I promise not to sue lol but I would consider blood borg under cc-by 4.0 license, idk if this replaces or stacks with the regular Mork Borg license but I think if you include this you’re safe https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed.en
Also please share it here so people can see! I can’t wait to read what you cooked up
Will do! It will be under our new account BloodPiss Games! Here’s the teaser! (writing by my partner in crime, Coyote)
Blood on the Dance floor is a filthy, fast, one-shot adventure for Blood Borg—a vampire-punk hack of Mörk Borg where you play starving, violent, reckless bloodsuckers in the dying city of Scab.
This is not an epic. It’s not a campaign. It’s a disaster in slow motion. You and your vampire crew stumble into a house party from hell, thrown by an idiot rich kid vampire hunter and headlined by the loudest death-punk band in Scab.
You will: • Get high. • Get violent. • Get dragged into a turf war between two rival bands. • Accidentally (or intentionally) unleash a feral vampire chained in the attic. • Possibly burn the whole damn house to the ground.
The system is light. The blood is heavy. Play it loud. Play it messy. Play it like the cops are already kicking down the door.
The city of Scab never sleeps. It festers. It pukes. It claws at its own skin and drinks itself half-dead between the hours of dusk and doom. And tonight? The city howls the name Blood Piss—the filthiest, loudest, most chaos-summoning death-punk band rotting its way through the underground.
Word spreads fast: a house party, a disaster in the making. No tickets. No rules. Just an address scribbled on a flyer handed off in a piss-drenched alley:
CRIMSON HILLS. THE OLD VICTORIAN NEAR CHERRY GROVE. MIDNIGHT. BYOB.
Crimson Hills is a corpse of a neighborhood, once fancy, now suffocating under graffiti, trash fires, and broken dreams. The house? A decaying Victorian monstrosity slouching toward collapse. Its owner? Dirk. Yeah, that Dirk. College burnout. Rich kid parasite. Frat failure turned full-time waste of oxygen.
The city thinks Dirk’s a harmless loser. So do the undead. Just another dumb human with unlimited access to bad decisions and stolen narcotics. You and your crew? You came for Blood Piss. You came for the drugs, the blood, the noise, and maybe a little murder before dawn.
But something’s off. Blood Piss is freaking out—their gear is fried. They blame their bitter enemies, FuckWank, the rival band they stomped in a street fight just hours before. The two bands are ready to finish what they started, and the house party is about to explode.
What no one knows? The real culprit is upstairs. Dirk, clueless heir to a long-dead vampire-hunting dynasty, has a starving vampire chained in the attic gnawing through live wires trying to end it all. Dirk thinks he’s hunting vamps with Hazy Light and ancient relics. He has no clue he’s about to light a powder keg.
You’re walking straight into the blast zone.
Who’s the predator? Who’s the prey? Who cares?
