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The Smiling Ass - A Petty God

The Smiling Ass is a petty god involved in the mortal affairs of small folk. He travels the rural countryside where he brings steady rains; instill a superhuman will and ethic, as well as bountiful harvest to those who pay his patronage. To those who do not; he brings violence, rampant disorder, and instills the spirit of failure into their people. It is never known whether he intends to bless or curse a community until the act is done or he has departed. There are rumors among the small folk concerning his origin, but nothing is known for certain. The more elderly and traditional consider him a foreigner from a distant kingdom - a prince who left his great stature to wonder the world, and help those with no fortune.

His body is a mixture of man and donkey. He possesses the arms and torso of a strong and well-built man, but his thighs blend into donkey legs and hooves, effortlessly blending as moss does on a tree. The Smiling Ass is usually represented in pottery by his head - an ass's with piercing human eyes, and a perpetually peeled back smile. The chilling grin is held in place by dry and ancient thorns stitched into his gums and around the back of the head.

Small folk are known to find themselves infatuated with The Smiling Ass. He is quick of wit, sharp of tongue, and physically bereft of common weakness. His fortitude and endurance is considerable. It has been known for The Smiling Ass to leave a woman with child after a raucous night, and this is seen as a blessing. Men sometimes wake in the morning with greater physical strength in which to serve their village. However, The Smiling Ass is also known to seed great discord to the irreverent by making cuckoldress’ out of the women, or to leave his lovers longing for a driving hunger of impossible pleasure. Women may become Rabbitkillers, and men may become serial criminals as they seek contentment now forever denied to them.

There are writings among wise and studied men on the nature of The Smiling Ass. It is written that he comes from a land where the grass grows vermillion and purple. It shares a network of pale root. Crooked towers of spire scratch at the sky dotted with alien birds, and no one speaks. They whisper that the The Smiling Ass is an emotional incubus who uses flesh to feed his mighty appetite, and his many lovers slowly rot deep in their chest, with a living foulness growing inside. It slithers away through the fresh grave dirt after burial. Nothing more is known of this reportedly vile progeny.

These same secretive men believe that it is possible to break The Smiling Ass. They believe that whoever can make him as a beast of burden will be greatly rewarded, but they are unsure about what the reward is, or who delivers it.

1d4 Blessings Left by The Smiling Ass

1.) The harvest is bountiful, and the plants are found to be strong. All of them produce larger than normal harvests, and in greater number. The seeds will all prove to be viable and provide a splendid planting season.

2.) A woman is left with his child. The child will grow to be a pillar of their community in a number of ways. They may prove to be a mighty defender, to have an intuition on planting, or be known to commune with natural spirits. The child's fate is seal with that of the community, and it foretold to be a good one.

3.) The people of the village or hamlet wake the morning after his departure with potent vigor lasting a season. No job, task, or chore proves greater than the strength of their will, or desire to see the task finished. Any potential project or plan that would be beneficial to the community is followed through.

4.) The lovers left behind by The Smiling Ass find that they are hardy and fertile, and so are their loved ones. They will bear many children, with each pregnancy a success, and every child full of life. There will be no failures or complications.

 1d4 Curses Left by the Smiling Ass

1.) The harvest is a putrid blight on the land, and where the fields scar over, never to bear the fruit of Man's labor again. The crop is utterly inedible to Man, potentially toxic even, but it is the manna for a great pest. Hordes of purple-black flies as fat as grapes descend upon the community when the first crop splits under the sun. They will consume the dark harvest, and turn their attentions to the people, resolutely hunting them across the land.

2.) A woman is left with his child. The child is horrible to look upon - a mixture of human and donkey features seemingly smeared around by a stick. They will inadvertently lead the community to ruin if allowed to live. The fae will more than likely come for the child as they will smell his inhumanness on the breeze. The child will function as their liaison to Man and tortured play thing as long as it pleases them, and then they will lay savage ruin to both.

3.) The lovers left behind by The Smiling Ass leave their village, and travel a great deal in search of him. They return with foreign invaders who lay ruin to the village in seek of The Smiling Ass's great powers and pleasures.

4.) The people of the village or hamlet wake slowly and full of all consuming apathy. Weeds overtake their fields as they lay about where the shade is strongest, children go without nourishment, and their toys are left out in the weather forgotten. Failure pervades the essence of their miserable existence as they waste away. Any action or thought is rewarded with failure.

(OSR Logo by  Penny Melgarejo Moreno)

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Threat N Ink #7 - Kreature Kompendium Review

Threat N Ink is not a zine dedicated to tabletop role-playing as this specific issue is, but I sure wish it were. That isn't a knock against the previous issues (which need a re-issue), but a credit to how stellar this issue is. It's the large pizza you eat alone at three in the morning by the glow of the television playing reruns from red scare era Christian television. A sleazy greasy kind of perfection that leaves you making another call. The mad scientist behind the zine is Jethro D Wall otherwise known as Jethrøbot. You can check out his art on Facebook, Google+, and Instagram.

Threat N Ink #7 - Kreature Kompendium is a teenage fever dream in the best way possible. It’s a DIY monster manual love letter created overnight by a group of friends strung out on weed swearing that TSR is going to love this. It's a science fantasy fuck the kitchen sink we'll piss in the backyard because Joe's mom doesn't care melting pot of Saturday morning cartoons, eighties fantasy, and heavy metal.

At least, I would believe that story if I didn't know it was a collection of talented artists (each refreshingly listed with their work, and there is a full page directing you to their respective Instagram) with the majority of writing duty falling on Jethro. There isn't a weak piece of art in the eighty-two pages. The stats are loose - they bounce between FASERIP, AD&D, and none at all. It's similar in execution to Fire on the Velvet Horizon where the kreature is the focus, but punk. It lends to the aesthetic fantastically.

The monsters contained all share the ecosystem of Devil Island which is under the crazed influence of Wydo the Purple, and his darker master. The majority of the monsters and creatures all interact with each other directly or indirectly, but are also independent enough that one could easily pull them out for other games. Bike Man, Knight of Rust and Blignag Cocksparrer have both been pulled into my Rad Hack notes. I'm not sure I hate my players enough to unleash the damn near unstoppable fantasy-Frankenator of the Ault on them, but it's deliciously dark, and leads directly into the story of Devil Island.

The back story of Devil Island is interesting, but not intricate. You can easily fill in the blanks or file it away which reads as an advantage to me in the world of tabletop adventures and supplements where getting it right is done so rarely.

There is a personality to each of the kreatures. They're more than the stat block they may or may not have. Some are mechanically interesting, and others are simply interesting because of the personality given. They're the characters players are inherently drawn towards.

Devil Island is a module that gets straight to the point, and reads to be old school lethal. It's pretty barren on any back story - all of which is to be found in the Kreature Kompendium - and gets straight to the point. It includes a two page map noting where each kreature is likely to be found, and could sustain a fair amount of hex crawling. There are many points of interest and death on the island as well as around it. There is a group of NPCs; a young party consisting of a warrior, mage, and thief who the players can run into. Doing so will tie the players more directly into the struggles of the natives.

Unfortunately, I am yet to run Devil Island as my usual group is scattered.

Threat N Ink #7 - Kreature Kompendium is a must buy if you dig the old school. There isn't a .pdf of this, and it expects you to do some work on your own. It's a rewarding book to read through several times. The art alone is worth the cost of admission to the show - the Kreature Kompendium is easily a late night creature feature extravaganza of artists that go on to blow up.

You can pick it up here.

(OSR Logo courtesy of Penny Melgarejo Moreno)

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Candelabra, or Eight Curses

The following curses were inspired by the doom metal titans Candlemass. The name of each curse is taken from the song that directly or indirectly inspired the curse. These were written to be severe and consequential. Many have different sides to explore, and effect the world around or beyond the cursed. The game master is encouraged to use these as they will, and fill in the gaps. Lastly, these curses may offend or trouble the sensitive.

•     Black Leathery Wing – The character has been cursed with a single wing (the wing may be located on or between the shoulder blades, and may be askew, per dungeon master discretion). The wing is black as moonless night, and resembles stitched together leather. The wing will sprout suddenly and mercilessly from the character’s back after three long rests, and cause one point of damage for 1d6 minutes as it thrashes and flaps about – throwing the them wherever it may. The character may gain control of the wing after a few Constitution checks. Charisma checks with Disadvantage in the company all respectable people.

•     If I Ever Die – At dusk, a strange and invisible burden weighs on the character’s weary shoulders. As night sets in, ethereal light, from high above and past the stars, follows and illuminates them dimly. During the waking day they have the irresistible urge to sleep as they are relieved from his heavy burden. If and when the character dies, a celestial body of considerable size will come crashing down from the dark heavens – the daylight granting a delayed incineration of everyone around them.

•     A cult may surface, their numbers secretive but persistent on capturing the character for their ritual. They will begin slyly offering their hospitality to the character on weary nights; when the character is tired from adventures and carousing, their holy men will entice the character with spices and blessings from their god, and they will sing the character gut warming praise. If the character rebukes them, and their offerings, the cultists will do their best to bring the character unwillingly into their grasp. The sacrifice to bring their god into the immortal flesh need not be willing. Only dead.

•     A cleric, witch hunter, or whatever flavor of the religious extreme is fancied, hunts the character. The religious agent or order knows of the character, and the power that they hold – whether or not the character does. The religious order or agent knows of the cultist’s plans, of the great devastation the character will bring, and will not allow it. The only cure is a quickly granted immortal life. Ideally; the religious agent would capture the character alive, to slowly embalm him, cover his withered corpse in clay, and leave him prostrate before the idols of their god.

•     A black dog may follow the character, and will not stop. If the character makes him know that his presence is not welcome he will simply keep his distance. Outside of any inn visited, he will sleep at the doorstep. As sure as the sun sets he will be in the shadows. If he is welcomed into the character’s company, it will be seen that his eyes are mulberries, and the flies whisper secretive words into his ears. He bleats as a goat, and does not eat. At night, starlight pours into his mouth, viscous and rancid.

•     Strange creatures and stranger people may be drawn to the character. The three eyed toad of cloven foot. The small boy who speaks in a dead language, and stamps his foot in rhythm. A rat with flesh continually sloughing away, but smells, tastes delicious as butter. The strong elderly man who carries on his back a massive and hollow ball of iron – inside flowers pop.

•     The Bleeding Baroness – A warning, a prophecy – to abstain from love, or at least, do not consummate. The Bleeding Baroness has marked the character’s name on her list, and will come for them in their bed chambers. The warm embrace of their lover will be hers. There is no telling what form the Bleeding Baroness will take and when. Only that she will come, be it a drunken night, or their partner of many years. The heart will slowly begin to bleed – a drip – into their chest, a cough, and their blood drops on her lips. She will consume the character’s flesh so that the streams of blood that river from her pores may continue. She is pale, slender, and gracefully light – her loving throes as gentle as ocean waves to and fro – her kiss sealing. The final thoughts of any man or woman are the acts of passion committed in the flesh or heart, the frown of their mother; who is gifted visions of their lusts in searing detail, whether she is of the living or not – the Bleeding Baron reaches her.

•     Hammer of Doom – Before the next dawn, the character must seek out a Fury of Fate, and bow to her. She will write their name in starlight and web – the act of which will burn heavy in the front of their mind. Her heavy shears – the very shears used daily on the Empty Goat, dropping his hair, and clogging the day with darkness – will cut the the character���s name into hundreds of little pieces, and the character will shatter much as a mirror does. Their body will reform the following morning as hundreds of shadows in varying gray pooling together. The character will have a distant stare and heightened hearing. They will now be able to hear the poetry spiders weave in their webs as the morning dew gathers on it. The poetry of the webs will often guide them, but it is not clear where to. The character will feel compelled to follow the wisdom of the web. The quickest path to a Fury of Fate is through fire started with uncut hair, lit by a young hairless boy, bathed in the blood of a goat sacrificed in the name of the Empty Goat who was fed a steady diet of blackberries since the last Solar Menses. To ignore the Fury of Fate is to feel the bite of the Empty Goat, who will consume the character in three consecutive bites, from their feet to their head. Where the character once stood will remain an obsidian epitaph shining as a mirror of foreign stars.

•     Dead Angel – The character never should have been born. There was another. Better than them, better than anything they could have ever been. The parents knew in their hearts something was wrong as the character was born in secret and came the wrong way out. As this news flashes through the character’s mind, as they see vague images of an alien child not yet born, as they taste acidic smoke in their mouth, searing their tongue – their father drinks himself to death in a quick act of self-loathing – breaking the bottle and scraping it against his chest, his wrists, his neck. Their mother calmly and repeatedly knits clothing befitting a small child into her body, leaving no bare flesh, before walking into the woods. The character feels themselves splitting – their skull, their chest, their extremities. The elbows and knees become grotesquely double jointed, their back grows another chest from their spine, and their skull bares a face on the back – the cap of their skull elongated and beautifully smooth. Seamless. Their genitals split into more of their own sex or that of the other. The other child is born – slow for now, but promised to surpass the player character in every way possible.

•     House of a Thousand Voices – The character is given the key to a lodge only spoken of in whispers. The key is a stone shaped much like a human heart that beats and pumps out a black vileness which coats their skin – thickening, hardening and irremovable. It counts as armor for anywhere it covers. At twilight; if they lift this stone heart above their head while facing the clear northern sky, and drip the black deep into their chest, the character will find themselves outside of the House of a Thousand Voices. If they walk up the short dirt path and enter the wooden lodge, they will stand on the ashen floor, and hear absolutely nothing. They may ask a question and gain the truth. There is a one-in-six chance of instant insanity as a thousand voices scream. The voices will stop, and a foul wind throws the character out of the door. They will awake the next morning where they stood, either sane or not, but absolutely knowing one truth. Any who waited and watched the events would simply see them there and gone. The observers will not recall the passage of time upon their return.

•     Clouds of Dementia – For the rest of their mortal life, without warning and without regard to climate, a sudden downpour of rain may erupt from heavy blackened gray clouds which spontaneously gather above the character. The size of the storm varies in size, but averages around a city block. Any who are caught in this rain feel their memories ripped away from them and thunder resounds within their skull. Memories of love, family, hunger, whatever most vitally relevant information they may have for the character – is ripped and blown away like dead leaves in the wind. All of the collective memories come pouring into you. One-in-six chances of remembering anything at all, or the thoughts being lost forever.

•     Death Thy Lover – The character has been marked, they fouled the wrong wise woman, or was she a witch? A pig or a shaman. It does not matter. The character’s genitals are gone, their buttocks are gone, their waist is nothing but intimate white bone. Their flesh is exposed where it meets the bone – the abdomen, their powerful thighs – they do not bleed much, but the pain is constant. Fat black flies who laugh with each bite are drawn to the character. The character would likely end their life if they were not so aroused. They can taste the scent of them as the breeze dies. The character’s nothingness longs to consummate with them. Somewhere, where idle waters run foul, in a mud hut surrounded by heavily multi-horned goats, is the lover – a mess of bone, sacks of gut and flesh, corn yellow teeth, and loose eyes under even more loose scraps of hair. The character dreams of the lover as they moan their name. The character tastes the sweetness of their lips every morning. The lover’s image rests in the every morning’s dew. The character will stop at nothing to be with their lover.