Now here is one Sabbath song that I can honestly say I hate. I get it: Ozzy wants to show off his emotions, and the rest of the guys want a song that can forever be played at a heavy metal funeral. And so we get “Changes.”

Know what doesn’t change, at least to the eyes of us mortals who aren’t some long-lived race like, well, all the other races except half-orcs: the Underdark. No wind to cause erosion. No water other than what slowly seeps in from the surface or has already collected in pools or giant underground oceans. No snow and freezing to make cracks grow into bigger cracks and then even bigger cracks that eventually cause the whole whatever is cracking to fall to the ground. No real threat of fire since it is hard to burn stone. Nope, all the Underdarkers need to fear is the occasional massive earthquake that kills entire villages or ends one of the two caravan routes into and out of a duergar enclave where they have the only supply of splint mail armor in a six hex vicinity. I know that is a change, but that is the not the kind of change that Ozzy is subjecting us to.

A pummeling riff to start off this song.

I can’t think of too many parties that would have much of a problem with the myconid, the fungus men of the Underdark. Monster Manual 2 paints a dark picture of relationships between myconids and humanoids, citing population pressure as the central cause of inevitable conflict. Far be it from me to criticize the MM2, but my dealings with the fungus people have always been cordial.

What is not to like? I guess chaotic types can be against their regimented lifestyles of eight hours work, eight hours rest, and eight hours melding, but when 1/3 of existence is spend in a communal hallucination, even the most avid chaotic neutral barbarian has to respect that. Lawful types might complain about the myconid’s single-minded interest in melding, but when the entire social system is organized around the ability to meld, not taking the spores would be the ultimate unlawful act. Evil characters might want to turn our myconid friends into potions or mushroom soup, but the myconids are no pushovers, and if there is one thing I know about evil characters, it is that they are looking for easy marks. The neutrals should love these guys, and good characters, well, we all know what good characters are after. The myconids can zap them with a rapport spore, tell the paladin or cleric all about life in the Underdark, and everyone can go on his/her/its merry way, hopefully with El’rre the Palaldin still merrily tripping on the residual effects of the fungus among us.

Image source

It will surprise no one listening to this opening eight minute song to learn that Vol 4 is Sabbath’s cocaine album. I have no direct problem with Bolivian marching powder, but it sure does lead to some crappy records.

The minotaur doesn’t get much credit for being an Underdark menace. Perverse Osmosis wrote a 30 room dungeon, and we didn’t even include one, and we are nothing if not obscure. It is not as alien as the cave fisher or the carrion crawler. It is too powerful to be adventurer fodder, unlike goblins or kobolds. It isn’t sexy like a drow. It won’t immediately slaughter a party like a group of mind flayers or an aboleth. Nope, the minotaur rests in that liminal space, along with ogres and a singular troll, too powerful for a beginning party, too weak for an experienced one.

No wonder they sit around in their labyrinths, sharpening their axes and waiting for the party that never comes. Perhaps that explains why they are only surprised on a 1; they are listening for footsteps, not to determine attackers, but to determine friends. It is not their fault that the traditional minotaur form of greeting is a gore.

Image source

Another song that launched a thousand bands. Sometime between 1999-2001, when I was living in New Orleans, I saw a band called Toast that covered this song. The lead singer had to read the words from a notecard, and the drummer was a little person who played a kids’ kit.

The first time an adventurer heads into the Underdark, it can be a little like heading into the void. The first trembling steps down the incline, or, even worse, being lowered on a rope by some local hirelings of questionable loyalty [that is to be expected for the three silver pieces that the party could scrounge up], are terrifying. The sun fading away, then even the ambient gloom turning black as cautious feet look for ground.

There is also that moment when everyone feels around in their pockets, unsure if they really remembered the flint and tinder. Many a Jilkor the Savage or Throndor Oakencross briefly rued going out on the town the night before the adventure, blaming their potential forgetting of a light source on one or ten too many cups of hard ale. But, unless Jilkor or Throndor has an INT score of six or less, the chances are pretty good they wouldn’t forget the two things that make light, no matter how late they stayed up.

The anti-nuke song from Master of Reality.

There aren’t many more unnerving sights that an adventurer may face than a child ghoul. One of the reasons is their relative rarity. Unlike their vampire friends, who often create [I guess sire is the in term now] child vampires out of some perverse glee, there aren’t many child ghouls. Maybe children’s bodies are too fragile or are the ones most likely to be eaten before ghoulification happens. Another reason: child ghouls are hard to spot, so when they do attack, it usually comes as a complete surprise. One segment the party is marching through a crypt, and the next moment, from behind a couple of overturned headstones come three or four ghouls that make a halfling look like a hill giant. The major reason: undead children of any type are creepy; I don’t care if they are ghoul or ghast or even lich. They should be playing a game of kick the rock or pin the tail on the basilisk. They should not be trying desperately to eat me.

Image source