Showing posts with label bestiary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bestiary. Show all posts

Monday, May 1, 2017

Monster Monday: Caladrius, the Healing Bird

NOTE: d20 Despot is on vacation!  While I'm off on my own adventure, please enjoy some magical birds!  This week we have the Caladrius, a healing bird from European myth.  Next week we will have the hexcrow, a witchy corvid.

Today's Monster Monday is the caladrius, a pure white bird with the power to heal the sick.  The caladrius makes an excellent Improved Familiar for a benevolent spellcaster, but it is also highly sought-after by the unscrupulous and the desperate.  The caladrius does not just heal sickness - it takes another's sickness on itself.  For this reason, the caladrius will not usually heal those with a fatal illness, for the caladrius itself would die.

The caladrius is first mentioned by the Roman author Plutarch, who said:
we know how often those who suffer from jaundice are healed by looking at the bird charadrius. This small animal seems to be endowed with such a nature and character, that it violently attracts to itself the disease, which slips out of the body of the sick man into its own, and draws off from his eyes as it were a stream of moisture. And this is the reason why the charadrius cannot endure to look at jaundiced persons nor help them at all, but turns itself away with closed eyes; not because it grudges the use of the remedy which is sought from it, as some consider, but because it might be wounded as by a blow.
The magical bird remained a popular inclusion in medieval bestiaries, where it was used as a Christ analogue (medieval bestiaries tended to view any animal as a metaphor for either Satan or Jesus, except the bonnacon).  According to the Aberdeen Bestiary:
The bird called caladrius, as Physiologus tells us, is white all over; it has no black parts. Its excrement cures cataract in the eyes. It is to be found in royal residences. If anyone is sick, he will learn from the caladrius if he is to live or die. If, therefore, a man's illness is fatal, the caladrius will turn its head away from the sick man as soon as it sees him, and everyone knows that the man is going to die. But if the man's sickness is one from which he will recover, the bird looks him in the face and takes the entire illness upon itself; it flies up into the air, towards the sun, burns off the sickness and scatters it, and the sick man is cured. 
Other bestiaries say that the caladrius' bone marrow, not its poop, cures blindness.  I decided to go with that one.

Caladrius - Bestiary, Royal MS 12 C XIX; 1200-1210, via Wikimedia
The following text in gold is available as Open Game Content under the OGL. Open Game Content is ©2017 Jonah Bomgaars.

Monday, January 23, 2017

Monster Monday: Bonnacon, the Medieval Bullshit Beast

Today's Monster Monday is the bonnacon, a strange bull-like creature often found in medieval bestiaries.  Unlike a normal bull, the bonnacon's horns are largely useless, curving inwards toward its own head.  It defends itself instead by spraying burning poop at its attackers.  As you might imagine, the bonnacon usually had the funniest picture in the bestiary.

Kongelige Bibliotek, Gl. kgl. S. 1633 4ยบ, Folio 10r, via Wikimedia
Those expressions are priceless.
The earliest recorded reference to the bonnacon (also known as the bonasus) comes from Pliny the Elder's Naturalis Historia:
There are reports of a wild animal in Paeonia called the bonasus, which has the mane of a horse, but in all other respects resembles a bull; its horns are curved back in such a manner as to be of no use for fighting, and it is said that because of this it saves itself by running away, meanwhile emitting a trail of dung that sometimes covers a distance of as much as three furlongs, contact with which scorches pursuers like a sort of fire.
Although such an animal clearly doesn't exist, that doesn't mean Pliny made it up.  Pliny's work was an encyclopedic compilation of information on animals, plants, rocks, astronomy, medicine, and magic, begun in 77 AD and nearly finished by the time Pliny died in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD.  He claims to have consulted about 2,000 books, and lists over 400 sources for his information.  The bonnacon may have originated in a work that no longer survives, or belong to an earlier oral tradition.  It may have started life as a joke, a trick that Paeonians played on Romans in the same way that Australians warn tourists to watch out for drop bears, or it could have originated in an observation of a wild European bison with diarrhea, a tale which grew in the telling.  The European bison's hairy, ridged back and its inward-curving horns do lend themselves well to the description of the bonnacon, with its curved horns and horse mane.  It was not uncommon for garbled transmissions and exaggerations to lead to Roman authors recording the existence of fantastic beasts on the peripheries of Roman territory: Julius Caesar, in his account of the conquest of Gaul, describes knee-less elk that sleep upright leaning against a tree, and a deer with an single horn that sprouts into five points.

Medieval bestiaries were collections of animal illustrations combined with descriptions of the beasts and their behavior and lessons that Christians could draw from these animals.  They derived much of their description from the Physiologus, a similar work of late antiquity, but they incorporated elements of other works as well.  The bonnacon made the transition from the Naturalis Historia to the bestiaries, but the monks seem not to have made the attempt to bring a spiritual reading to the description of the beast and its flaming poop.  Its popularity may have been grounded in scatological humor rather than theological study.  The Aberdeen Bestiary, created around 1200 AD, describes it thus:
In Asia an animal is found which men call bonnacon. It has the head of a bull, and thereafter its whole body is of the size of a bull's with the maned neck of a horse. Its horns are convoluted, curling back on themselves in such a way that if anyone comes up against it, he is not harmed. But the protection which its forehead denies this monster is furnished by its bowels. For when it turns to flee, it discharges fumes from the excrement of its belly over a distance of three acres, the heat of which sets fire to anything it touches. In this way, it drives off its pursuers with its harmful excrement.
The description is much the same as Pliny's, but its location has shifted from Paeonia (roughly modern day Macedonia) to the more mysterious and less known Asia.  Illustrations of the bonnacon often feature armored hunters protecting themselves from its flaming poop with large shields, usually while looking suitably grossed-out.

Oddly, the bonnacon found its way into Jacobus de Voragine's The Golden Legend, a 13th century collection of fantastic and inspiring tales about the lives of saints.  In the story of Saint Martha, the saint tames a ferocious beast called the tarasque, which is described as "a great dragon, half beast and half fish, greater than an ox, longer than an horse, having teeth sharp as a sword, and horned on either side, head like a lion, tail like a serpent, and defended him with two wings on either side, and could not be beaten with cast of stones ne with other armour, and was as strong as twelve lions or bears."  We dungeon delvers are more familiar with the classic D&D tarrasque (with two 'r's), a nigh-unstoppable Godzilla-like monster that has served as the final boss of many a campaign.  In The Golden Legend, the tarasque is said to be the offspring of the biblical Leviathan and, oddly enough, the pooptastic bonnacon (here rendered 'bonacho').

My bonnacon is below.  After the stat block, I will talk about my decision making process in statting the beast up.

The following text in gold is available as Open Game Content under the OGL. Open Game Content is ©2016 Jonah Bomgaars.

Monday, November 23, 2015

Review: Pathfinder Bestiary 5


Bestiary 5 for the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game is out now!  But should you buy it?  As a general rule of thumb for Pathfinder Bestiaries or D&D Monster Manuals, the higher the number in the title, the less useful it is.  This is something I learned before I ever started playing D&D.  When I went over to my friend Marc's house in junior high school, I would flip through his monster manuals and marvel at the strange collection of beasts therein.  I soon realized that, while there were some pretty weird creatures throughout all the books, it was the higher-numbered ones that were more likely to contain cheesy, dumb, or downright bizarre monsters destined never to be included in a random monster table or emblazoned on some knight's shield.  It was Monster Manual IV, after all, that famously gave us the ice-skating dragon.

© WOTC
Not that there is anything inherently wrong with weird monsters; beholders and rust monsters are pretty darn weird, but they are also iconic, interesting, and truly threatening monsters that are easy for GMs and players alike to grasp.  A monster can get away with being weird if it has been around for a long time, or if its underlying concept is really engaging.  I knew Bestiary 5 was in trouble when I opened to a random page and saw this:

© Paizo
That's a dwiergeth, and its name is just as much of a random jumble of consonants and vowels as its body is a random jumble of monster parts.  But Bestiary 5 isn't all dwiergeths and aatheriexas, it is also packed with beasts from Greek, Egyptian, Mapuche, Inuit, and Slavic mythology (and many more), plus crazy sci-fi creatures and and odd occult horrors.  As I read on, I knew I had to create a metric that I could use to review each monster individually and compile them to get a sense of how useful the bestiary was overall.  The results are below.