HE IS THE LAW!

 

JUDGE HAMMER!--CARNAGE COP

TRUST HIM--HE KNOWS WHAT HE'S DOING.

(By Mustafa Bekir of Neon Lords Of The Toxic Wasteland fame, based on my clumsy version below.)

"One Thing About Santa Clarita I Could Never Stomach: All The Damn Vampires"

Enjoy another new Dark Inheritance for Weird Frontiers.  This'un rounds out the various "main undeadlies" included in the core rules.  PDF is over in the files!

NEW DARK INHERITANCE – VAMPIRE

Power costs 1 point of Personality.

Kin-folk:  Vampire

Duration:  1d3+CL rounds

Visage:  The tommyknocker’s face becomes chiropteran, with ridiculously protruding ears, flattened upturned nose, and jutting snaggle-toothed fangs.  Their sunken eyes glow with unholy radiance, and fingers, connected by webbed skin, sharpen to elongated points.  Dripping spittle renders them nigh-unintelligible.  Attire becomes shrouded in cobwebs writhing with insects and graveworms.

Power:  The tommyknocker’s senses heighten to those of an apex predator.  They can see in abject darkness, and gain a +4 bonus to all visual-, auditory-, olfactory-, and gustatory-related rolls.  Furthermore, the tommyknocker gains a wall-crawling climb speed of 20’, and the ability to make standing leaps of 15’.

Curse:  The tommyknocker becomes malevolently ravenous for the lifeforces of the weak and infirm.  They must make a WIL Save of DC 10 each round to avoid assaulting the closest ally / friendliest NPC with the lowest current Hit Point total.  A successful attack grapples the victim, doing 1d6 biting damage the first round and 1d4 exsanguination damage each subsequent round until the effect ends.  Living targets reduced to 0 Hit Points in this fashion awaken as Vampires after three moonrises with a burning hatred for their tommyknocker sire.

"T" Is For "Trenchmouth"

 

Trenchmouths are sentient garbage disposals.  Their bulbous, rubbery, tripodic, sofa-sized bodies are essentially all snaggle-fanged mouth.

Trenchmouths sport three elongating (up to 15' each) tentacles, and the two thickest end in prehensile graspers with retractable grip-spines.   The slender third has two night-vision eyes and a "brainwave radar" nodule that detects (but can't read) thoughts of intelligent beings and psionics / mental mutations in a quarter-mile radius.  Trenchmouths are thereby impossible to Surprise.

When attacking at range, trenchmouths lash with both arms to smash, ensnare, or both.  Grasped targets suffer 1d6 damage upon initial contact and each round thereafter, and must make a DC 15 STR check to escape.  If a trenchmouth successfully snags the same target with both tentacles (during the same round, or eventually), its quarry is immediately retracted for a free bite attack.  Trenchmouths are otherwise only able to chomp adjacent targets.  Anyone bitten by a trenchmouth must make a DC 15 Fort Save or come down with ghastly gastro-intestinal strife (aka "trench-trots") that induces temporary 1d4 damage to STR, AGL, and STA, halved movement, and -4 to all rolls over 1d3 days.

Trenchmouths lair submerged in cesspits, sewers, landfills, junkyards, dumpsters, grease traps, and porta-johns.  Accordingly, they are immune to all toxins and diseases, and Surprise foes on 1-5 on 1d6.  And between their spongy mass and clinging "slimy trash coating", trenchmouths only suffer half damage from clubbing- and crushing-based attacks.

Trenchmouths speak Common, Trucker, Pervert, and the secret gurglings of ooze-dom.  Ambitious trenchmouths may take up adventuring, as they are surprisingly deft for their bulk and can manipulate most weapons, tools, and artifacts.

Trenchmouth (statted for Dungeon / Mutant Crawl Classics)

Init +3; Atk tentacle bludgeon +5 melee (1d10+2) or tentacle grasp +4 melee (entangle plus 1d6 per round) or bite melee +3 (2d8 + disease); AC 16; HD 8d8+17; MV trundle 20' or float 10'; Act 2d20; SP camouflage, constriction, disease, infravision 120', mind-sense; SV Fort +13, Ref +4, Wil +10; AL C

Be Fruitflyful And Mummify, Y'all!

I love DCC, and been enjoying the heck outta Weird Frontiers via Zoom.  (For the uninitiated, it's essentially Goodman Games' version of Deadlands.)

Here's a new Dark Inheritance for Tommyknockers, PCs who die during the funnel process and come back as spoooooky undead.

Hope y'all find some use!  (And the PDF version is over in the files.)

NEW DARK INHERITANCE – MUMMY

Power costs 1 point of Personality.

Kin-folk: Mummy

Duration: 1d3+CL rounds

Visage: The tommyknocker’s body desiccates. Their skin tightens and shrivels, and their height diminishes by six inches. Sinews pop and joints grind with every movement. Attire becomes weathered, tattered, and drab.

Power: The tommyknocker’s jaws distend to disgorge frenzied bugs (scorpions and centipedes if assuming the mien of an American mummy, or scarabs and locusts if Egyptian, or crawdads and dragonflies if bog variety) that swarm all targets within a 10’ long, 6’ wide-at-apex cone. For the duration, victims suffer 1d4+1 damage per round, and sentient opponents lose 1d2+1 AC [only at the onset; not cumulative] as they panic from the infestation. The tommyknocker’s compadres are ordinarily unaffected if caught in the area of effect.

Curse: The tommyknocker is overwhelmed by feelings of smug superiority and contempt for the lesser beings that dare intrude in its domain. They must make a WIL Save of DC 10 each round to keep the swarm focused on enemies; failure means bugs attack foes and friends alike.

Mutants In The News — "It's The Heat *AND* The Humidity" Edition

This was already proven over forty years ago by esteemed climatologist Max Rockatansky and his colleagues, Drs Nightrider and Toecutter.  Hrmph.

Yet again, the future is gonna be terrrrible.  Worth the read over at NPR.

The Guys Of Wrexus Are Upon You — Meet Jimmy Drips, Moist Miscreant!

 (cross-posted from here)

Everybody needs to know a guy who knows a guy... and Jimmy Drips is the best guy-knowin'-guy around.  Just ask 'im—he'll tell ya!

Ya need dope?  Wheels?  Girlies?  Hoodoo?

Fer enough wet wipes and beer, Jimmy Drips can make it happen, baby.  And ol' Jimmy doesn't mind gettin' his hands even dirtier for a pal like yerself, 'cuz Jimmy loves ya!

(But keep him away from your own stash and ride and gal and mojo, 'cause those dirty hands of his get pretty busy ...and NEVER let him cover the escape route.  That's a surefire way to find yourself, as they say in the vernacular, "wrexus'd".)

[In Don't Mess With Wrexus: The Movie, Jimmy Drips is portrayed by Steve Buscemi.]

What the hell kinda mutant is Jimmy, anyway?  He's a Rawhead. 

And Rawheads are survivors.

Some escaped midway through dinner with clans of chainsaw-cannibals.  Others peeled themselves up off the asphalt after the worst hot-rod wrecks imaginable.  A few even clawed their way free from Hell's sweltering Agony Engines.

But all left something behind amidst the trauma:  their skins.

Most Rawheads try to make the best of their supernatural transitions—despite the incessant oozing—and return to some semblance of *snort* normal.  But those of the more unhinged variety scheme to reclaim their former lives by any means necessary, and all they need is a facelift... or, more accurately, someone's face to lift in the most felonious of filleted fashions.

One more thing:  if you wanna die—and die ugly—call a Rawhead a goodbody to its face.  Slurs don't get much worse.

Mutants In The News — "Pythocalypse 2023" Edition

Dang.  Been ages since pythons have popped on my radar.  But, boy howdy, are they poppin'...

... as a world-record-sized snake was found not in its natural environs, but Florida.  Of course.

And downright insane for an invasive species.

The Guys Of Wrexus Are Upon You — Meet Chainsaw Sadie, Meat-Making Mechanical Madam!

(cross-posted from here)  

"Chainsaw" Sadie Kowalczyk

Despite lopped limbs and gnarly trauma, Sadie Kowalczyk final gal'd the hell out of that inbred cannibal family with their own terror-tools.  And per the KIATIS ("Kill It And Take Its Stuff") credo, she claimed their horrid homestead, transforming a backwoods Superfund-ian abattoir into one of Grueston's must-see locales.

Yep, all road trips require a visit to Chainsaw Sadie's Love Garage.

Stock up on BBQ and jerky--now, both 100% hitchhiker-free!!!--and liquid libations distilled in-house!

Treat yer vehicle to a wash, tune-up, and repairs by the bevy of comely mechanics!

Take advantage of the spa, oh weary sons-of-the-road, as all truckstop amenities--from showers to cots to massages to "ahem... massages" are tended by fetching companions of all shapes, sizes, and species!

The Love Garage prides itself on being a safe, secure place to indulge, and offers assorted specialty suites for the adventurous.  So if you have the time and the budget, check out the Lagoon Room, Tomb Room, Cocoon Room, Bloom Room, Broom Room, 'Shroom Room, Dune Room, Moon Room, and / or Goop Room for delights that'll blow yer gaskets!  Perfect for honeymoons!

Chainsaw Sadie--part saloon madam, part pitmisstress, part junkyard cyborg, and all woman--herself is a brazen, bawdy broad who tolerates zero nonsense.  She's ferocious and protective, and takes in all manner of orphans to mold 'em from survivors to thrive-ers.  Her employees adore her, so cross Sadie at yer own peril.

The lady's signature weapon (engraved with "The Family Is Sawed" below a scored-out "The Saw Is Family") hangs above the main bar.  Rumor is it's fully gassed and ready to dice at a moment's notice.

Chainsaw Sadie thinks she has a friendly rivalry with Farmer Vincent Smith and his sister, Ida.  And with Vincent, she certainly does... but Ida?  That schemin' spinster plots to "harvest" Sadie and add The Love Garage to the Smith culinary empire.  The puritanical Vincent would take affront at such unseemliness (what with all the liquor and prostitution, above and beyond the simple galling treachery), so Ida's machinates on the sly.  Maybe she'll hire some PCs to do the dirty work...?

[In Don't Mess With Wrexus: The Movie, "Chainsaw" Sadie is portrayed by Aunjanue Ellis.]

The Guys Of Wrexus Are Upon You — Meet Señor Güsto, Viscous Vendor!

Señor Güsto is the owner / operator of  Señor Güsto's Fine Slimes, the go-to Gunspoint vendor for all your ooze-, goop-, and sludge-related needs.

Corrosive cruds?

Mucks medicinal and murderous?

Automotive alluvia?

Lascivious lubes?

Señor Güsto's got 'em all!

His petite, five-foot frame is inverse to his flamboyance.  Señor Güsto affects an outlandish Spanglish accent, gesticulating all the while with folding fan in one hand and dabbing handkerchief in the other.  (And, boy howdy, does he go through hankies, as he's perpetually dripping.  Señor Güsto blames the Grueston humidity, but nobody perspires that much.)

Señor Güsto is cagey about where, exactly, he procures his clammy commodities.  When queried, he narrows sly, twinkling eyes and mutters about "the labyrinthine Sewers Of Syzzurp".

[In Don't Mess With Wrexus: The Movie, Señor Güsto is portrayed by a CGI'd Luis Guzmán.]

CONSUME.

  

BEHOLD THE MAJESTY

IT LIVES AGAIN!!!

Give Unca Jack yer money (and tell 'im we sent ya)!!!

The Guys Of Wrexus Are Upon You — Meet Professor Morgan Mist, Organist!

 

Professor Morgan Mist, Organist

Beneath Gunspoint's standard shanty-fortress cacophony floats tones—sometimes dulcet, sometimes sonorous, sometimes jaunty, always harmonious—of Ancient keyboards.  Following them leads to an unassuming, curtain-draped shopfront known as The Organ Exchange, Grueston's premier purveyor of musical mechanisms, vocal lessons, and second-hand organs.

Both definitions apply.  Of organs, that is.

Polydactylic proprietor Professor Morgan Mist razzles (dazzles cost extra) patrons with jingles from The Long Days Ago, corny repartee, and promises of teaching YOU mastery of an instrument in six easy lessons.  And no one beats his deals on slightly-used spleens—just ask 'im, he'll tell ya!—so buy, sell, and trade your scavenged saxophones and pilferred innards at The Organ Exchange today!

The Professor is available for weddings, spawings, batty mitzvahs, and brises, though he needs a month's advance notice and an intact carton of wet-wipes as a deposit.

Little is known about The Professor.  He's clearly an undead, but his species is a mystery.  And though it seems he'd be in cahoots with the necromancers of The Necrozone (what with their similar graverobbery pursuits and all), Mist often badmouths them... in song, even.  His diss ditties get intense.

Rumors persist that Mist's fez has either hypnotic properties (better to impart musical mastery in students...?), or an evil li'l critter living within.  But not both, because that'd be crazy.

[In Don't Mess With Wrexus: The Movie, Professor Morgan Mist is portrayed by Crispin Glover.]

Don't Mess With Wrexus — Headstone World

  

Located about five miles north of Gunspoint up the blasted Die-45 freeway, Headstone World is Grueston's premier provider of monuments and memorials for the living impaired.

Sure, ya could git that traditional marker of stone or li'l bronze placard with yer name all tasteful and dainty... but why not splurge for an inflatable, skydancing tube-spook to hex any that dare spit, piss, or worse on your grave?  Or an ensorcelled effigy of skull, bone, and Thangs Man Was Not Meant To Know?

Want yer eternal (temporary?) resting place awash in day-glo and neon like Saint Rob Zombie's fever dreams?  They can do it!

Want fog machines and spoooooky ambient audio for convenient monster mashes, bashes, and / or champagne jams?  Easy!  ¡No hay problema!  Không vấn đề!

Want caged go-go ghouls suspended over yer tomb to shimmy ya into Oblivion?  Only an upcharge away!

Convenient payment plans available in alllllll the currencies:  corn-squeezins, fat stacks o' toilet paper; teeth; firstborns; souls.  Or even have yer not-yet-interred corpse work it off, reanimation-style, fer only the teensiest timeframe of a year or ten.  Whatever works best for yer kinfolk's budget!

Buy today, and git a free dashboard batquarium!  Supplies are limited!

(Please note that Headstone World is operated by the necromancers at the ruined campuses of the combined Commonwealth Institute Of Funeral Service and The National Museum Of Funeral History, aka The Necrozone.)

Neon Lords Nonsense

 

Neon Lords Of The Toxic Wasteland is one of my favorite thangs right now, blending '80s kitsch and '90s gnarliness with ALL THE CAFFEINE and straining the resultant post-apoc slop through the departed "Macho Man" Randy Savage's jockstrap.

Here's some PCs I'm dying to try.  Stats rolled as-is per the rulebook!

Mutants In The News — "ZOMBOARS!!!" Edition

Fascinating news on the xenotransplantation (such a fun word to type!) front, as pigs are yet again proven to be a wonderful, magical animal.

Bonus:  There's an additional link about how swine are aiding human love connections.

IT'S SWINE TIME, BABY!

Meet Corman!

 

This is Corman, an intelligent and telepathic otyugh trenchmouth.

They live in a hollowed out pit beneath four porta-johns stationed outside an Ancient spookhouse attraction, which warped into a legitimately haunted megadungeon after The Thunderkiss.

Think I'm gonna make them a mascot / patron / arch-enemy round these parts!

Found In The Wild

 

by Brian Kesinger (https://www.briankesinger.com/)