ROADSIDE MALEFACTION: CASTLE JIVESKULL

DARE YOU DANCE INTO
DISCTERIO'S DREAD DISCO DEMENSE?!!!

NOW WITH RAMPANT ROLLER ACTION!!!

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!

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.

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

ROADSIDE MALEFACTION: 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.)

"Don't Mess With Wrexus" Redux

Good, good stuff.

Dusting off the cobwebs and posting content for my home post-apoc setting of Grueston, Wrexus (spotlighted over the years at my sister blog) via Goodman Games' Umerica line.

It combines the Dungeon Crawl Classics chassis with the sensibilities I adore, and I'm adding all my fave inspirations (pictured below) to the brew.

Intro campaign flavor text follows!

***

Don’t Mess With Wrexus Redux

At 11:59:59 pm on December 31^st, 1999, the world ended.

Bombs dropped.

Reactors popped.

Seas boiled.

Continents roiled.

Phages bloomed.

Radiation 'shroomed.

Toxic waste erupted.

Gene pools corrupted.

Locusts molted.

Apes revolted.

Acids rained.

Mankind insaned.

The moon broke.

The old gods awoke.

And that’s when things got really bad.

For magic thrived and dinosaurs revived.  Monsters unhid and aliens invade-ed.  Kaiju stomped and demons romped.  Angels fell and The Dead rose from Hell.

—

The old-timers call that night Judgment Day; others, Y2K.

More names abound:  The Flush.  The Thunderkiss.  The Reckoning.  The Bigger Bang.  The Great Mistake.  Even TEOTWAWKI.

But the past isn’t important beyond what you can scavenge from the burnt-out malls; what you can refurb from the rusting junkyards; what you can summon from the irradiated graveyards.  Toilet paper and gasoline, bullets and beer:  these are more valuable than all the gold in the cosmos.

Welcome to The Blighted States Of Nightmerica.

Hope you survive the experience.

(And if you don’t?  There’s always undeath!)