Monday, March 2, 2026
Pulp Fantasy Library: Dwellers in the Mirage
Despite the fact that I’ve long championed the fiction of Abraham Merritt on this blog, I’ve somehow never devoted a proper Pulp Fantasy Library post to his 1932 novel Dwellers in the Mirage. That omission is especially glaring given that it’s one of only three Merritt works singled out by Gary Gygax in Appendix N of the AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide, the other two being Creep, Shadow! and The Moon Pool. In my defense, I did write about Dwellers years ago, but that was for the short-lived Pulp Fantasy Gallery, not this series. Correcting that oversight has also reminded me how easily certain classics slip through the cracks simply because one assumes they’ve already been treated. I intend to rectify that in the weeks and months ahead.
First serialized in Argosy magazine across six issues in early 1932, Dwellers in the Mirage perfectly captures a transitional moment in fantastic fiction. The 19th-century Lost World romance had not yet entirely vanished, but it had begun to darken and mutate under the influence of the weird tales of the pulps. Merritt’s novel stands squarely at this crossroads. Its protagonist, Leif Langdon, an American of Norwegian descent, is exploring Alaska when he stumbles upon a warm, hidden valley cut off from the outside world. There he discovers two ancient peoples locked in ceaseless conflict and, more disturbingly, the worship of a monstrous, tentacled deity named Khalk’ru, whose cult demands blood sacrifice.
As if this weren't complication enough, Langdon gradually learns that he is the reincarnation of Dwayanu, a legendary warrior from the valley’s past. The memories and passions of that former life begin to surface, creating a psychological tension that drives much of the novel. The struggle against Khalk’ru is thus not merely external but internal. Langdon must reconcile his modern identity with the shadow of an older, more ruthless self. In doing so, Merritt transforms what might have been a straightforward lost race adventure into a story of possession, temptation, and the perilous allure of power.
That fusion of elements is one of the novel’s strengths. Merritt weaves together reincarnation, romance, occultism, lost civilizations, and cosmic horror with a confidence that makes the whole feel seamless rather than overstuffed. The narrative moves briskly, pausing just long enough to explore the psychological toll of Langdon’s divided soul and the seductive pull of Khalk’ru’s terrible grandeur. Merritt’s prose is, as always, lush, rhythmic, and incantatory. He imbues even the more conventional adventure scenes with a dreamlike intensity. The result is a tale that transcends its pulpy origins without abandoning them.
By 1932, Merritt was among the most popular and respected writers in the American pulps. Earlier novels such as The Metal Monster and The Ship of Ishtar had already established him as a master of exotic fantasy steeped in ancient civilizations and occult forces. Dwellers in the Mirage is very much in this vein as well, but it also exemplifies how far the genre had evolved from its Victorian antecedents. Where Haggard and Doyle offered rationalist heroes confronting marvels at the edges of empire, Merritt presents a world in which the marvelous is tinged with cosmic dread and psychological ambiguity. The adventures in both are similar, but Merritt's version embraces the weid and uncanny.
Khalk’ru himself deserves special mention. Readers have long debated whether this tentacled, malign entity was intended as an homage to H. P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu or represents a case of parallel invention. Lovecraft greatly admired Merritt and the two even collaborated on the round-robin story “The Challenge from Beyond.” While their styles differ markedly, both writers were captivated by the intrusion of ancient, inhuman powers into the modern world. Merritt’s vision is ultimately more romantic and mythic. His heroes are not reduced to insignificance before the abyss. Instead, they resist it. Cosmic horror still remains, but Merritt believes it can be confronted and, at least temporarily, overcome. In this respect, Dwellers in the Mirage thus anticipates later sword-and-sorcery fiction, in which bold heroes pit their wills against dark gods and sorcerous tyrants. One can readily see why Gygax valued the novel highly enough to cite it in Appendix N.
Some of Merritt’s fiction is more significant as a historical artifact than as living literature. Dwellers in the Mirage, however, retains an immediacy that makes it rewarding for its own sake. It is delightfully atmospheric and filled with both memorable characters and situations. More than that, it stands as a vivid testament to a moment when pulp fantasy had finally coalesced into its own distinct genre, one that would go on to influence not only later fantasy literature but also comic books, movies, and other forms of popular entertainment.
If you've never had the chance to read the novel before, I highly recommend you do so. There's a wonderful new edition of the novel available through DMR Books that I cannot recommend enough.
Friday, February 27, 2026
What Are You Playing Right Now?
I write a lot about the various roleplaying games I'm currently refereeing and/or playing, since it's good fodder for posts. It's also because I know many readers enjoy learning about which games I'm enjoying and what I'm doing with them. Truth be told, I feel similarly. I love hearing about the games others are playing and what's going in their adventures and campaigns.
To that end, I'd like to return to some questions I asked here just a little over three years ago:
If you are currently playing in or refereeing a roleplaying game:
- What RPG(s) are playing/refereeing?
- How long have you been playing this/these particular campaign(s)?
- How often do you meet to play?
If you are not currently playing in or refereeing a roleplaying game:
- How long has it been since you last played/refereed?
Thanks in advance.
Wednesday, February 25, 2026
Retrospective: The Ruins of Myth Drannor
I know that, for many fans of old-school Dungeons & Dragons, Ed Greenwood’s Forgotten Realms represents a decisive (and unwelcome) break from the game’s early days, both in content and especially in presentation. I don’t agree with that assessment, though this isn’t the place to rehearse that entire argument. What I will say is that revisiting TSR’s Forgotten Realms products from the late 1980s through the 1990s, I find a body of work that is not the betrayal its detractors claim, but is instead a mixed bag – occasionally frustrating, frequently ambitious, and at times genuinely impressive.
A good case in point is The Ruins of Myth Drannor, a 1993 boxed set detailing the fabled elven “City of Song.” Myth Drannor had long loomed large in the background of the setting. For years prior to this set’s release, Greenwood referenced it repeatedly as a shining example of magical harmony undone by hubris and catastrophe. Consequently, when the boxed set finally appeared, I eagerly snapped it up.
From the first time I read about it, I imagined Myth Drannor as one of the great fallen cities of the Realms. Its destruction defined much of the Forgotten Realms’ melancholy grandeur. The Realms, at least as I understood them, were not a setting on the ascent but a world in decline, a place of fading glories and lingering ruins, closer in spirit to pulp fantasy than to high heroic triumphalism. Myth Drannor is where this comes into sharp focus.
Transforming such a mythic ruin into a playable location was no doubt a challenge. Myth Drannor is not a megadungeon in the traditional sense. Rather, it is a shattered metropolis sprawled across the forest of Cormanthyr. Its districts, academies, towers, temples, vaults, and magical zones warped by a magic effect that once protected the city. TSR had previously attempted little else on this scale. One might point to Dwellers of the Forbidden City as an early precursor, though the comparison only goes so far. In spirit, its closest analog may be Chaosium’s Big Rubble for RuneQuest, which is still, in my opinion, the gold standard for “ruin crawl” locales.
In many respects, The Ruins of Myth Drannor succeeds admirably in its goals. Greenwood presents the city as an environment. It is effectively a mini-sandbox, a vast urban wilderness suitable for exploration, salvage, factional conflict, and long-term campaigns built around survival amid arcane devastation. The conceptual foundation is solid. The boxed set offers history, factions, current inhabitants, and numerous adventure hooks. This is all good stuff. Where it falters is in execution.
The set does not consistently provide the Dungeon Master with the tools necessary to bring so large a space to life in play. The maps are expansive and the descriptions evocative, but there is surprisingly little in the way of random encounter tables, stocking guidelines, event generators, or even name lists to help a referee improvise within such a vast environment. Instead, we are given several more fully fleshed-out adventures and a handful of small, somewhat uninspired mini-dungeons that can be dropped in as needed. Those adventures are serviceable, but they do not quite match the promise implied by the scale of the city itself.
This absence of these kinds of referee tools is all the more striking because the physical presentation of the boxed set is impressive. The poster maps are sweeping, delineating districts and geography. They convey scale beautifully. One can easily imagine months of play wandering the overgrown avenues and shattered towers. Yet, that same scale exposes a weakness. Much of the city is described in broad strokes. The maps suggest more than the text delivers or indeed could deliver.
The background material is quintessentially Greenwoodian, dense with names, lineages, magic, and history. For readers invested in the Realms as a setting, this lore is rich and rewarding. For referees seeking immediately usable material, however, it can feel overwhelming. Even as someone who once delighted in “Realmslore,” I occasionally found myself wishing that some of the word count devoted to ancient history had instead gone toward practical game tools.
One element the boxed set gets absolutely right is its intended level range. The Ruins of Myth Drannor is not for novice characters. The ruins teem with formidable threats, like elven and mind flayer liches, demons, devils, magical constructs, and strange, magic-eating abominations. These are adversaries suited to mid and high-level characters. For referees who enjoy high-level play – and who know how difficult it can be to challenge powerful characters – Myth Drannor fills a genuine need. It offers a compelling and dangerous playground for experienced adventurers.
In the end, I think The Ruins of Myth Drannor exemplifies much of TSR’s output during this period. It is ambitious, atmospheric, and lavishly presented. It's also frustrating. It gestures toward an open-ended and exploratory style of play that strongly matches old school sensibilities, but it stops short of fully embracing the procedural support such play demands.
Even so, I still very much like this boxed set. When it was released, I used it and mined it for material to use in my campaign. Its flaws required work on my part as referee, of course, but the raw material was there, waiting to be shaped. Perhaps that is the most old-school aspect of it after all: not a perfectly engineered product, but a rich, uneven trove of ideas demanding engagement.
Myth Drannor, both as a fictional city and as a boxed set, stands as a monument to a fallen age – within the Realms and within TSR itself. Imperfect, excessive, occasionally exasperating, yet grand in conception, it reminds us that decline and greatness are not mutually exclusive. Sometimes they are, in fact, the same thing viewed from different angles.
Tuesday, February 24, 2026
The Kythireans
Over at Advanced Grognardia, I've got another post in which I provide game stats and a description of "monsters" from my Telluria campaign setting, along with some commentary on their origins. I've been writing a number of these posts over the past few months and it's been fun revisiting some of my early work and sharing insights into their creative origins.
The Articles of Dragon: "Deities and Their Faithful"
I'm on record as disliking the general approach to religion and gods Dungeons & Dragons has taken since the beginning. I've always found it weirdly reductive and, for lack of a better word, "game-y." Certainly, I can understand that a more nuanced and complex approach probably wouldn't have sold many books, but I still can't help but think D&D deserved better than what we got in Deities & Demigods. I suspect this is a minority opinion, but it's not one without precedent in the annals of the hobby.
With this as background, I think you can easily guess my reaction to Gary Gygax's "From the Sorcerer's Scroll" column from issue #97 of Dragon (March 1985). Entitled "Deities and Their Faithful," it's very close to the Platonic ideal of what I don't want in a discussion of the gods in the context of fantasy roleplaying games. In it, Gygax introduces a new set of game mechanics intended to quantify a deity's power on a particular plane of existence, as well as provide some (very rough) guidelines on divine favor and disfavor. Even taken as an example of Gygax "thinking out loud," the article is a mess.
Gygax begins by stating gods' power "comes from those who believe in them." He suggests this idea is not a new one, having been "put forth often by others, whether seriously or as a device for literature." I cannot be certain this is the first time this idea appears in connection with D&D, but, even if it's not, having Gygax's name associated with it lends it a great deal of weight. I do know that, by the time the Planescape campaign setting was released almost a decade later, this line of thinking was uncontroversial, even commonplace. I think it's fine in certain contexts, though it's still a weirdly rationalist approach to the subject of belief.
In any case, Gygax proposes that a god's hit points derive from the number of his believers at a ratio of 1:1000. That is, for every 1000 believers, the god has 1hp on a certain plane. Thus, a god with 400hp must have 400,000 believers. Further, a god's "power points" – a new concept for "the stuff from which all deities of the same alignment draw to use their spell-like powers, issue and enforce commands, and perform other abilities they may have" – has the same ratio but only for believers of the same alignment. Thus, a Lawful Neutral believer of a Lawful Good god contributes only to the god's hit points, not his power points. Gygax adds that level/hit dice also plays a role here. A believer of 2nd level is worth twice as much as one of only 1st level, while one of 3rd level is worth three times as much, and so on. Clerics (and only clerics) are worth twice as much on top of everything else, so, for example, a 15th-level cleric is worth 30 points.
The article doesn't go into any detail about the nature of power points, so it's a very abstract way of quantifying a given deity's power. However, Gygax does note that, since gods derive power from believers of the same alignment, this is the reason alignment is so important – and why the gods look with disfavor on those who change alignment, since it literally takes power away from them. I can see how this sort of metaphysical set-up might have interesting consequences in certain kinds of settings, but I'm not sure it's a good model for most, where the relationship between gods and mortals isn't so nakedly mechanistic.
Speaking of disfavor, Gygax also offers, at the end of the article, some ideas for minor and major banes and boons that might be conferred by the gods to those especially devoted to them. These range from extra hit points to bonuses to attacks/saving throws to magic resistance. He provides no clear thresholds or conditions for when a believer earns favor/disfavor, but that's not surprising. The whole article feels very much like Gygax is tossing some ideas out there to see what people think about them.
As I said earlier, I think "Deities and Their Faithful" isn't my favorite article. I can see what Gygax was probably intending to do with it, but I'm not sure I see the point. Mind you, I treat religion and the gods differently in most of my RPG campaigns, so perhaps this approach was always going to be a hard sell for me. If you liked this article/approach, I'd love to know more about why and what, if anything, you did with it in your campaigns.
Monday, February 23, 2026
Chamber of Chills
I mentioned in my earlier post today that there was a Marvel comics adaptation of "The Thing on the Roof" in issue #3 of Chamber of Chills (March 1973), scripted by Roy Thomas (of Conan the Barbarian and The Savage Sword of Conan fame, among many others) and drawn by Frank Brunner. Here's the cover – and, no, nothing like this happens in either the story or the adaptation.
The adaptation is broadly faithful to Howard's story, though it eliminates the first part of it, where Tussmann comes to the narrator (here given the name of Mr Erwin rather than being unnamed) and asks his help in procuring a copy of the 1839 edition of Nameless Cults, instead launching straight into the narrator's visit to Tussmann's Sussex manor. It's also a bit more melodramatic, adding little flourishes here and there that I assume were intended to heighten the tension and horror of the tale.
Likewise, the comic ends with an actual revelation of the creature that is responsible for Tussmann's demise, something Howard intentionally leaves vague:
I can certainly see why Thomas and Brunner decided to depict the unseen Thing on the Roof, but, as is so often the case, I'm not sure it could ever have done justice to anyone's imagination of what the creature looked like. In any case, I'm nonetheless pleased to draw your attention to another comic book adaptation of a pulp writer. I think the role comics, especially Marvel comics, played in introducing a new generation to the works writers from decades before. Come to think of it, that'd a worthy topic for a post all its own ...
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