It is a time of ruin, gasoline & chaos. The dim future (or is it the present?) of Earth that never was, a hopeless age, a dark age… in a post apocalyptic landscape of humanity picking up the pieces after the Bigger Bang (or some greasers say “the Great Oops”), the horrendous apocalypse that almost wiped Man off the face of the Earth, it’s a time of warring cycle gangs & opposing petty warlords of the wastes of what remains, chieftains roaming the desolate countryside, questing for precious gasoline & the remnants of the ancients oil-wells & platforms & lost tech to have the upper hand in survival, scavenging power & high octanage — a dog eat dog world.
Whomever brings unifies the gangs of the Wasteland, as every greaser likes to affectionately call it, will rise as Big Boss of the Land & will heal it, ushering a new era of “peace & prosperity”, or so the prophecy from the time of the Great Teevee foretold.
In comes Art’s Cycle Knights; led by a charismatic leader, Art Drake, AKA King Drake, unifying the disparate gang bosses & the civie motor caravans; he’s got this crazee dream of looking for a new arcology of shiny chrome up on the hill, to build & settle. In a dream he’s called it Motolot, “Tha Place To Be” in Oldspeek.
Right now, however, they’ll have to settle with a monstrous contraption made by the sheer crazee audacity & ingenuity of the infamous mutant, Merl the Mech, full of polished lines of steel rivets, belching toxic fumes as it trundles along the moors; a roaming, battle platform/citadel on tracks. All good mensch & broads are welcome to Motolot One, it says right there on the sign.
On King Drake’s right hand, as sharp as his trusty pig-sticker X-Kal, his trusted lieutenant, Da Lanze, one tough mutha. On his left side, his also trusted advisor, the original grease monkey, Merl “the Wizard”, Mechanic of Magic; an unfortunate mutie of the waste, who’s capable of using some kinda “technomagic”…or so they say.
Art has just taken a new girl, but seems this one’s a keeper, her name’s Lil’ Geneva. Some say she’s the finest looking broad (for a mutie, but never tell it to her face) of the whole land & a fine dame to boot. Asskicker extraordinaire, from a family of famous asskickers.
But Art has made several enemies along the way, chiefly “Bloody” Morder & his gang, The Bloody Ba$tards, despicable raiders & pimps of the road, fascist anti-muties (& anti anything that Bloody Morder don’t like), survival of the fittest kind of villains, but disciplined under Morder’s Iron Hand (literally his whole right arm, cut & replaced by an artifact of Ancient Tech). Their only aim is violence for chaos’ sake. Rumor has it Morder is Art’s by-blow, but no one knows for sure. Most decent civies quake at the possibilities of Morder toppling the Big Boss… of what that future will be like.
A Big Scrap’s a-comin’ boy, & Art’s looking for a few good mensch, with or without bikes, to round up & join his gang… Will you accept?
Description for the GM:
Motolot is basically a mix of Arthurian Legends through post apocalyptic biker culture lenses. For instance, jousts could be fought, depending on each opponent’s version of honor, with scavenged shotguns or lances, but always on cool choppers & swift cycles. Here the motorbike rules all.
Muties: (Mutant creation suggestions)
Roll once on the Harmful Mutation Table (page 240, The Strange) & once on the Powerful Mutation Table.
Technomagic —essentially Mad Science applied to gadgets, gizmos, weapons, but mostly vehicles, even aerial ones, (altho’ this application hasn’t been thought of yet!)— exists, but is a closely guarded secret, an “art” only a few can wield &, only, up till now, a few muties (mutants), first among ’em Merl the Mech, a halfbreed between a pure human & a pure mutant, a once in a millennium kinda deal.
Opposing him is his own immortal mother, Morg Da Mutie, sarcastically called “the Fair”, Mistress of Glam: high-energy illusion-based powers.
Motolot’s inception date? Round when motorcycles became vogue in the UK & France.