Friday, March 28, 2014

4 Labors

It's reasonable to assume you've seen this by now:



I first saw this, I was excited.

I could care less about half the cast, I have some choice words for Brett Ratner and, in all actuality, this movie was destined to be little more than a steaming sack of crap, equivalent to say, the 2011 Conan. That said, the sight of a muscle-clad hero wading through a Hydra-infested swamp, skinning an enormous lion, thwacking a snowbound boar with a massive club, is something the Greco-Roman geek in me has been waiting to see since this May 1997 issue of Boy's Life magazine.

With the slew of bizarre, inexplicable, weird-ass movies "based" on Greek Mythology gracing our screens lately, it's puzzling why these films are so eager to ditch the myth and construct, ostensibly, elaborate fanfics instead. It's not that I expect these films to be anywhere approaching faithful – in point of fact, that's pretty much impossible anyway, considering how all over the place those myths were to begin with – but, nine times out of ten, the actual, original myth is that much cooler and more cinematic than whatever tepid actioner bullshit their bevy of unrelated screenwriters have dredged up.

Thusly, seeing actual depictions of Heracles myths in the Rock trailer, I was actually pretty stoked! Finally, someone took the myth to heart!

Unfortunately, this ain't that movie.


Evidently, it's based on a Steven Moore graphic novel series. Which is all fine and dandy, I suppose. One assumes that the Labors presumably feature into the opening sequence or flashbacks or some shit. (Plus, the absolutely insane decision to cast The Rock as Hercules, Zeus and fucking Achilles, of all people? Flashbacks? To what?)

I was so disappointed to learn this that, in a huff, I outlined, to the very patient missus, how you'd structure a Heracles franchise actually based on the original myth, his best myth – the 12 Labors.

A few stipulations before we begin.
  • First and foremost, I'm going to deviate from the myth probably a substantial amount, but only in superficial ways. At the core of the story, this will be Heracles and his 12 Labors. All 12 Labors will be present, all the major players will be there and all I'll be doing is possibly Hollywoodifying a little of the narrative, to help sell the idea.
  • Secondly, I'm not making promises for artistic quality. I'm not attempting to craft a masterpiece here. What I'm doing, instead, is attempting to show the feasibility of the actual myth. The 12 Labors pretty much contain (or easily could contain) everything you'd need to make a successful and compelling fantasy franchise. (I have a similar theory about Conan, but that I'll save for an HBO pitch.)
With that, let's crack on.

The first is what I assume will be a franchise of three films, the Heracles Trilogy, is entitled Heracles: 4 Labors.

The film opens with our muscular hero, Heracles, visiting the Oracle of Delphi. Recognizing him as the son of Zeus, the Oracle asks what he's come to see her for. Heracles confesses that he's committed a great evil and that he needs purification. The Oracle tells him to travel to Tiryns (or Thebes, who gives a fuck?) and perform ten great Labors for its people and, specifically, for his cousin, the King. Gratefully, Heracles accepts this judgment and ventures to Tiryns.

As he's departing, we see the Oracle change shape into a beautiful, sinister looking woman – Hera.

Opening titles.

Arriving in Tiryns, Heracles finds a city in great distress. Famine, crime and corruption have all struck the city. Rumors of a war with the Amazons of Themiscrya abound in the streets. When he arrives at the King's acropolis, he's greeted by his cousin, King Eurystheus and his wife, Queen Antimache. Eurystheus, a weak and ineffectual King incapable of ruling his people effectively, is instantly jealous of Heracles and his valor. The moment he hears that he's been sent by the Oracle to perform Labors, he's secretly pleased and promises to devise suitable methods Heracles can aid the city.

Before he departs, Heracles shares a moment with Antimache, possibly even just a look of mutual attraction.

That night, Eurystheus is visited by the goddess Hera, who convinces him to send Heracles to defeat horrible monsters, into great dangers that will surely claim his life. Initially reluctant, Hera manages to ensnare the King with her charms and he complies. Heracles' first task is to slay the Nemean Lion, a blight on the hinterlands of his kingdom, near a small town called Cleonae.

Venturing to Cleonae, Heracles meets a young child, a boy named Iolaus (mythology nerds, I just BLEW your mind). Iolaus informs Heracles that the lion's been plaguing their village, so much so that, should the town's hunters fail to kill in the lion in three days, the boy himself will be sacrificed to appease it. Climbing into the hills, Heracles tracks the lion and unsuccessfully attempts to kill it with arrows, which break off on the creature's hide. Tracking the beast to its lair, he manages to strangle the creature to death with a large wooden club, which he keeps as a weapon, in addition to the lion's pelt.

When he returns to the village, the townsfolk are overjoyed, calling him a great hero. Iolaus, in particular, idolizes him and even follows the demigod back to Tiryns as his kid sidekick. (You'll fucking see, people!)

Returning to Tiryns, King Eurystheus, furious his plan didn't work, immediately sends Heracles off on another Labor – capture the Erymanthian Boar alive. Heracles commands Iolaus to stay behind, much to the boy's chagrin. (Perhaps leaving him in Antimache's care?)

Arriving at Mount Erymanthos, Heracles meets Chiron, the wise centaur teacher, and rescues him from a band of his drunken centaur relatives, though Chiron is wounded in the battle. Already a paternal bond growing between them, Chiron informs Heracles about the boar's location and gives him sage advise on how best to take the creature down. Chiron's explanation is intercut with Heracles following these instructions and taking the boar down – driving the creature through thick snow – perfectly.

As he does this, however, a distant, ethereal female shape watches from afar. Hera? We'll find out.

Returning to Tiryns with both Chiron and the live boar in tow, King Eurystheus is nearly attacked by the live beast and Heracles saves his life in front of the whole court, earning him more favor and still more affection from his wife, Queen Antimache. Heracles, ever merciful, releases the boar, who tromps back to its Mountain home. Ever more furious, King Eurystheus storms off, heading into his palace to devise new labors.

While Heracles trains with Chiron [WHO IS TOTALLY A CENTAUR AND NOT A GODDAMN SATYR YOU FUCKS], King Eurystheus schemes with Hera about the next Labor. He wishes to send him on some humiliating errand, something that won't bring Heracles renown. Hera dissuades him of this thought, implying she has a plan. She orders him to send Heracles after the Golden Hind, the fastest deer in the world. He resists and Hera uses her womanly charms to convince him. Queen Antimache walks in at an indelicate moment, is scandalized and pushed even closer to Heracles.

Send after the Golden Hind, Heracles, now coached by Chiron, departs. He chases the deer for a year, up and down the world, until it finally tires and he catches the beast. The moment he does, however, he's confronted by the shadowy figure from before, who's revealed to be the goddess Artemis, who watches over all the animals of the world and the Golden Hind is her especially favorite deer. They have a tense conversation, wherein Hercules explains that he's only performing these tasks on behalf of King Eurystheus. Artemis warns him that something else is afoot, that all is not right on Olympus and that he may be being manipulated. 

Together, they hatch a plan to free the Golden Hind from King Eurystheus' menagerie, where the animal was doomed to head. Once again, the King is infuriated by this and Hera summons an especial Labor for him this time – the Lernaean Hydra, a monster from the ancient world. Before he departs, Heracles has a scene with Queen Antimache, where he reveals what he's done – in a drunken madness, he slew his wife, Megara and his young son. With blood on his hands, he went to the Oracle of Delphi to seek retribution.

Trekking off into the swamp, he brings a sword and a sickle, thinking to cut off the creature's head and return it to the King. When this proves unsuccessful, he retreats and ponders a new strategy. Iolaus, having followed Heracles, arrives, learning the truth of the Hydra from Chiron – only fire can be used to burn the creature's stumps and prevent the heads from growing back. Working together, they nearly manage to defeat the creature before a giant crab – YUP – summoned by a fuming Hera surfaces and slays the valiant Iolaus. Now guilty of leading two young men to their deaths, Heracles leaps into the fray and slays both hydra and crab with panache.

He probably returns to Tiryns and has a denouement and all that. Maybe he just screams in the swamp while Hera cackles with delight. Kinda dark, I guess.

The point is, all of this information I got from an afternoon on Wikipedia. In total, I made very superficial changes. About four times, I had an idea of how to mold the story in a more acceptable narrative direction, only to find, in some versions of the myth, it was already like that. Trust me – not that hard, Hollywood.

Next Friday: Heracles: 8 Labors!

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

More Pirates! Avast!


The World So Far: The world is flat. On one side of disc is the exhaustively explored and urbanized home of humans, where cities, countries and nations vie for too little land to support their expanding populations. On the other side of the disc is an uncharted and largely oceanic world, dotted by islands and coastlines, full of strange wonder, abundant resources and tropical beauty.

An incoming force of humans, from a number of distinctly 15th century-feeling cultures, have sailed over the edge of their world and come to colonize the world below. Some have come to seek asylum, refuge or more converts to their maligned faith. Some have been exiled over, punished for crimes committed in the world above. Still, others come over to set down stakes in a new world, to exploit the natural resources and expand their conquest.

The new world's inhabitants, however, are four powerful undersea kingdoms, full of dynastic struggle, ancient tradition and military might. With cultures far older and far more intricate than those of the human colonists, the undersea kingdoms are as unprepared for this sudden clash of cultures as the unawares humans are.

First conclusion about the Brethren that seems foregone that didn't occur to me last week: it's specifically the religion of the Exodus that executes their criminals by sending them over the edge of the world. In my brain, initially, I'd imagined that it was simply the standardized execution method for the Overworld, right, possibly favored by one or both of the Nations? On further reflection, it's much more interesting to have been a means to execute, say, blasphemers, iconoclasts or, frankly, anyone who violated whatever the Exodus holds dear.

Especially when those same people who exiled them start coming over the edge of the world on their own.

(Note: This does raise some interesting theology about the Exodus, what they believe in, how their religion has changed over the years, etc., which will get into on their spotlight.)

That out of the way, today, we're talking about the Brethren's culture. We talked history last week, time to talk culture this week.

First things first, we can probably safely assume that, during the castaway period, there was little unified culture amongst the "Brethren", who certainly hadn't adopted that name until much later.  No, what we're talking about today is the Brethren proper – the culture that arose following the emergence of both Nations to the Underworld and how, precisely, a "pirateocracy" would take shape.

It's conceivable that they'd refuse any centralized leadership, particularly since they'd have the least established infrastructure on this side of the world. I don't imagine a Pirate King or anything like that. They seem scrappier, less likely to kowtow to authority or rules or any such.

With a name like the Brethren, it makes me think they value equality above anything else. In their eyes, any man cast over the side was their brother – any outlaw, any reject or criminal – could find fellowship among the Brethren. I like that – kinda a reverse Night's Watch. Rather than being sent off to take the black, people here could conceivably run away and join the Brethren, who would accept anyone, no matter what their crime, as long as they foreswore their previous life.

(Likely wouldn't take too long for the Nations to start hanging as opposed to exiling their criminals.)

The idea of forsaking their old lives, even their identity, is kinda interesting. Could be a handy way to achieve the classic criminal nickname I love so much – when you join the Brethren, you're rebranded, your old life is abandoned. Maybe even all your earthly attachments are severed – your marriage, your children, your parents – are all forsaken. Joining the Brethren is effectively a death sentence for the person you used to be. You'd be expected to take a Brethren spouse, raise Brethren children.

I mean, if you wanted. That seems key too – they're all about freedom. There's no faster way to inequality than rules, restrictions and who they apply to. GRRM's wildlings seem a good parallel – fiercely independent, almost impossible to control, with equality and chaos being their primary virtues. Unlike the wildlings, however, I imagine they're somewhat more idealistic, even for a robber culture – once you join the Brethren, you uphold the Brethren values, the Brethren way or life or you're dealt with. Whatever that might mean to them.

A democracy, possibly the only one on the Underworld, would make historical sense. A true democracy, however, with all its logistical nightmare, is kinda more interesting than the republic we have. I could see a massive Congress or something, right, where every single Brethren is granted a vote. It could takes weeks and be a huge hassle, involving all the Brethren ships who can be bothered to attend to attend, before they can agree on anything.

(Side Point: This is sorta beside the point, but I like the idea that assiduous records are kept as to who attended and who didn't. Anyone who didn't vote or wasn't present is considered, in the rare event of a legal matter, exempt. I love taking their fierce independence to absurd extremes.)

They would seem to be very autonomous, then, sailing around in their own ships and maybe small fleets, occasionally convening in trading towns where they could sell their pirated goods. There are probably Brethren friendly ports and hidden Brethren fortresses, but I don't imagine they elect leaders to those places – they're just occupied and ruled by whomever is currently present. Brethren goods being a taboo but essential part of the Underworld economy seems interesting to me – I could see the Nations putting a moratorium on any independent citizen caught with Brethren goods, but both accepting weapons and goods sold to them by Brethren who stole them from their enemy.

Every once in a great while, I could see the Brethen summoning a great moot, or thing, or whichever term you'd like to use, where every single Brethren ship is summoned to a certain port and a massive matter is voted on. I would also imagine that every decision on a Brethren ship would be carried out democratically as well. I suppose they'd need a captain. Hm.

The classic "mutiny is acceptable if the public will turns against the captain" is probably fine. I like the idea of mutiny taking the opposite position than it does in Bad Space – it's considered the sacred duty of the crew to throw overboard any captain who becomes too tyrannical. I imagine it's a pretty common occurrence. Serving as a Brethren captain would appear to be unhappy, short experience.

(It occurs to me, I may need a role in Brethren society for the tiebreaker. That seems like a position of incredible power.)

They need some physical traits, some identifying colors and sigils. Maybe let's stick with colors for now, since those are pretty simple? Though I reserve the right to reform the shit out of this, but I think I'm gonna go with the Dead Rabbits/Vox Populi revolutionary red for the Brethren. Which, you know, seems like a pretty good pitch to hit. (Imagine pirate sails painted that way.) Maybe red is a sacrilegious color to the Exodus? That I will ponder.

Next Wednesday on Worldblogger: Power to the People!

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Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Pirates! Yarr!


The World So Far: The world is flat. On one side of disc is the exhaustively explored and urbanized home of humans, where cities, countries and nations vie for too little land to support their expanding populations. On the other side of the disc is an uncharted and largely oceanic world, dotted by islands and coastlines, full of strange wonder, abundant resources and tropical beauty.

An incoming force of humans, from a number of distinctly 15th century-feeling cultures, have sailed over the edge of their world and come to colonize the world below. Some have come to seek asylum, refuge or more converts to their maligned faith. Some have been exiled over, punished for crimes committed in the world above. Still, others come over to set down stakes in a new world, to exploit the natural resources and expand their conquest.

The new world's inhabitants, however, are four powerful undersea kingdoms, full of dynastic struggle, ancient tradition and military might. With cultures far older and far more intricate than those of the human colonists, the undersea kingdoms are as unprepared for this sudden clash of cultures as the unawares humans are.

You know what's a cool, evocative name for a culture of pirates? The Brethren.

Obvious historical call back aside, what I like about the Brethren for Colonist Culture A (our exiled and presumed executed criminals) is that it suggests unity, unity so close it requires a familial term to properly define. Rather than these criminals being fractious and prone to in-fighting, I vastly prefer the idea that there's something about dropping off the edge of your world and onto the edge of another that would smelt rabble into a unified culture.

So, let's call them the Brethren.

Now, despite being criminals, I don't imagine the Brethren began initially as pirates. With no other ships to pirate and, in such small numbers originally, precious little contact with the People, I imagine they began merely as survivalists, attempting to eke out a meager existence in this harsh and inhospitable land they suddenly discovered themselves in, a land they likely assumed was the underworld for many, many years.

(Note: Underworld is a surprisingly fitting name. At least for the Colonists. It is, from their perspective, under their world.)

I suppose we should probably determine a few things about the manner of their "execution." While I think, after wars or other political turmoil that would generate high levels or prisoners, they were maybe pitched over in massive funeral barges, I think the majority of the prisoners that were sentenced to "dropping off" were sent over the edge in a barrel, Niagara Falls style. Sending entire ships to their destruction is expensive and more symbolic. Tossing a barrel and its intestine asshole over the edge wouldn't cost any more than a coffin would to us.

A little research into Niagara Falls suggests, of course, that most of the people sent over this way would die a horrible death. Well, on further research, more like half. Assuming the distance is much higher, let's say one third. Approximately one third of the people pitched off the edge of the world survived, most with injuries. Many of these individuals probably ended up marooned on islands, became madmen or, more likely, food for the local animal populace. Whenever a barge would go over, however, its conceivable that its surviving crew would band together, attempt to make a civilization.

This, I imagine, is how the Brethren were initially formed. An island civilization, possibly with limited ship travel capability. They most likely would have staked out territory on islands and continents in the First Sea exclusively, not daring to venture much further into this unknown hellscape. Maybe they, lacking the skills, equipment or wherewithal to obtain resources more entrenched than say, wood, hide and leather, would've constructed fortresses and strongholds from the wreckages of their ships? Whatever they could cobble together.

It's conceivable they might have encountered Kingdom A somewhat, but I imagine with all their august might, the miltaristic Kingdom A would never have considered these bizarre bipedal landwalkers as any true threat, anymore than we would if dolphins suddenly declared themselves a sovereign nation.

They existed this way, one assume, for some time – isolated, clinging to survival, barely enough food, weapons and supplies to stay afloat. A civilization of castaways.

When the other Colonists arrived, however, it became a substantially different story.

It seems to read to me that the pilgrim/zealot/missionaries (right, I called them the Exodus) would've been the next Colonist Culture over the edge, especially if they were fleeing religious persecution. I think, at the first sight of another ship on these strange seas, a ship flying a flag the Brethren would recognize, things would change substantially. As more and more people began coming over by choice, the Brethren, I imagine, react hungrily, eager for the supplies and goods these new Colonists bring with.

It doesn't take long, then, for them to make the transition to pirates; preying on the Exodus, stealing their goods, very much becoming the devils the Exodus might have expected in the underworld. For a while, I imagine they're living large on these spoils. (Note: The Exodus maybe make alliances with Kingdom D to protect themselves from the Brethren's predations.) It's not until the other two groups – Colonist Culture C and D arrive that the Brethren are faced with their true and hated enemy.

For the sake of simplicity and logistics, let's assume that the exiles, criminals and prisoners who would've been sentenced to death over the edge came from either Colonist Culture C or Colonist Culture D originally – both civilizations commanding position near the Edge. This automatically ingrains a certain predisposed hatred towards the sudden and august arrival of either Culture into the Underworld, plus offers weapons, goods and materials of much, much higher quality than even the Exodus can give them.

Maybe this, actually, is where the Brethren takes shape. They need to ally in order to defeat these tougher opponents. They begin to unite their forces, they begin to fly flags, declare captains and kings and more or less organize themselves into a scattered and floating nation of marauders and raiders, commandeering ships, cannons and converting crews to their cause. 

Motivated by revenge and a need for survival, lacking any means to replenish these supplies save by pillage and now trapped in an endless war of resources with both Cultures, their existence is tenuous but insidious, always threatening to collapse utterly under their foes impressive military might, but proving damnably hard to extinguish completely.

This seems a solid springboard (or should I say, plank) from which to start with the Brethren. Next time, let's delve a little more into culture, social structure and the like.

Next Wednesday on Worldblogger: More Pirates! Avast!

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Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Undersea Races (Part Deux)


The World So Far: The world is flat. On one side of disc is the exhaustively explored and urbanized home of humans, where cities, countries and nations vie for too little land to support their expanding populations. On the other side of the disc is an uncharted and largely oceanic world, dotted by islands and coastlines, full of strange wonder, abundant resources and tropical beauty.

An incoming force of humans, from a number of distinctly 15th century-feeling cultures, have sailed over the edge of their world and come to colonize the world below. Some have come to seek asylum, refuge or more converts to their maligned faith. Some have been exiled over, punished for crimes committed in the world above. Still, others come over to set down stakes in a new world, to exploit the natural resources and expand their conquest.

The new world's inhabitants, however, are four powerful undersea kingdoms, full of dynastic struggle, ancient tradition and military might. With cultures far older and far more intricate than those of the human colonists, the undersea kingdoms are as unprepared for this sudden clash of cultures as the unawares humans are.

Super late blog post wheeeeeeee.

Last week, we discussed a few traits of the People, the dwellers of our New World's undersea kingdoms. We settled on them being disproportionate to humans (comparable to Barsoom's Tharks) and we settled on their having the fantastic biological ability to spread bioluminescent bacteria wherever they touch, allowing them to create handy illumination for their dark, undersea homes.

These week, we'll illuminate a few more bizarre and inhuman traits for these undersea dwellers.

[INSERT 80'S CARTOON-STYLE OPENING CREDITS HERE]

The first major hurdle I thought deserved attention was, of course, the matter of swimming. As an undersea race, our People will need some method of navigating their aquatic kingdoms. The traditional methods include mermaid tails, fins and flippers and these are all viable, if somewhat uninspired, options. Slightly less obvious options would be the octopus Ursula model or even Mieville's cray, both of which are interesting, but essentially just weirder deviations from the core model. Hm.

Since the ecosystem of my underside ocean is hopefully going to deviate as far as possible from the actual ecosystem of our actual oceans – with its own food chain, organisms and biodiversity – it strikes me that simply slapping the nethers of an established species of fish onto my undersea People would maybe be disingenuous? I mean, sure, I'd be hard pressed to create a believable marine ecosystems without drawing to the fin/flipper/tentacle well over and over again, but I think, with something as fundamental as the only sentient species below the waves, I'd wanna find a more creative solution.

In thinking about it, it honestly doesn't make sense to me that a People who dwell on the bottom of the ocean would actually be able to swim to its surface via their own anatomy and physiology. I mean, using life on land as an analog, that would effectively presume that humans, the baseline race of most settings, can fly into space. No, the more I think about this, the more I start to appreciate that maybe the People simply live their entire lives on the bottom of the ocean and don't have anything necessarily built into their bodies to allow swimming.

That said, I will need the Colonists and the Kingdoms to interact. Maybe that's one of the mysterious technologies of the People? Whether some manner of craft or personal transport, it's a technological development, rather than a biological one, that allows them to reach the surface.

I like that. That's in.

This leads me to think about what life must be like for a civilization at the bottom of the ocean, about how durable and practically fucking immortal they'd need to be to withstand the intense pressure. Immortal makes me think of life cycles, which makes me think of reproduction. Are they mammals? Fish? Birds?

My first instinct is none of the above; what if their life cycle is one of the most bizarre things about them? Imagine a technical immortality. Imagine if, rather than aging, becoming more decrepit and eventually dying, if they – phoenix-like – were simply born again? I like the idea of them repeating these cycle, ad infinitum, over and over again for millenia. Effectively re-incarnation, the successive newer versions could vary completely in physicality, gender, personality. they probably wouldn't even remember their previous lives.

I think they maybe hatch from eggs, right, some simply genetic base block. The People are born like normal fish, birds or reptiles – they hatch from eggs that're presumably cared for by their society. Over time, they grow, mature, learn and eventually reach full adulthood at some point in their life, standing nearly 10 feet tall and all that. Then, they enter the third and final stage of their lives, where they shrink and shrink – they don't wither or wrinkle like humans – but they become smaller, more compact, less physically able than they once were. I like the idea they keep their mental faculties, though, so they get wiser and more astute as they shrink. Eventually, at the end of their life, they, caterpillar-style, cast an new egg around themselves that serves as the old Person's coffin and the new Person's womb. In a certain amount of time, a new Person is born.

Maybe they have like, a tadpole-esque larval form? I think that might help separate out the three stages. 

What's interesting about this idea is that they theoretically don't need to reproduce. If none of them die of old age, there's no reason for mating. There was maybe some event in their history, with some grandiose name like The Spawning, in which all the tens of millions of eggs were laid and began to hatch. Since then, they've all been hatching a various times and, in theory, diminishing. I imagine they can still be killed, right, they aren't actually immortal – just functionally so.

I think that works. It's very weird, but I think it works. I'm curious to see what that kind of lifestyle might so, theoretically, to one's psychology and outlook.

Next week, a complete change of subject!

Next Wednesday on Worldblogger: Pirates! Yarr!

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