"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.