Dragontales: “Sir George”

The Dragontales anthology (and yes, I’m still working my way through it) does its best to appeal to everyone, no matter what their preferred flavor of fantasy might be. So far we’ve seen game fiction, pulp sword & sorcery, and second-wave feminist faerie tales; it must therefore be time to delve into the comedic to lighten things up. We get it in the form of Carl Parlagreco’s “Sir George.”

Like most of the authors whose work resides in Dragontales, Parlagreco seems to have been an unknown writer who caught the eye of Kim Mohan & company when assembling the anthology. It is possible that this Carl Parlagreco is the same one associated with The Spartacus File (the dates seem to fit in any case), but again a cursory web search reveals little about the author’s post-Dragontales writing endeavors.

What is evident is that Parlagreco has a fondness for puns, play on words, and is undoubtedly familiar with the works of Douglas Adams: “Sir George” is that kind of tale. In it, we are introduced to the eponymous protagonist, a dragon who awakens one morning to deal with both a sore throat and a bold (if inept) knight named Byron Elpus, Lord of the Pristine Lands. Yes, that makes him “Lord Elpus,” who is just the first of several outlandishly-named characters.

Lord Elpus needs George’s head so that he can marry his beloved, the glorious Maiden Form. George, being rather attached to it, manages to convince the knight errant that a solution exists that would allow him to keep his cranium while still meeting the conditions placed upon Elpus. And thus an unlikely buddy tale in the vein of Dragonheart is born.

The illustrations that accompany the story are the work of an artist who signs his or her work as “Yeehan,” “Seehan,” or “Geehan” depending on how one interprets the first letter in their signature. The pieces are all competently rendered and their style fits a lighter, funny story.

Sir George is a one of the shorter tales in the anthology and being a comedy piece (especially on that relies on a lot of puns to deliver its comedic punch), there’s not a whole lot of depth or subtext to read into. That doesn’t mean it’s a poor tale, however, although one’s enjoyment will largely depend on your own attitudes towards word play in humor. Some of the puns are more dated than others, while still others are likely to sail over the heads of younger readers. It also ends on a slightly ominous note depending on how one chooses to read it.

Wong & Boris, Culinary Masters and Chefs of Renown

When the jaded palettes of nobility grow tired of stag, peacock tongue, and turkey-stuffed-with-chicken-stuffed-with-duck, they summon the legendary chefs, Wong & Boris. Once word arrives in their Kitchen Stronghold that their talents are required, the two masters of the culinary arts sally forth with the caravan of prep cooks, mobile larders, and chest of endless herbs & spices to wherever their skills are wanted. They charge a fortune for their efforts (one banquet they prepared for the Sultan of Yugglestan resulted in the economic collapse of the county’s infrastructure), but the results are well worth it.

It should be noted that Wong & Boris provide only the means to prepare and serve a meal, and the necessary garnishes and seasonings that accompany it, not the dish itself. For that, they typically rely on their employer or any number of wayward adventurers with empty pouches, loose morals, and questionable common sense. More than one out-of-work adventuring band met their end on a quest that bean with the appearance of an apron-clad, funny hat-wearing, mysterious stranger with an outrageous accent who sidled up to their tavern table with an offer of work.

These adventurers are tasked with the job of locating, killing (or sometimes capturing), and returning with the carcass of creatures running the gamut from anhkhegs to dragons to purple worms to tarrasques—all of which Wong & Boris have a dozen recipes for. Those adventurers who succeed with aplomb may even be granted a seat and plate at the meal (although usually seated at a small folding table near the kitchen).

Dragontales: “Out of the Eons”

The third story in the Dragontales anthology is by an author that will produce a response of either “Him?” or “Who?” depending on the reader’s familiarity with the Golden Age of Comics. “Out of the Eons,” the tale that concerns us today, was written by Gardner F. Fox, the man responsible for (in whole or in part) such comic book superheroes as the original Sandman, Flash, Hawkman, Doctor Fate, and the Justice Society of America. He also wrote the first Batman stories not penned by creators Bob Kane & Bill Finger, introducing some of the concepts and equipment now firmly embedded in the Batman mythos. In addition to his work in the comic industry, Fox penned numerous novels in almost every imaginable genre; sword & sorcery fans may best remember his creations Kothar, Barbarian Swordsman and Kyrik: Warlock Warrior, both of whom are listed in the famed Appendix N as inspirational reading. According to one source, Kothar’s first story, “The Sword and the Sorcerer” is responsible for the lich as we know it in D&D.

Neither Kothar nor Kyrik is the subject of “Out of the Eons.” Instead, the tale concerns another of Fox’s sword & sorcery heroes: Niall of the Far Travels. Niall may have the honor of being one of the few, if not only, fantasy heroes who owes his entire existence to Dragon magazine. Niall’s first appearance was in Dragon #2 in the story “Shadow of a Demon.” The hero would reappear several times in the pages of Dragon, returning in issues #5, #13, #23, #33, #36, #38, #44, and finally #55. “Out of the Eons” is located chronologically between the tales “The Cup of Death” from #38 and “The Lure of the Golden Godling” in issue #44. In the interest of full disclosure, “Out of the Eons” is the only Niall of the Far Travels’ tale I’ve read despite owning the first 250 issues of Dragon on CD-ROM.

“Out of the Eons” begins in an unpretentious manner: Niall, Commander General of the armies of Lurlry Manakor, king of Urgrik, is expanding his wine cellar. When his pick unearths a wall that simply shouldn’t be there, however, Niall inadvertently unleashes an ancient evil upon the world; a creature that escapes from “Out of the Eons.”

Almost immediately thereafter the reader becomes aware that Niall shares a special relationship with the goddess Emalkartha and her human avatar, Lylthia. The relationship is of an amorous nature and this becomes an issue throughout the tale. Thanks to Niall’s connection with the divine, he learns that what he unleashed was a being known as Adonair who once threatened the world—you guessed it—eons ago before being imprisoned by the gods. So long ago did the deities challenge Adonair that they not only forgot he was buried next to Niall’s every-expanding wine cellar, but they can't quite remember how they defeated him the first time around. To compound matters, Adonair, who appears as a green fire, decides he needs a physical body to conquer the world and deems Niall a suitable host.

The rest of the tale involves Niall’s quest to locate something the gods hope will defeat Adonair and their attempts to shield him from being possessed. As a protective measure, Niall is accompanied by the goddess Thallatta, which leads to problems on the home front when Niall starts “paying homage” to anther member of the pantheon, so to speak. Conan never had issues of this magnitude.

Speaking of the Cimmerian, “Out of the Eons” reminds me very much of a “King Conan” tale. Niall is not a wandering reaver, but a warrior of much renown and political status, and his duties to King Lurlry and his queen is what motivates him through much of the story—that and getting back into the good graces of Emalkartha.

“Out of the Eons” is pulp sword & sorcery, the first example of the genre we’ve encountered in Dragontales. Fox was exposed to the writing of Edgar Rice Burroughs at an early age and the impact that Burroughs had on Fox’s development seems to linger long after exposure. Niall is very evocative of John Carter, both in his being a warrior of skill in a position of great influence and his romantic relationship with a powerful, beautiful, and ultimately alien creature.

Having not been exposed to the Niall tales preceding this one, I was ultimately left to judge it solely on its own merits. As a whole, the tale is entertaining, but not remarkable; a story suitable to while away a quiet night or an afternoon at the beach. When I first read it, so many years ago, I do remember being more fond of it, but for a reason having little to do with the plot of the tale.

“Out of the Eons” can be read as a good example of the D&D endgame, the time when the PCs put down their swords and start dealing with issues that can’t be solved solely by riding out and smiting them with sharp objects…even if that’s what Niall eventually does. This tale introduced me to a sword & sorcery hero who was not a landless wanderer, and the events of the story laid the groundwork for how my friends and I did “name level” play. Our high level PCs often got involved with world-shaking events and hobnobbing with the gods, even as we dealt with the mundane concerns of building a new tower on our holdings or excavating a new wing in our thieves’ den. Looking back, I now know that “Out of the Eons” was responsible for this approach to dealing with high level play. I really should go and read the early Niall’s tales and see how he grows into his position. They may give me new insights on the D&D endgame that may be of use in my current Labyrinth Lord campaign.

I also love the beginning of the tale and how the event that launches the plot is so mundane. Digging a new wine cellar is about as incongruous a starting point for a tale involving alien powers and gods as you could imagine. It strikes me as just the sort of minor activity that would get Fafhrd and the Mouser embroiled in some wild scheme. This kind of dichotomy tickles my fancy and the story wins me over because of it.

Before I get to the game material, I should note that “Out of the Eons” is illustrated by Kevin Siembieda. Siembieda is one of those designers that I forget can produce art as well as write, much like Paul Jaquays. I always remember Siembieda more for his Palladium work and the occasional explosion that occurs over there than I do for his art, and every time I see his name scrawled beneath a piece of illustration, I always have that “Oh yeah…” moment. In rereading this story and encountering his work again, I must admit that I kept expecting to turn the page and confront some skull-motif, jackbooted Nazi thug laying in wait for me. The Rifts RPG has apparently done a number on my Siembieda art expectations.

Elixir of Desperate Measures
Many millennia ago, when the universe was a newborn dream, the gods gathered in their starry hall to address a lingering concern. As powerful as the gods were, the cosmos was a mutable place and there might come a day when one of their number became too powerful to be held in check by his fellow deities. Should that day ever come to pass, the cosmos would be at the mercy of that deity alone.

One of the wisest of Powers suggested that the gods pool their divine essences to create a substance that could slay a single god outright and that they thereafter secret this elixir upon the earth in a place impossible for any but a great hero to reach. If the day ever arose that one god needed to be put down, the location of the elixir would be revealed to a mortal hero and it would become their task to destroy that which the gods themselves could no longer challenge. The result was what the bards sing of as the Elixir of Desperate Measures.

When found, the Elixir appears as a glowing white liquid held in a silver cup of plain design. When a weapon is touched to the elixir, it spreads across the length of the weapon, running like water, but clinging like pitch. Once the weapon’s edge is completely coated by the Elixir, the liquid glows brightly for a moment, then fades away as if the weapon absorbed it completely, leaving no trace of the Elixir behind.

The Elixir’s power effectively turns the implement into a weapon of god-slaying. The weapon acts as an arrow of slaying against deities. Its enchantment is only good for one or two successful strikes against a god and it attacks as if a +5 weapon. Each time a deity is struck by the weapon, it must make a saving throw versus death as if it were a 1st level fighter. Failing this save results in instantaneous and irrevocable death. A successful save means the deity suffers damage as normal, provided that is possible given the weapon, attacker, and any other defenses the god might enjoy.

Suffice to say, the Elixir is nearly impossible to locate and it is protected by many magical and monstrous safeguards. No single god knows the location of the Elixir and only several working in concert can deduce the location of the substance and convey its hiding place to a mortal hero. They would only do so in the extremely unlikely event that one of their number amasses enough power to threaten the universe and is deemed a danger to the existence of all living and non-living creations in the cosmos.

Dragontales: “Dragon’s Fosterling”

The second story in the Dragontales anthology is “Dragon’s Fosterling” by Ruby S.W. Jung and illustrated by a “M. Kay” according to the signature on the accompanying pieces. Moving away from the genre of game fiction, “Dragon’s Fosterling” is more in the vein of the faerie tale or chivalric romances, but it takes its own path once the story gets going. Starting with the commonplace scenario of a young maiden being abducted by a dragon, the tale treads less stereotypical ground before too long.

Ms. Jung, like John L. Jenkins before her, seems to have been an amateur writer as a web search for additional work under that name was inconclusive. And unlike Jenkins, it is impossible to speculate whether she was (or is) a gamer based on her single credited story. Whereas the game influences are prevalent throughout “The Wizards Are Dying,” “Dragon’s Fosterling” owes a greater debt to the women empowerment movements of the late sixties and early seventies.

“Dragon’s Fosterling” is the story of Asgara, the daughter of a duke who finds herself abducted by a dragon and carried back to his valley lair. The dragon grows tired of rolling about in his treasure horde and occasionally kidnaps maidens so that young knights will come to rescue them and provide him with a bit of diversion. The 184 swords & shields that adorn his cave and vale attest that these brave souls are never successful in their quests.

Asgara finds herself a coddled prisoner, unable to leave the dragon’s vale but given full access to the wonders of the wyrm’s cave—including its library of esoteric lore. In time, Asgara grows to womanhood, still imprisoned by her scaly captor as knight after knight falls beneath the dragon’s claws. Eventually, she decides to do something about her situation…

In my youth, “Dragon’s Fosterling” was not one of my favorite tales in the anthology. Too young to see what Jung was doing with the format and too male to identify with the girlish antagonist, the story rated low amongst the book’s ten tales. But, as I mentioned at the start of this series, one of the joys about returning to Dragontales as an adult was to find that certain stories were far better than I remembered them. “Dragon’s Fosterling” is one of those.

Having spent my undergraduate years in pursuit of an English degree and taking far too many interpretation and criticism courses, I now enjoy this story for its depth and complexity—something that “The Wizards Are Dying” lacked. Jung’s tales drips with so much subtext that it’s difficult to see what she intended the story to be interpreted as.

On one hand, it can be read as a “Fractured Fairy Tale,” a story that takes the expected scenario of “dragon abducts maiden and knight comes to the rescue” and turns it on its ear, which is in itself an enjoyable read. Scratch the surface and look a little deeper and you’ll see other possible interpretations lurking below the veneer.

In light of it publication year (1980), one would be hard-pressed to completely dismiss the influence that the women’s rights movements of the previous decades had upon the story. In this tale, Asgara is no pale maiden desperately pining away for her knight in shining armor. She quickly becomes disillusioned with traditional gender roles and sets about freeing herself from captivity. By tale's end she has not only become a hero in her own right, but also come to terms with and embraced her sexuality. This is pretty heady stuff for a story appearing in a TSR publication, even one under the Dragon Publishing imprint.

But this is just one of a few possible interpretations; others remain to be explored. The dragon—he is given no name, demonstrating that when there is only one dragon in the neighborhood, names are unnecessary—is older and wiser than Asgara, and although kind to her, he demonstrates a streak of cruelty in dealing with her would-be rescuers/suitors. It’s not hard to see the dragon as a father figure, making this tale one of a young girl and her Electra complex. It could also be interpreted as a cautionary tale to young women about the dangers of becoming involved with an older man—although they have great wealth and treat you with kindness, this comes at the cost of one’s own freedom. All this complexity, even if it can be argued that this says more about me than the author, makes “Dragon’s Fosterling” one of the best tales in the book.

Jung has an admirable command of language in addition to her skill with story structure. There are several choice lines throughout the piece, including my favorite, “Her hair was black as treachery,” which given my fondness for dark-haired women, resonates on a much deeper level with me. Her early depictions of the relationship between Asgara and the dragon are also well written and they draw the reader into this strange relationship, which is necessary for the success of the story. I only wish that the illustrations was equal to the prose it accompanies. I'm not certain who “M. Kay” is, but his or her style, although competent, is not one I prefer.

Looking back on “Dragon’s Fosterling” from a role-playing design perspective, I see that this was likely the tale that introduced me to the concept that a dragon’s lair need not just be a cave in the earth containing a dragon and his wealth. The dragon in this tale has several amenities in his lair, both for the comfort of his occasional abducted guest and as testaments to his own prowess in battle. I’ve used these and other touches to personalize dragons’ dens over the years.

“Dragon’s Fosterling” is a good story, but not one that I would recommend to a young child. This is not solely for content reasons, although it does feature implied sex, adultery, and other mature themes. Rather, I would wait until he or, especially, she was old enough to enjoy the tale on its many different levels and revel in the subtle flavors it has to offer.

Magical Properties of Dragon Hearts
Some hoary tomes profess that he or she who eats of a dragon’s heart gains preternatural abilities. This statement is difficult to prove due to the difficulties of conducting field tests. Should the referee decide that the heart of a dragon grants magical powers to the eater, he or she may roll or choose on the table below to determine its effects. Only one person can benefit from the consumption of a dragon heart and that individual must either be the one whose blow killed the wyrm or who dealt the greatest amount of damage to the creature prior to death (referee’s choice). All granted abilities are permanent.

1) Eater gains the ability to understand the speech of one class of animal (mammal, reptile, avian, fish, etc.)
2) Eater gains 10% magic resistance.
3) Eater gains a +4 to all saves vs. breath attacks.
4) Eater can cast one magic-user spell of level 1-3 each day regardless of if they are a spell caster or not. If a magic-user, this spell does not count against their total daily allotment of spells.
5) Eater regenerates damage at the rate of 1 point per hour.
6) Eater can see invisible creatures and objects.
7) Eater can breathe fire for 2d6 damage up to 20’ away once per day.
8) Eater can fly for 1 hour each day.
9) Eater can breathe underwater for 1 hour each day.
10) Eater gains a natural -1 bonus to his or her AC.
11) Eater gains 1 point in each ability.
12) Eater transforms into a dragon and becomes an NPC.

Dragontales: “The Wizards Are Dying”

The first story in Dragontales is “The Wizards Are Dying” by John L. Jenkins and illustrated by James Holloway. The story tells of an adventuring group brought together by chance who embark on a quest to defeat a lich that is killing the practitioners of magic. Running thirteen pages in length, it is the second-longest story in the anthology.

A casual search of the web fails to turn up more works of fiction by John L. Jenkins, and Dragontales is his sole gaming-related credit according to the Acaceum, making it likely that Mr. Jenkins was a hobbyist gamer who could turn a phrase well enough to catch the eye of editor Kim Mohan and not a professional author or game designer. Whatever the case, the story does demonstrate that Jenkins had both decent writing chops and an understanding of D&D.

“The Wizards Are Dying” is unabashedly game fiction. Nowadays, in the wake of the glut created by TSR, WotC, and every other game publisher with a brand to sell, game fiction is treacherous ground. Some folks love it; others despise it, but there’s no escaping it. Back in 1980, however, game fiction was the exception rather than the rule. Outside of the pages of Dragon magazine and other professional or amateur gaming periodicals, there wasn’t much of a market for the stuff. Andre Norton had started the ball rolling with Quag Keep back in 1978, but it would be another six years before the TSR game fiction machine churned out the first official D&D fantasy novel.

With that thought in mind, you might be better equipped to understand just how mind-blowing “The Wizards Are Dying” was to my young mind. I was reading a story that used all the elements of D&D that I had come to know over the last year in action. It was like experiencing an adventure come to life in a much more vivid form than the “Example of Play” from the Basic rulebook and the DMG could produce. There was a cleric that healed wounds, a dwarf with an enchanted axe, an elven wizard who threw fireballs, and a bevy of liches, trolls, and even manticores to do battle with. I was in roleplaying rapture!

At the time, “The Wizards Are Dying” was one of my top three favorite stories in the anthology. Now, however, it has slipped a bit in ranking, mostly from my having read better examples of gaming fiction. But this is the fault of the reader, not the writer, and I’m still impressed with the job Jenkins does considering there weren’t many examples of this type of story to draw upon back in 1980. And although the story itself may have lost a little luster over the years, in rereading it I still see the influence that it had upon me and how it shaped my preferences for both gaming and fantasy fiction.

The first half of the story involves assembling the party and getting them apprised of the situation they face. Because of this, we see a lot of what we gamers would call “party downtime”: the adventurers stop for a meal in an inn (where the party naturally forms); they lounge in the inn room and discuss the task ahead; they go seeking a scholar to help them learn of what they face; even the journey to the adventuring site via caravan is covered. I’m probably in the minority, but I always find these parts of a fantasy yarn especially interesting. It is during these quiet moments that we learn the most about our protagonists, and when especially well-written, I often consider them to be superior scenes to the fire and thunder action that occurs later on. For example, my favorite scenes in “Ill Met in Lankhmar” are those which occur after the robbery that brings Fafhrd and Mouser together: the walk back to Mouser’s abode and the meeting and revel that the foursome share upon arrival. These quiet moments, filled with the mundane details of life, shine all the brighter when compared to the foreign extravagances that happen once the plot begins it unfold in earnest. Looking back on the “Wizards Are Dying,” it is entirely possible that this tale helped shaped this love of mine.

As for its influence on gaming and campaign building, the story added a few things to my repertoire. Jenkins sets the tale against a standard fantasy backdrop (and one can only wonder if it was based on his home campaign), but there are a some interesting nuances that may have crept into my developing design proclivities. The Crystal Hills, a place where much of the last half of the tale occurs, may have influenced the encounter with Song of Night Screams in Stonehell Dungeon for example. And it remains an evocative enough locale that I had to make certain it wasn’t something lifted from the World of Greyhawk, making it a creation of Gary Gygax.

One cannot talk about the story without mentioning the illustrations that accompany it. “The Wizards Are Dying” features several pieces by TSR artist and illustration workhorse, Jim Holloway. I’m uncertain of when Holloway got his start with TSR, but I must assume that he was at the start of his career when he did these. This is not to say that they are poorly rendered; anyone familiar with Mr. Holloway’s work will recognize his style immediately upon glimpsing them. The pieces do have a certain “roughness” that is absent in his later work, though, and those who usually claim to find Holloway’s work “ too cartoonish” may find these rawer pieces more to their liking. The only quibble I have with them is that the gnome featured in the tale is depicted as a halfling, but that may simply be a miscommunication between writer, editor, artist, or all three.

“The Wizards Are Dying” is not going to win any awards for writing, but it does accomplish what one supposes it intended to: Tell an entertaining tale firmly grounded in the D&D setting. It provides enough pleasure and comfortable diversion that forgiving its flaws is easy enough. Those whose roots are older and run back deeper into the hobby’s past will undoubtedly get more enjoyment from the story than those who grew up on the more recent products of the game fiction machine.

As now, as promised, something inspired or stolen from "The Wizards Are Dying” for your own fantasy campaign:

Faendril’s Fireproof Cloak: This red but otherwise nondescript article of clothing possesses two abilities. First, it is immune to damage from normal flames and provides the wearer with a +1 bonus to all saves vs. magical fire. Secondly, it has the power to cloak a flame source from sight, effectively “turning off” the fire for a time. To do this, the cloak must be placed over or in front of the fire source. A campfire with the cloak draped over it would cease to produce light as would a torch placed within the folds of the garment, making it perfect for the adventurer who needs to hide his light source without permanently extinguishing it. So long as the flame source is covered in this manner, it produces no visible light or heat, but continues to burn fuel at its normal rate.

(For those of you who need them)
Experience Point Value: 500
Gold Piece Value: 3,000