PHoD Female Stingers

COMPLETELY NEW FEMALE STINGER CREATURE MODEL for NWN 1...

Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated... though by this point I am more or less now an UNDEAD PLUSH HYENA of DOOM, but I don't suppose that surprises anyone.

So, what's this latest nonsense from the shabby, deluded Hyena Object? Fifi, fetch me the Hak Contents List!
Ouch! Having been firmly hit round the head with a freakishly malformed, mummified Porcupine Fish, which has left a couple of its spines in my ear, I am chastised into admitting that a List is bordering upon the redundant for a Hak with only one thing in it. Well, two things, but they're both the same thing. Different versions. Tell you what, I'll start again.

In this rubbish Hak, you get the Completely New PHoD Female Stinger Creature Model in two colour variants... Actually, it's not really ALL that new. Half of it's just the BioWare Stinger we've all seen a million times before except I gave it Pamela Anderson's chest.
I freely admit to having virtually no knowledge of D&D outside Neverwinter Nights 1 and 2, so I have no idea what the female of the Stinger species is supposed to look like, or even if there are any, though I assume there'd have to be. I thus apologize if they look nothing like this and anyone's offended at the resulting heinous inaccuracy.
Though BioWare gave their excellent Drider model sexual dimorphism, the Stingers were all a murky cabal of grotty little bald types and, being mad, PHoD immediately concluded that a female Stinger would be in order.
Now, some years later, having learnt exciting new ways to hit things with bricks and nail unrelated bits and pieces together like some depraved digital Frankenstein, the female of the species is now a reality.

I've made her a little larger than the BioWare Stingers, on the assumption that she's very much a dominant, matriarchal sort of figure prone to instantly slaughtering any feeble, pathetic little male as dares to step out of line. I've messed about with the Attack Distance to compensate and tested her as a PC by getting her to kill a wide variety of hapless imbeciles.
I initially just did the Green version as a Scorpion Goddess character in my Modules but, upon deciding to put her on the Vault, I felt I should create the Brown version just for you, the Community, on the assumption most of you wanting a Female Stinger would probably want one who better matched the colour scheme of the BioWare Stingers (though without being quite so conspicuously orange). Thus you get two choices. Aren't I kind?
That was a rhetorical question, apparently, as Fifi has just reminded me that I'm an appalling, rabid, vicious, paranoid, savagely vindictive lunatic with all the social graces of a Radioactive Mutant Spinosaurus. And as she's got the katana in her hand, who am I to argue?
That also too was probably a rhetorical question.

As usual, I'm rambling on like a bowl of rancid tapioca with a depraved marsupial sitting in it for no good reason when I could just have said "She's a Scorpion Girl, she stings people a lot, there's two colour versions, look at the Screenshots" and then shut up. Whatever happened to being "concise"?

Which brings me to another thing that really annoys me. "Mechanically Recovered Chicken". I hate chicken... It's bad enough when you become suspicious of an obviously cheap cluster of so-called, alleged sausages purporting to contain actual meat and you discover the artificial casing of undisclosed, toxic chemical constituents, which resembles a limp, greyish-pink scale model of the Hindenberg, to contain "Mechanically Seperated Chicken". In other words, some diseased birds which spent their lives in a squalid 18 inch square box, who get thrown, unplucked, into a big vat full of rotating knives to be mutilated into a sort of freakish paste full of shards of bone and diced feathers which is then injected via very old hypodermics - stolen from the bio-hazard bins out behind the nearby hospital - into the small-scale, pinkish, plastic Zeppelin gasbags...
But how much worse it is to spot "Mechanically Recovered Chicken", because then you know that it's not even out of the rusty vat; no, it's been recovered by great big, unhygienic spatulas from the filthy, blood-caked, bacillus-strewn factory floor and up the tissue-encrusted walls. All the lumps and bits that flew out of the vat and stuck like old chewing gum. Probably been on the floor being trampled over by dirty great boots for a month or more. And they shovel this festering offal up and hammer it into flagrantly inedible, rigid plastic bags coated in 3 foot thick gelatinous, acidic slime...
And what REALLY irritates me about these Disease-O-Matic Sticks, is that when you examine the near invisible text on the labels in the supermarket and then shriek "Oh, that's appalling!" and commence a rabid diatribe about it, the customers run away, your mother disowns you even though it's her fault you're in the more than ordinarily mind-numbing, dog-forsaken supermarket in the first place and the manager timidly asks you (from behind the pungent dead fish counter) to kindly be normal. Rrrrrgghh! I hate them! Kill! Kill! Smash! Destroy! Aaaaargh!

Fifi wishes it to be known that it was a bad idea to let PHoD out of his box again and is now going to sedate him with a concrete slab for his own good.