Whatever you’re writing, the devil is in the details. Sometimes it takes seeing someone else’s treatment of a matter before you truly understand it.

I have learned never to use the word definitive again. Just when I think I’ve gotten to the bottom of something, I discover a new layer. I discovered another one in just writing this piece.

Those in my circle are well acquainted with my love of the nuances of myth, literature, and legend. I’ve discovered another one. My current reading shed new light on Pickman’s Model by H.P. Lovecraft.

I just read through Gnole House, an introductory adventure that accompanies the Quick Start Rules booklet for the Dungeon Crawl Classics Roleplaying Game. It’s based on the original short stories that inspired the Gnoll from Dungeons & Dragons.

The original short story was by Lord Dunsany. Margaret St. Clair wrote a sequel years later. Their depictions are remarkably different. The adventure includes both creatures. That set me thinking and sent me back to Pickman’s Model.

A simple rereading reveals that there are, in fact, several different types of ghoul presented within Pickman’s Model at different stages of their life cycle. Several are scary, but there’s only one that the narrator describes as being a panic-inducing horror—something so dreadful that, when spooked, he is momentarily paralyzed. Reading the sequel, The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath, reveals the reactions people have to the average ghoul. Reading the stories side by side elucidates their portrayal within Dungeons & Dragons. This is important because Lovecraft is said to be a strong influence in their creation. It certainly seems so from the lore. There may, however, be something else at work. I’ll cover that later.

The small and man-sized ghouls might set your heart racing, might make you cry out, but only the horrendous ogre on the final canvas induced a panic attack. There should be at least two ghouls. Interestingly enough, in Poul Anderson’s Three Hearts and Three Lions, the Troll is described as being akin to a ghoul.

In conclusion, it’s only the gigantic monster that is petrifyingly terrifying. Given that Anderson’s work was adapted as D&D’s official troll, it comes as something of a surprise that the two influences didn’t produce monsters more faithful to their literary sources.

Ghouls also appear in the official tabletop roleplaying game of Lovecraftian Horror, Call of Cthulhu. While the rules are different, no greater ghoul is described.

A contradictory influence comes from Lord Dunsany himself. Within his work we find what may be the answer to the gaming enigma. The literary origin of the ghoul’s paralyzing touch may come from a single line within How Nuth Would Have Practiced His Art Upon The Gnoles, although the effect is left to the reader’s imagination. So the D&D ghoul may be a mostly Dunsany inspired creature. Track down the story for a frightfully fun Halloween read. You’ll find it in The Book of Wonder.

The illustration above is fair use. Contact me if I
am mistaken and I will remove it without hesitation.

Regards,
​John
​

I have been tracking down the literary and mythic sources of the often mystifying depictions you find of monsters in the Dungeons and Dragons game. A gamer can just enjoy, but a writer must know to avoid inadvertently infringing someone else’s copyright when he sits down to pen his own work.

One of the most peculiar adaptations debuted in the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Monster Manual. Up until that point, they had been clearly based on the creatures from German folklore, in particular, the troublesome fellows who bothered miners.

The official story is that the change occurred due to a miscommunication between Gary Gygax, the game designer, and Donald C. Sutherland, the artist. There’s clearly more to the story. I do not have a copy of the original Monster Manual, but I do have the next print with the red dragon hunting a herd of pegasi on the cover.

Let’s begin with the art. Sutherland depicted kobolds as diminutive dog men with large pointed ears and tiny devil horns. The contradiction to the official story appears when you start to read the description. Kobolds were scaly and laid eggs like lizards. Gygax had to have known, unless this particular monster was another writer’s responsibility.

Was there a literary inspiration out of Appendix N that described such a creature? Yes. It’s right there in black and white. In fact, it’s the very first series cited under Edgar Rice Burroughs name, “Pellucidar.” Whether or not it was a conscious homage is a question that will likely never be answered, but there was a fantasy and science fiction canon that was read back at the dawn of the hobby. Both men must have at least been aware of the novels, if not read them. Then, perhaps a dim memory of the material may have inspired the kobold.

The novel is Tarzan at the Earth’s Core. In it, we meet the Horibs. They are snake people. They range between four and nine feet tall. Like snakes, they grow larger with age. They have snake heads with unblinking eyes, large pointed ears, and small horns, giving them an appearance that the humans within the novel find disturbing. They also lay eggs.

The Horibs are an almost precise match for Sutherland’s kobolds!

As an interesting addendum, I was browsing online last night. The current description of kobolds as draconian has another inspiration: gargoyles. Their folklore is directly derived from dragons. In fact, they’re a much closer match to kobolds as they’re currently described. If you check out gargoyle pictures online, you’ll be surprised how closely they resemble Sutherland’s depiction, too. Right down to having dog-like faces!

So, now you know.

I’ve got a book to finish so I may slow down on my blog, but I’ll be back with any interesting tidbits. Have a great weekend!

Regards,
John
​

Since I started to read the Appendix N literature, I thought that Dungeons & Dragons’ Hook Horror might have been inspired by the monsters from Fritz Leiber’s The Bleak Shore (one of his Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser stories). I have recently discovered a much closer match, Gigan from Japanese Monster Movies! You never know where these beasties might come from next!

Up next, how Tarzan at the Earth’s Core inspired the Sutherland Kobold.

Have a great day!

Regards,
John

I have really been chasing my tail on this one. My previous posts on this topic have been interesting examinations of possibilities, but have gone wide of the mark. The answer I sought has been something I’ve seen expressed online, but wasn’t able to make sense of at the time. It took rereading the myths of the Norse Draugr to finally put two and two together.

Why does a ghoul’s touch cause paralysis and why are elves immune?

The devil is in the details. It’s a legacy of esoteric rules language from Chainmail (the war game that preceded Dungeons & Dragons) whence “touch” meant engaged in hand-to-hand (mêlée) combat. Two miniatures (figures) on the game map on the table were right next to each other. In the conversion to D&D, the language was retained, but the meaning became obscured and ultimately lost when a successful attack roll was later required for paralysis to endanger its victim. There are no literary or mythic models as far as I know. Hence, my confusion. Where was this coming from?

Now, for the solution. What I just learned is that the Draugr doesn’t paralyze with its touch. It does it through its terrifying, soul-draining glowing eyes! And the Elves of Middle-Earth do not fear the ghosts of men.

Makes for some spooky Halloween reading if you’re so inclined. The Saga of Grettir the Strong contains the primary literary incident. Here, then, is the real answer to the question. As a writer, it’s imperative to understand why things work. Now that I really do, I’m finally free to write! I feel a marathon brewing!

(The illustration above is fair use. If I am mistaken, please let me know and I will remove it without hesitation.)

Come back soon to discover the real inspirations behind Hook Horror and the Kobold!

Regards,
John
​

The Drow are pop culture icons, but these dark elves haven’t always been with us. Or have they?

It took rereading the myths to finally uncover the truth. The Drow aren’t what you think they are. Not by a long shot.

The creation story of the modern Drow is well known. They were invented by Gary Gygax as the villains to inhabit a new underworld setting for a series of adventures for Dungeons & Dragons in the late 70’s.

The original Drow was a goblin-like or dwarf-like creature in the folklore of the Shetland and Orkney Islands. What is interesting is that the name can be traced to the Norse Draugr. Modern readers and audiences will understand a Draugr as a cross between a zombie and a vampire.

Perhaps the most perplexing ability the Drow possess is their innate power to generate light or darkness. And there it is, in the myth of the Draugr. They generate foxfire, a light that’s the borderland between the worlds of the living and the dead. Another story speaks of four individual lights that witnesses see gleaming from a barrow. They can also cause darkness in the middle of the day.

This, coupled with the Drow’s obsidian complexion makes it abundantly clear that our modern Drow are essentially dashing, elven vampires. The draugr have received the hollywood glamour treatment. Gygax simply followed in Stoker’s footsteps. The Drow are a variation on a theme. Now that I know the truth, I can at last put them in context as a writer.

I prefer a game more faithful to its source material. Contrary to popular mythology, the Dark Elves of Norse myth appear as High Elves within D&D. The Drow have stolen both their name and their spotlight. So they are banned from my gaming table.

I hope you have enjoyed reading this post and I
hope to see you back here very soon. Whether you’re a gamer or a fan of fantasy fiction, I welcome your comments below.

(The illustration used above is fair use. However, if I am mistaken, please let me know and I will remove it without hesitation.)

Happy Halloween!

Regards,
John

Since the introduction of these more serious minded gnomes into Dungeons & Dragons, people have been puzzling over the name.

Is it a joke? Smurfs with the serial numbers filed off? There are plenty of joke monsters in the game and wouldn’t have been out of character for a man who pronounced his own campaign world Oerth with a Brooklyn accent (“Oith”).

I have read elsewhere online that the name is derived from Scandinavian folklore, but have been unable to confirm this.

I think I may have found a possible answer. It’s good enough for me. There was apparently a dwarf in Norse myth named Svíurr, Alternately named Sviárr or Síarr. Anglicized, this becomes Svir. The “f” may be a combining form? It means the vanishing one. Neblin, according to Wikipedia, is an alternate form of Nibelung. So, you end up with Svirfneblin.

I don’t know if Gygax went into this depth of analysis when creating them for his game, but it is an intriguing possibility. Especially, granted that one of their signature abilities is to vanish. Their grey complexion is an incredible camouflage in their environment.

(The above illustration is fair use. If I am mistaken, please let me know and I will remove it without hesitation.)

That’s all for now. Hope you’ll join me again soon.

Regards,
John

This post will be much more light-hearted. If I do this right, I hope to have you laughing by the end of the page.

What is a kobold? It actually takes many forms. Some of them helped inspire hobbits, others goblins or dwarves. They took a peculiar turn in the late 70’s when a miscommunication between Gary Gygax and Donald C. Sutherland produced the first diminutive dog-men by that name in art. Since then, we’ve been treated to rat-men, lizard-men, and finally dragon-men. All of them about three feet tall and all of them identified as kobolds.

In this case, I’d like to have a little fun by playing with players’ expectations, in light of something I have discovered.

Apparently, there is a cryptid out of Saxon folklore called an “Attorcroppe.” It’s a tiny, vicious little snake man. Its name derives from similar elements as “Attercop”, the old name for spiders revived by the venerable J.R.R. Tolkien. What’s curious is that there’s very little information available other than what can be found in a book or two and it may be more of an urban legend than an ancient myth.

Poking around online, however, I believe I may have solved the mystery. Well enough to play a game, anyway. At first, I thought exaggerated legends of the cobra, altered by time, culture, and distance might explain the Attorcroppe. My recent discoveries have changed my mind. Apparently, the lowly otter was known in Celtic myth as a water dog. And Saxon folklore called them water snakes. I believe these two terms actually belong to the same creature.

So, can you imagine the unprepared player’s character in a D&D game coming face to face with those dreaded kobolds only to come nose to muzzle with an otter? Ahh! It’s nose is cold! In discussing writing this article with a friend of mine, we were in stitches because they could talk...after characters had imbibed enough of that magic potion called wine or beer! What will the women say?!

Happy Halloween!

Regards,
John

Coming soon.

Regards,
​John

I’ve spent the last two blog posts pondering the mysteries of Elves. In particular, with respect to the craft of writing. That focus remains.

What I have discovered in my reading since is, perhaps, the most freeing of all. The majority of my previous posts come from the perspective of being perplexed as to the peculiar attributes of Elves as they are portrayed in the game Dungeons & Dragons, and branching out from that into professional writing.

My confusion came from a bias towards Elves as portrayed in The Lord of the Rings. I underwent a study of comparative literature and analysis of game rules to arrive at an answer. As an author, it is crucial to understand the nature of your characters so that their interactions make sense. Both of my previous conclusions could be correct. Many things may be true at the same time. I take comfort and pleasure in writing this because it’s a staple of the era of fiction that inspires me. Something happens in fiction and the author offers two, three, or four possible explanations.

What I have discovered is that the peculiarities of elves as portrayed in D&D are very strongly based upon themes and motifs out of folklore. The peculiar immunity to the paralysis of a ghoul could easily be explained by the ancient view of elves as spirits themselves. Contrary to popular mythology, the strange immunity to sleep spells and not needing to sleep aren’t derived from Legolas’s strange abilities as described in The Lord of the Rings. They come from the Lai of Tydorel, which ascribes the insomnia of its protagonist to having had an elven father.

It all boils down to world building. I prefer my games based upon literature, but I have finally traced the weirdness of D&D elves to our folklore. Thus, the confusion ends and I am truly free to write my own take, having traced these things to their sources. It all makes sense, in context. Knowledge is power, world building is a fine art, and this is my final word on the subject.

And now I have my own Elves to bring to life. I wish you well and hope to see you back here very soon.

(The above illustration is taken from the cover of Into the Borderlands from Goodman Games. I believe it is fair use. However, if I am mistaken, please let me know and I will remove it without hesitation.)
​
Regards,
John

From the very first print of the Original Dungeons and Dragons, there has been an unusual relationship between elves and ghouls. For a start ghouls possess the unusual power to paralyze their prey. And elves are...just immune. Why?

This was something that emerged as an artifact of game play in the Chainmail war game that preceded Dungeons & Dragons. But where did it come from?

Generations of gamers have puzzled endlessly about this enigma. Some cite Tolkien. The official early explanation was derived from Poul Anderson’s depiction of elves being soulless. There have been plenty more. None of them ever quite hit the mark. I’m a firm believer that a roleplaying game’s rules should model the literary or legendary source. In this case, it goes without a real explanation.

I’m content to play a game with peculiar rules, but once I decided to become an author, I had to know the answer! You cannot write about characters you do not fully understand. Just what is this peculiar trait?

Context is key. First, what is a ghoul? Then, what is an elf? The answer to elven immunity appears by juxtaposing Jack Vance’s Mazirian the Magician and Basic D&D.

There you have the inspiration behind the ghoul’s paralyzing touch. Now what of the elven immunity?
​

Now comes the game design aspect. Some abilities that had been innate in Chainmail became spells in Dungeons & Dragons. Thanks to Delta’s D&D Hotspot for teaching me that. Thus, an elf who wanted to become invisible, had to become a wizard (or Magic-User) as the Class was then called. In Moldvay (the editor’s name) Basic D&D, elves were Fighter/Magic-Users. The class itself was just called Elf.

Juxtaposing the literature with the game design, the answer emerges. Elves aren’t immune to the paralyzing touch of ghouls. They can cast a spell that counters it. The original oversimplified game rule falls away as a relic of Chainmail that should never had made the conversion.

I hope you gamers, and in particular, writers out there enjoyed this post. Now, whatever you do with your particular take on elves, at least you have an explanation for what is actually happening in this particular situation.

​(Please note that the illustration used above is fair use. However, if I am mistaken, please let me know and I will remove it without hesitation.)

See you around the web!

Regards,
John