As humanity advanced, the will-o-wisps were forced to learn to adapt. Automobiles made their favorite prey suddenly much more difficult to catch. Highways and GPS devices reduced flickering torches from guiding lights to mere curiosities that were quickly passed. A few will-o-wisps still maintained traditional hunting methods, keeping solitary lairs in dangerous swamps and lonely mountain passes. But most banded together for survival. It took effort and coordination to mimic the solid glow of a streetlight or to become a pair of distant taillights. But if they worked together, they could do it. Humanity advanced, but their monsters kept up.
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The boy found the dragon resting on the hillside. It was finally time to put his training to use. “Even the smallest wind can move a boulder,” He reminded himself. He dropped into a fighting stance and let out his war cry. He leaped at the mighty dragon, leading with his feet. He struck a series of blows along the creature’s back and tail, striking the pressure points between the scales. Slowly, the beast turned and glared down at his assailant, then bowed. “Well done, my student. Now go and defend your village.” He returned the gesture. “Thank you, Master.”
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Coffee hit the city like a tidal wave. Overnight, the streets were lined with trendy cafes and coffee houses clamoring to serve the hottest new drink. The vintners dismissed it as a fad. They knew their product and the city, and they were sure their new competition wouldn’t last. But as time went on and their bottles collected dust, the vintners sought out the traveling merchants who’d brought the bean into the city. The merchants weren’t without quick wits and soon brought the vintners around with the promise of collaboration. However, their efforts weren’t an immediate success. Coffee wine tasted terrible.
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The bridge had washed away in the spring floods. The scout stared across the expanse of tumbled stone and foaming water and felt disgust rise in his throat. How could this country let things fall into such disrepair? His fathers had built these roads for their safety and comfort. And these savages had let his empire’s gifts rot beneath their very feet! He turned and headed back through the overgrown forest, already preparing his report to the commander. The army couldn’t cross here. She watched him go from the trees. She was thankful they had been turned away without bloodshed.
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Inspired by THIS Comic, please enjoy the following item, to add to your fantasy TTRPG of choice.
Wardle’s Wondrous Weapon – Wondrous Item, Rare
These popular magic items, created by a slightly mad wizard with a penchant for puzzles, resemble a sword hilt with a row of five dials on the front. The dials correspond to letters, and once per day, the wielder of the weapon may attempt to guess a word, with up to six attempts. A correctly guessed letter glows green, and a letter that is in the word but in the incorrect spot glows yellow. If they manage to guess the word, a weapon will spring forth from the hilt, with those magical properties. For example, “KNIFE” might create a +1 Dagger, while “FROST” might create a sword that deals cold damage.The word is different every day, and each Weapon contains its own list that it draws from. Some are very powerful, while others are mere curiosities. The new weapon lasts until midnight, at which time the blade resets. The GM should choose the word for the day, and its effects.
This content was created in accordance with the Open Game License. Wordle created by Josh Wardle. All other material copyright Hatching Phoenix Productions, C. 2022.
The House of Bones was the last stop before making the grueling crossing through the wasteland. It was built from the piled skulls and vertebrae of some giant creature whose features seemed all too human. First-time guests would marvel and shudder, thinking of what roamed the waste and might still be out there. Will, the current innkeeper, would chuckle and explain how nothing may be wasted in the wasteland, even bones. Then he would make tea and tell the story of how his great-grandfather found a gold ring as big as a belt, still worn on a giant’s finger bone.
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It is widely known that the world is carried on the backs of elephants, and she dreamed of joining their esteemed company. But the idea of bearing so much weight terrified her. She went to the matriarch of her herd and asked her advice. “What can you carry,” her grandmother asked. She looked around the clearing. “A rock?” The old pachyderm curled her trunk in bemusement. “Then start by lifting what you can, and build up to it.” She still isn’t strong enough to lift the Earth. But she can carry the Moon, and she considers it a good start.
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We Ride Titans #1 Written by Tres Dean Drawn by Sebastian Piriz Colored by Dee Cunniffe Lettered by Jim Campbell Published by Vault Comics
We Ride Titans #1
The Skinny: Evangelion meets Dynasty.
Kit Hobbs doesn’t get along with her family. So when her brother has a breakdown and Kit is called back home, she’s upset. But as much as she hates her family, she’s still willing to step into his shoes to pilot the family giant robot and protect the city of New Hyperion from monster attacks. We Ride Titans #1 is one of those comics that fits squarely into my wheelhouse. Queer angst and messy family drama set against giant robot vs. daikaiju action? Sign me up. So I had a feeling this book would be an easy sell for me. And while the first issue doesn’t do much more than limn the characters and the setting and set up their relationships, it’s still an appealing introduction to the story and the setting. Dean’s writing and dialog are as sharp as a monster’s claws, as we get a contrast of Nexus Command’s outward presentation versus the mess they are struggling to keep in. Giant monsters are a fun metaphor for this sort of chaos, and Kit being completely unable to handle it is very human. Her shaky relationship with her partner Jen is also interesting, as we see her consistently trying to do right, but just not having the tools. And when Kit’s mom shows up to bring her back after her brother fails, we get a clean, crisp look at her world falling apart. These sorts of stories really only work when the story outside of the SF elements is compelling in its own right, but so far, We Ride Titans delivers. Piriz and Cunniffe also deliver on the art. The backgrounds all have a very sharp, angular, and modern feel to them. Everything feels like it was just rebuilt on the cheap yesterday. We see lots of struts and exposed brick. The world doesn’t feel lived-in so much as hastily rebuilt. Cunniffe’s colors are warm but not pleasant, they’re muted and bruise-like. The book exudes a feeling of papered over trauma, shakily standing but ready to collapse or explode at any moment, just like the characters. One detail I loved was a page of Kit driving through the desert. She passes a city in the middle of nowhere, and we see a battle being fought in the background. A robot being helicoptered in, a shot of two massive figures battling amid towers that must always be under construction. Kit just adjusts her mirror and keeps on driving through the night. We Ride Titans #1 is the setup to something that I think is going to be something special. It is available now from Comixology and Your Local Comics Shop!
At first glance, the hotel isn’t special. The room is cramped and dirty. But it has a floor-to-ceiling window. She can look out at the bustling holographic neon wonderland of the city as she lies in bed. From this distance, it looks clean. There are nicer ways to take in the sights, of course. But those are all traceable. They take credit, or scan ID, retinas or implants. The hotel takes cash, and even better, old jewelry. Not at a fair rate, obviously. But she can look out at the infinite stretch of glass and steel and see them coming.
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On the day he shipped out, he had left the bicycle out leaning against a tree, forgotten. She made a promise to herself that he would find the house just as he left it, so she kept it where it was, taking care to secure it properly and protect it from the weather. When he never came home, she left the bicycle where it was, the dangling thread of a promise broken by war. A tree knows nothing of grief, but it still embraced the bicycle, growing slowly around it and keeping the mother’s promise long after she passed away.
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Hugh J. O'Donnell 