with the cryptic statement “…even though it is a hard and dangerous world, the rewards are usually more than a bold player can ever expect.”

The last few pages include a long list of the Inns and Roadhouses of Arduin (some of which sound pretty cool — another really excellent idea for the aspiring worldbuilder)  and, unaccountably, a table with miscellaneous undead attack types and damage, and finally some advice on space creatures in frps, and how to deal with unruly players.

And that wraps up Volume II. The last volume of the original trilogy, The Runes of Doom has still more fun, plus a couple of truly offensive elements… Stay tuned, to learn more about the nightmarish evil that is “Shardra the Castrator”!

So hi again — Christmas proved to be marvelously uncomplicated, with me leaving the house only to have dim sum with various friends, then returning to work on some home recording projects and nurse a series of glasses of expensive tequila, so I’m in a pretty expansive mood, believe me. My attempt to get through an exciting action scene in my dungeon crawlers novel proved less successful however, so I’m going back to working on the adventures of the thick-headed Valerius, the bootilicious Saren, the follicly-challenged Grimslade and the klutzy, luckless Indel.

When last we left the heroic quartet, they’d been confronted by a ghastly vision — the image of their old mentor Gavin, who was apparently some kind of freakin’ wizard, and got himself in trouble, forcing him to call on his old flunkies for help. The next installment opens as the adventurers set out from Gavin’s inn to rescue their friend and mentor, Grindal.

I’m noticing that whoever wrote this really likes names that begin with “G” by the way, which is likely to cause confusion. After all, Ralph Bakshi got so confused by two villains (Sauron and Saruman) with “S” names that he renamed one “Aruman” in shameless contravention of Tolkien’s tales. Mind you, the actors kept forgetting and calling him “Saruman,” but no matter.

While Bill Willingham’s art continues to improve and really looks too damned good for a crappy advertising campaign like this, the editing leaves something to be desired, for in the second panel Grimslade says “Weve walked a long way,” proving that wizards don’t need to mess about with namby-pamby shit like punctuation.

Ever the master of the obvious, Valerius then says “Yes. The moon will be up soon,” and Saren purses her pouty, dark-red lips and says “There is somthing (sic) strange about these woods.” No one ever claimed that spelling was a D&D adventurer’s strong suit, but hell — this is for kids dammit — at least try to use correct spelling.

Indel of course remains the world’s most inept rogue, and carelessly utters, “Nah! It’s just your imagina… ulp!” This last comes when an arrow embeds itself in a tree about an inch from his face. Frankly I really wonder why they continue to associate with Indel, but they’ve already left the inn and it’s too late to turn back.

The arrow shooter is another cute blonde woman in a green Robin Hood outfit, accompanied by a bald druid-looking mofo, who shouts “Who dares tresspass (sic) in the woods of Oakthorn?!” Hell, the spelling in this installment is going from bad to worse.

Saren handles the situation, telling Oakthorn that they didn’t mean to disturb anyone, but this isn’t enough for the druid and his blonde companion, for Oakthorn intones “Enough! They must… not leave… the forest!” as he and the woman transform into wolves.

Okay, shit just got real. The wolves leap at our heroes while Indel, ever the comic relief asks, “Uh… Couldn’t we talk about this first?!”

The rampant combination of question marks and exclamation points in this installments makes one mourn the passing of the interrobang, which might have made the letterer’s job much simpler.

So ends another installment, with our heroes fighting for their lives after another of Indel’s pathetic failures. We pick up a few weeks later in media res, with the lithe Saren ducking away from a leaping werewolf while saying “A simple spell will paralyse (sic) this one !!”

Okay, hold on a minute. Are all spells “simple” in this adventure? And even though this was written before spellcheckers, “paralyze” is not that hard a word to spell. And once more, our heroes fight monsters and don’t kill them.

The lack of killing continues in the next panel as Indel finally tries to do something useful, like stab Oakthorn. But even this endeavor ends in failure, for the druid turns himself into a raven and escapes. Indel just can’t seem to catch a break.

So on they press. Unable to catch the fleeing bird, our heros (sic) continue their quest… Through the black samp of Lobella!

This whole spelling thing is getting silly. During this period, TSR was so busy trying to prove to the world that their game didn’t make kids kill themselves or worship Satan that they forgot to promote good, basic literacy. Sheesh, guys… Use a freakin’ dictionary or something.

…Ever closer to their final goal!

Now Grimslade points toward distant green blobs and says “Behold! The Mountains of Ash!”

Will Grindal be on the other side? the caption excitedly asks. Well, if past events are any indication, there are likely to be more monsters that run away or can easily be defeated by a simple spell. And also, some guy whose name begins with “G” even if it isn’t Grindal.

And so we come at last to the final installment in our heros’ adventures? Do they find Grindal? Are there more exciting exploits in the offing? Will we ever see Saren naked?

Well no, not really, since TSR apparently gave up on the whole enterprise, leaving the bold adventuring band suspended in limbo along with Pinsom, Jasmine, Wormy, Fineous Fingers and all the other comic strips that were started, then abandoned by the Game Wizards.

Well, anyway — the adventurers must be having problems in the mountains of ash, for the caption tells us that they’re caught in a sudden avalanche. Grimslade now takes on the panoply of Captain Obvious and says, “Evil forces are at work here!”

Valerius isn’t happy, for he’s carrying their female companion, and neither of them are dressed for the weather. “Saren has been hurt!” he says. “We must act quickly!!”

Grimslade is no slouch. “This magic scroll may provide us with an escape!” he cries. “DIMENSION DOOR!!” And with a Woooosh! sound effect, the spell carries our heroes…

…To an ancient castle! Could the end of the quest lie here?

I don’t REALLY need this picture here, but it’s MY blog, dammit!

Nope. We’ll never know. One wonders whether anyone ever tried to find out what happened after the strip ended, but as far as I know, Valerius, Indel, Grimslade and an unconscious Saren are still stuck in that damned castle and probably will be for all eternity.

Yet another ignominious end after a promising start. At least a decade or so later when TSR licensed Dungeons and Dragons to DC comics, the stories had beginnings, middles and ends. As for this little band of delvers and their destined-for-greatness artist, the road had come to an abrupt end.

And so my friends we come to the end of another installment. Maybe I’ll deal with another obscure D&D-related product or phenomenon next week, but in the meantime stay cool, have a happy new year, and keep fighting for what’s right.

Peace out.

You may have noticed that I dwell on the 1980s a lot — I guess it’s because that’s when I came of age, when I got married, got divorced, ran SF conventions, hung out with the SCA and dressed in cargo pants, an Ike jacket, a checkerboard shirt and a skinny red silk tie with bombers on it. It’s also when I did a lot of experimentation in the roleplaying world and actually started getting published as a game designer. Hell, there was a lot of stuff going down. Mind you the 90s and the 00s had their good points, and the teens are going pretty well too, but the 80s, well… They had their own special flavor.

It was during the 1980s that Dungeons and Dragons really caught on as a national pastime. It had been growing in popularity and sophistication through the 70s of course, but by now it had competition, and the genre of tabletop roleplaying games had finally come of age. Others like Chaosium, Flying Buffalo and GDW had their own products, but D&D remained the undisputed king of the roleplaying hill.

Unfortunately all was not well in the house of TSR. The Blume Brothers, Brian and Kevin had squeezed Gary Gygax out of power and proceeded to run the company into the ground, purchasing automobiles, furniture and needlepoint companies (no, really!), hiring far more people than the company needed, overprinting products and generally throwing spanner after spanner into the works. Gygax was briefly able to wrest control of his company back, but in a struggle of almost Shakespearean dimensions he was eventually forced out for good in 1985, after which TSR had a series of up- and downswings that eventually ended with the heavily indebted company sold to Wizards of the Coast in 1997.

All that was in the future however — in 1981, TSR was riding high and they were determined to go beyond the limitations of being a simple little game company from Lake Geneva. In the early ’80s they changed their logo to a bearded Greco-Roman profile emblazoned “TSR: The Game Wizards” on all their products. Though some were innovative (and others, unfortunately, were horrific), D&D remained TSR’s flagship product, and they were determined to expand their customer base.

So besides games, what do gamers love? If you say “Mountain Dew and Cheetos” you’d be right, but that’s not what I was thinking of. Besides games, gamers love comics, so a series of ads aimed at comic book readers was just what the doctor ordered.

In mid-1981, full-page ads began appearing in comics across the country, depicting the four-color adventures of the bold adventuring band that consisted of Valerius the fighter, Grimslade the magic user (why the hell didn’t TSR just call ‘em “wizards” anyway? More of Gygax’s obfuscation and complications, I guess) and cute l’il Indel the elf. Not Indel the thief, or Indel the rogue. Elf was a character class back then, gods only know why.

The first strip was, well, kind of special in the way that a cute but slightly brain-damaged puppy is “special.” It’s crudely-drawn, and the adventure portrayed was about as interesting as watching bread rise.

In the opening panel, we’re told that our bold adventurers have found a secret door in the ruins of Zenofus Castle, which as we all know is a pretty unpleasant place. Zenobus, clad ina grey smock, with a grey chamberpot on his head, approaches the door while Grimslade plays the better part of valor card and hangs back. In the rear rank Indel kind of prances and flits merrily, clad in a yellow tunic with red hose and hat. He really doesn’t look much like an elf to me — he really looks more like a malnourished hobbit, and by the scale of these pictures is about three feet tall.

Well, tiny and flitty though he may be, Indel uses infravision (remember infravision? That was before just saying “okay, okay… They can see in the dark…”). The passage, we’re told is empty, but Indel bravely volunteers to go on ahead. “It may be a booby trap,” he says.

What, the whole corridor? Wouldn’t “It might be trapped” be better? And it would also avoid using the embarrassing term “booby.” There are, regrettably no boobies in this strip, seeing as how our little dungoneering trio is a boys-only club. But wait! This will change, and will also allow me to post a few NSFW pictures later on in the article.

The adventurers proceed cautiously through narrow, twisting corridors, the caption tells us. This is portrayed by having Valerius crouch down slightly, holding his sword and puny little shield in such a way that he looks as if he doesn’t have arms, while Indel walks about a foot ahead of him, torch in one hand, creeping along in his little elf-boots.

Suddenly…

They hear sloshing noises, smell rotted vegetation; they see a shambling mound. Now I may not be the best grammarian in the world, but damn that’s a crappy sentence. Just because you’re producing a cheapo, crudely-illustrated pseudo-adventure strip to sell your damned roleplaying game.

This is all kind of clumsily presented, for in the first panel we see the shambling mound striding forward while Indel shouts, “LOOK! ASHADOW!” (that’s how it’s written, anyway). In the next panel, Indel is leaping up as if he’s on springs, his face even with Grimslade’s bearded visage, while Valerius hovers in featureless orange space nearby.

Grimslade, who apparently missed the elf’s original exclamation, says “What do you see, Indel?” while the mysteriously weightless Valerius shouts “QUICK! ATORCH!” (This adventure evidently took place before spacebars were invented.)

In the next panel, the three adventurers are standing calmly in the middle of the orange corridor while the mound’s shadow approaches. Valerius’ sword projects from his side and the shield appears stuck to his chest — again, he seems to be utterly armless, which is bad news if you’re a fighter. Beside him, Grimslade looks pissed-off, as if someone in the kitchens burned his omelet, and says “Maybe a hold-monster charm will save us!” to which Valerius replies, “We need a charm, quickly!” At least this is how the conversation appears to go due to the placement of the word balloons.

Next panel, Grimslade raises his arms and chants a bunch of squiggles inside a hexagonal word balloon, while Valerius, now mysteriously shrunk to the size of a pixie, stands rigidly at attention, his sword upright and his shield still epoxied to his chest. Jagged orange lightning leaps from Grimslade’s fingers, hitting the shambling mound with a “ZAP!” sound effect.

In the final panel, the mound is shambling off away from our heroes, but their troubles are far from over, for the walls are now green and dripping oozily.

“Look out! It’s dripping!” Indel cries. You can’t slip anything past that elf, let me tell you.

“Green slime!” shouts Valerius, now grown back to full size, with a real right arm clutching his broadsword.

“Don’t touch it!” Grimslade warns, reaching out a finger as if he’s about to touch it. “It is certain death!”

Boy, I’m worried for our heroes now. Are they ever going to get out of this bind? Well, we’ll just have to wait until the next episode, since that’s the end of part one. Instead of a final panel, we have one of those little dotted-line clip-and-send-in coupons that no one ever clips and sends in. This one says Explore exciting worlds of fun, fantasy and adventure with Dungeons & Dragons (R) and Advanced Dungeons & Dragons (TM) adventure games. Send in the coupon today for your free color catalog of games and accessories. At the bottom is the ubiquitous TSR “The Game Wizards” logo, along with seriously inadequate space for the eager new gamer’s name, address and zip code.

Well, we didn’t have to wait too long to find out what happened to our heroes, for a couple of months later the second installment hit comics. And damn, was it an improvement. The art was head and shoulders above part one, and the lettering and coloring were better as well. No longer did our heroes float in an orange void — now the dungeon actually had walls and doors. And Indel doesn’t look like a red-and-yellow clad pixie anymore.

But things looked grim for our boys, for the green slime nails Indel squarely, eliciting an AGGH! from the unfortunate elf. Though his friend is about to perish, Valerius knows that elf rogues are a dime a dozen and is more concerned for his equipment. “It’s eating my sword!” he exclaims.

Grimslade is sensible. “Forget the sword, Valerius,” he says. “We’ve got to save Indel!” So Valerius rolls his eyes and evacs Indel while Grimslade casts a fireball to take out the green slime.

Now our story takes a jarring left turn, for the caption tells us that Suddenly, a figure steps out from the shadows. And what a figure it is, too — a strapping blonde in a skin-tight tunic with her luscious thighs visible for all to see. And oh, yeah, she has a mace, so she must be a cleric.

Valerius knows this vision of clerical loveliness. “Saren!” he cries.

“No questions now,” she shoots back. “How’s Indel?”

Okay, so where was the cleric all this time? Or did they just forget that the party needed one when they threw part one together? And did it also occur to TSR that they should throw at least tiny bone to female D&D players and admit that not EVERY character is a strapping all-Hyborian male? Anyway, Saren is with the party now, and she’s a definite improvement.

Within the space of a panel, Saren’s powers restore Indel and the party loots the room. “A magic sword!” Valerius exclaims. “It’ll replace my ruined one!” Again with the sword, Valerius! Don’t you know that there are more important things than swords? Like hot, blonde clerics with impractical armor?

Grimslade is having none of this. He orders Indel to look for secret doors, and the poor elf’s luck deserts him yet again — not only does he fail to detect secret doors, he falls into one and vanishes.

Saren now shows that she’s just as good at stating the obvious as any man. “He’s gone!” she says, and the now-bald and -white-bearded Grimslade replies, “That means we’ll have to go even deeper into the dungeon, to rescue him!” And so, with yet another free catalog coupon, we end the second installment of Dungeons and Dragons comic ad cartoons.

A panel from Bill Willingham’s “Ironwood.” This is that NSFW part I was telling you about, btw.

So who’s the new artist, anyway? He sure makes a difference, and he seems to really like drawing women. Well, I’ll tell you — it’s none other than Bill Willingham, writer, artist and all-around talented guy, who got his start illustrating early TSR D&D modules like White Plume Mountain, Isle of Dread, Against the Giants and a bunch of other stuff. These days he’s known as one of of the comic industry’s leading writers, with such diverse books as Fables, the Elementals and Justice Society under his belt. His early work here added a touch of class to a rather unexciting advertising campaign, and still lives on in D&D nostalgia websites and blogs like this one.

Now, I’m the last person on earth to pander. You know that I hate the very notion of using such tawdry concepts as nudity, sexual titillation and innuendo to make my blog more interesting. So when I include a couple of panels from Bill Willingham’s erotic comic series Ironwood here I do so in the interest of historical scholarship only. And when I recommend that anyone who reads this blog and likes hot comic art with handsome guys getting it on with curvaceous women, and curvaceous women getting it on with each other, go out and find a copy or two of Ironwood from Fantagraphics, I’m doing it only so that the fine art and writing of Bill Willingham will gain greater and more widespread appreciation.

And I can’t mention Willingham and Ironwood without noting that my own Wulf the Freelance series (available right here on my Smashwords page in a variety of electronic formats, at a price that is so cheap I’m practically giving it away) drew huge inspiration from Ironwood, both in terms of appearance and concept, to the point that I’m not sure that it would have existed had it not been for Willingham’s work. My hat’s off to ya, Bill. Keep up the good work!

Anyway, back to our thrilling D&D adventure and the vaguely interesting exploits of Valerius, Indel, Grimslade and (yum!) Saren.

Soooo, we’re to Episode Three at last, in which the now much-better-drawn Valerius, Grimslade and “the mysterious Saren” (as the caption informs us) now search the dungeon for their lost companion, Indel. How do they do this, you ask? Well, by wandering around the dungeon, shouting Indel’s name.

Clearly our heroes aren’t terribly experienced with dungeoneering, since everyone knows that this is a pretty dumb thing to do. Sure enough, a band of evil goblins jumps from the shadows!! shouting “Get them!” and “Take their treasure!” as goblins are wont to do. Maybe next time they won’t go stomping about, making noise and bellowing at the top of their lungs.

Grimslade, all resplendent in his new white, wizardly beard, doesn’t bat an eye. He declares “Stand back! I’ll take care of them,” and sure enough in the next panel the goblins are all snoozing quietly. “A simple sleep spell stopped them!” Grimslade cries, while Valerius urges “Come…! We must find Indel!”

(Notice how everyone shouts in this strip, since every single piece of dialog ends in an exclamation point. They still haven’t learned that you need to keep quiet in a dungeon…)

Well, since Valerius mentioned Indel, we cut to the luckless (and somewhat clumsy) elf, who has tumbled down a shaft, shouting “Oh, my head!”, once more alerting any monsters that happen to be nearby, and this time it’s nothing so mundane as a bunch of goblins.

Indel (who is now blonde, even though last episode he had brown hair) mutters “A light from around that corner. Perhaps it’s a way out!” and blunders right toward it.

No such luck for Indel. After almost getting killed by green slime, then failing to find the secret trap door, he is now confronted by a glowering, green-eyed red dragon who, in typical draconic fashion, rumbles “Greetings, mortal worm!” to which Indel gulps “Oh my! I think I’m in trouble!”

That, Indel, is the understatement of the age, and just happens to be a pretty good cliffhanger to end our epic seven-panel strip on.

The next installment is the first one which Bill Willingham actually signed and opens with a recap of poor Indel (now once more a brunette) and his monstrous encounter. Indel should not despair however, for elsewhere the “mysterious” Saren tells her companions that “My powers tell me he’s behind this door,” while leaning forward against a door and displaying her rather curvaceous assets.

Valerius is all business however, and shouts “Then we must get through!” Clearly this dungeon was built by the low bidder for in the very next panel we’re told A mighty blow from the fighter’s shoulder opens the door with a crash, revealing Indel and his new scaly, firebreathing friend, who doesn’t look at all happy to see the intruders.

Well in the words of AC/DC, if you want blood, you got it, and as Valerius unsheathes his new magic sword and says “Now it’s your turn, dragon!” we’re primed and ready for some heavy-duty combat, with magical steel and courage pitted against dragonfire and magic. Wow, what a showdown it’s going to be… We’ve been waiting months for this and now…

Now, the dragon looks at the glowing yellow sword and his face takes on the expression of a disappointed puppy. “The great sword Naril!” he whines. “Stay your hand, warrior! You and your friends may leave in peace!”

Aw, crap! After all that buildup the great worm caves like a house of cards and lets our heroes escape unscathed. It’s kind of like Sauron’s army issuing from the Black Gate, only to have the big guy say, “Hey, Aragorn! Only kidding! You can be king and I’ll just leave, okay?”

So in the last panel, everyone’s smiling as if they’ve actually done more than just put some gobbos to sleep and bully a defenseless dragon. “What a day!” Indel says (laugh it up, buster… You’re the one who couldn’t find the stupid trap door). “Come!” replies the mysterious Sarel. “Gavin’s Inn has a warm fire to relax by.”

And so ends the first incredibly lame installment of Dungeons and Dragons comic book ads. The caption urges us to Watch for Indel and his friends in upcoming Dungeons and Dragons adventures! but it just doesn’t seem worth it at this point.

What I’m seeing here is evidence of TSR’s great 1980s wimpout. As D&D grew more ubiquitous and widely known, that whole stupid “D&D makes kids worship demons and kill themselves” trope grew with it. TSR was determined to become a wholesome family game company, and if they showed what really went on in D&D games (and in the pages of a comic book read by children yet!) they’d probably end up adding fuel to the fire. So as they removed references to demons and devils from 2E they also produced the infamous Dungeons and Dragons Saturday morning cartoon show (which featured a band of dumbass kids transformed into obscure D&D player classes such as acrobat, cavalier and barbarian, then set loose in D&D land along with the bleating horror known as Uni the Unicorn), and pap like these comic ads in which goblins are gently put to sleep and dragons are intimidated into letting the heroes escape.

Kill goblins? No sirree, not in our wholesome family game! We overcome monsters non-violently. After all, Valerius’ sword really doesn’t serve any purpose other than scaring off big lizards… If we actually had him stick it in something, that might be construed as violence, a thing that TSR and D&D would never, ever advocate!

Sorry, I wandered. We’re not done with the adventures of Valerius and company, since the strip ran for another four installments, longer than that other classic comic strip, the wretched Pinsom, which I blogged about a few months ago.

So we pick up our heroes’ adventures as they relax at Gavin’s, and for a few panels the story threatens to turn into a clip show.

Willingham’s art has evolved once more, growing more distinctive and detailed. There are a few slightly more “cartoony” elements to it (such as Saren’s surprised face in panel five), but overall it’s obvious that his artistic technique is improving by leaps and bounds.

Saren opens the strip by saying “That was a close call, eh Valerius?” (which it really wasn’t… the dragon was a complete and total pushover). Valerius — now with his helmet off, revealing a chisel-jaw and a full head of rich raven locks — replies, “Not nearly as close as our first adventure, Saren!”

Rolling his eyes upward Grimslade (now looking a little less angry mage-like and more peaceful and grandfatherly) reminisces, “It seems like only yesterday when we were introduced by my mentor, Grindal…”

And now of course we cut to a flashback, while Wayne and Garth wiggle their fingers and say “Doodle-oo, doodle-oo, doodle-oo,” and the wizened and balding Grindal (who looks an awful lot like Grimslade does now) encompasses the group with a wave of his hand, saying “…A healer, an elf and a fighter. They will be your companions on this quest, Grimslade.”

Here’s another page from “Ironwood” because I’m getting tired of staring at four-color process, and also because this blog needs more gratuitous nudity.

So your mentor gets to pick your companions for you? That seems kind of harsh, and I’d probably have issues with being given dungeoneering partners in that fashion, but Grimslade (younger now, with a ginger beard and a full head of hair) doesn’t seem to mind. The others all look pretty much the same, and the partnership turns out to be a match made in the seven heavens, for Grimslade then says that “We had to overcome many perils to find the fabulous Heart of Mekron!”

Now here they do show Saren and Valerius fighting a black dragon, but all the curvaceous Saren is doing is casting a defensive spell while bold Valerius just holds up his sword. Not exactly a rip-roaring blood-and-thunder melee, but I guess it’s better than just scaring the dragon off.

Grindal approves, since they don’t bother to sell the Heart of Mekron off for half book price, but instead bring it to him. He says, “You have all done well! You will make a fine wizard one day, Grimslade!”

All this reminiscing is strangely prescient, for now we cut back to the present, where a ghostly figure has appeared in the inn, wailing “HELLLP MEEE!”, causing Indel (who really is the Snails of the group) to fall backwards out of  his chair.

The apparition wastes no time in introducing himself. “It is I…” he begins, but Saren cuts him off, crying “Grindal!” Grimslade (who looks as if he’s had one too many) stares and says “GASP!!”

To be continued, kids. Where did the strange figure come from, what does he want, and what does fate have in store for our adventurers? Well, the fact is that we never do find out, any more than we learn that clod Pinsom’s destiny, but we’ve at least got a couple more strips to go before our heroes are consigned to limbo.

So with that I think I’ll bring this installment to a close, but stay tuned, for more descriptions of our brave adventurers’ brave adventures lie ahead. Personally I think they’re a pretty inept bunch of bunglers, but hey — at least they have their own comic strip, which is more than I ever had. See you all soon.

And oh yeah — Merry Christmas! Or Happy Solstice, Hanukkah, Festivus, Kwanza or whatever you’re celebrating. If we all wrote more gaming supplements, erotic swords and sorcery novels and blogged about trivialities, this would be a much happier world. Peace out.