d20 Apocalypse: Vault 52 (Updated 10-25)
Falkus
Explorer
“Don’t just stand there!” Gunther shouted, as he wailed away with his ratchet, trying to smash as many of the bugs as possible.
Quinn took the intiative, and threw a Willie Pete greande into the hall the baby roaches had come from, instantly vaporizing half of them and lighting the corridor aflame, preventing more from coming, if there were any.
There were still hundreds of four pound rad roaches crawling around. Grey took one look at them, then looked at his Glocks, and realized he’d a lot more bullets. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused, starting to fry the minds of the roaches. Hef hung back, unwilling to risk hitting Gunther with his shotgun.
Beef, on the other hand, pulled his standard issue vault security baton, and swung at the bugs crawling over Gunther. Gunther ducked, and the baton went harmlessly over his head.
“Watch it!” he snapped, smashing at the bugs with his pipe. It didn’t take long for him to finish them off, sweeping them off of his radiation suit and onto the floor. A minute later, and the team began exploring the cave, after the flames died down.
A huge pile of alien looking eggs was visible at the far end of the cave. Obviously, their target. No other roaches were in sight.
“This will be easy,” said Quinn, as he armed the detonator on the napalm bomb he was carrying.
There was also a metal door in the wall, the team decided to check it out after frying the bugs. Quinn set the bomb down, activated the timer at a thirty second countdown, and then started to head towards the exit.
At that point, a cockroach the size of a Volkswagen dropped down from the ceiling where it had been concealed in deep shadows, surprising all of them.
As the timer counted down to hot, napalm death, the security team fought a vicious melee against the Queen Roach in order to get out alive and in time.
Beef choose to run away, barely dodging a vicious slash from the mandibles of the roach. Thirty feet away, he turned and blazed away with his desert eagle, bouncing a bullet off the wall.
“Where’s a super sized can of raid when you need one?” Hef hollered, as he blew a hole in the radioactive roach with his shotgun.
“Quit complaining! You’re not next to it!” shouted back Gunther, as he started beating it with his pipe.
Quinn ducked out of the room. In these close quarter, his grenades would be a liability. Grey managed to nick it with one of his Glock 20s, but it wasn’t slowing down.
Gunther grunted in pain as a slash from the mandible of the roach tore open a big hole in the front of his radiation suit, causing some worry among the others.
So while Gunther, Beef and Hef kept up the heat on the Queen Roach with their guns, Grey adopted a different tactic. For the third and last time that day, he closed his eyes, and focused, setting the nervous system of the roach on fire, essentially, and causing it grievous pain.
The queen roach wasn’t looking so hot now, oozing from several holes in its carpace. Another shotgun shell from Hef, and a fifty caliber AE bullet from Beef slowed it down even more. What finally brought it down was the continued psionic attacks of Grey. The creature’s tiny, tiny brain fizzled and popped, and the radiated roach collapsed on the ground with a hefty thud.
With fifteen seconds left on the timer, the group piled out of the room, the napalm bomb detonating and incinerating the eggs behind them.
Hef looked at the metal door, after the hellfire set off in the room finally died down. The group was good at lighting things on fire. The metal plate on the door read: Air Force Ammo Depoty, 1954.
“Yes!” he shouted, as he started to pick the lock. “It’s an ammo depot!” he called to the others. After a minute, he got it open, and the team piled in to see what weapons and ammunition they could find.
Unfortunately, the government had pretty much emptied it out before the war. The only thing they could find with a 1928 M1 Thompson Submachine gun, and two drums of ammo. Hef got an urge to put on a fedora and crack his knuckles as he picked it up, but it quickly passed.
“Pity there isn’t anything else. I was hoping for some more serious firepower,” commented Beef, as they left. “You know, a grenade launcher, or a bozar. You know, some of the good stuff from before the war.”
“Nothing wrong with a Thompson,” replied Hef. “Hey, what’s that?”
He pointed at the wall. A solitary beam of light was shining through. The team quickly started pulling away rocks, and working at it. After about five minutes, they’d opened up a sizable hole onto the surface.
“Let’s take a look,” Suggested Beef, leading the way. The others followed, eager to get out of the mines for a few minutes, before trudging back through them to the rear vault entrance.
They were out in a forest, much like the one that surrounded the walls of the Vault’s settlement on the surface. They were on the other side of the mountain from the vault, now. Mutated birds chirped. In the distance, an old, ruined highway was visible. Closer, and more importantly, was a small shack. With nothing better to do for the moment, they decided to check it out.
Beef and Hef opened up the door, and stopped in amazement. There, in front of them, was a car that had apparently been stored here before the war, and hadn’t been touched since.
Beef let out a low whistle as he plucked a phamplet, yellow and stiff from age, from the windshield of the car and looked at it.
http://www.nma-fallout.com/forum/album_page.php?pic_id=866
And this was where our first session finished. They may have found a Highwayman, but it's gonna be a quest in itself to get the thing running.
Quinn took the intiative, and threw a Willie Pete greande into the hall the baby roaches had come from, instantly vaporizing half of them and lighting the corridor aflame, preventing more from coming, if there were any.
There were still hundreds of four pound rad roaches crawling around. Grey took one look at them, then looked at his Glocks, and realized he’d a lot more bullets. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused, starting to fry the minds of the roaches. Hef hung back, unwilling to risk hitting Gunther with his shotgun.
Beef, on the other hand, pulled his standard issue vault security baton, and swung at the bugs crawling over Gunther. Gunther ducked, and the baton went harmlessly over his head.
“Watch it!” he snapped, smashing at the bugs with his pipe. It didn’t take long for him to finish them off, sweeping them off of his radiation suit and onto the floor. A minute later, and the team began exploring the cave, after the flames died down.
A huge pile of alien looking eggs was visible at the far end of the cave. Obviously, their target. No other roaches were in sight.
“This will be easy,” said Quinn, as he armed the detonator on the napalm bomb he was carrying.
There was also a metal door in the wall, the team decided to check it out after frying the bugs. Quinn set the bomb down, activated the timer at a thirty second countdown, and then started to head towards the exit.
At that point, a cockroach the size of a Volkswagen dropped down from the ceiling where it had been concealed in deep shadows, surprising all of them.
As the timer counted down to hot, napalm death, the security team fought a vicious melee against the Queen Roach in order to get out alive and in time.
Beef choose to run away, barely dodging a vicious slash from the mandibles of the roach. Thirty feet away, he turned and blazed away with his desert eagle, bouncing a bullet off the wall.
“Where’s a super sized can of raid when you need one?” Hef hollered, as he blew a hole in the radioactive roach with his shotgun.
“Quit complaining! You’re not next to it!” shouted back Gunther, as he started beating it with his pipe.
Quinn ducked out of the room. In these close quarter, his grenades would be a liability. Grey managed to nick it with one of his Glock 20s, but it wasn’t slowing down.
Gunther grunted in pain as a slash from the mandible of the roach tore open a big hole in the front of his radiation suit, causing some worry among the others.
So while Gunther, Beef and Hef kept up the heat on the Queen Roach with their guns, Grey adopted a different tactic. For the third and last time that day, he closed his eyes, and focused, setting the nervous system of the roach on fire, essentially, and causing it grievous pain.
The queen roach wasn’t looking so hot now, oozing from several holes in its carpace. Another shotgun shell from Hef, and a fifty caliber AE bullet from Beef slowed it down even more. What finally brought it down was the continued psionic attacks of Grey. The creature’s tiny, tiny brain fizzled and popped, and the radiated roach collapsed on the ground with a hefty thud.
With fifteen seconds left on the timer, the group piled out of the room, the napalm bomb detonating and incinerating the eggs behind them.
Hef looked at the metal door, after the hellfire set off in the room finally died down. The group was good at lighting things on fire. The metal plate on the door read: Air Force Ammo Depoty, 1954.
“Yes!” he shouted, as he started to pick the lock. “It’s an ammo depot!” he called to the others. After a minute, he got it open, and the team piled in to see what weapons and ammunition they could find.
Unfortunately, the government had pretty much emptied it out before the war. The only thing they could find with a 1928 M1 Thompson Submachine gun, and two drums of ammo. Hef got an urge to put on a fedora and crack his knuckles as he picked it up, but it quickly passed.
“Pity there isn’t anything else. I was hoping for some more serious firepower,” commented Beef, as they left. “You know, a grenade launcher, or a bozar. You know, some of the good stuff from before the war.”
“Nothing wrong with a Thompson,” replied Hef. “Hey, what’s that?”
He pointed at the wall. A solitary beam of light was shining through. The team quickly started pulling away rocks, and working at it. After about five minutes, they’d opened up a sizable hole onto the surface.
“Let’s take a look,” Suggested Beef, leading the way. The others followed, eager to get out of the mines for a few minutes, before trudging back through them to the rear vault entrance.
They were out in a forest, much like the one that surrounded the walls of the Vault’s settlement on the surface. They were on the other side of the mountain from the vault, now. Mutated birds chirped. In the distance, an old, ruined highway was visible. Closer, and more importantly, was a small shack. With nothing better to do for the moment, they decided to check it out.
Beef and Hef opened up the door, and stopped in amazement. There, in front of them, was a car that had apparently been stored here before the war, and hadn’t been touched since.
Beef let out a low whistle as he plucked a phamplet, yellow and stiff from age, from the windshield of the car and looked at it.
http://www.nma-fallout.com/forum/album_page.php?pic_id=866
And this was where our first session finished. They may have found a Highwayman, but it's gonna be a quest in itself to get the thing running.
Last edited:
Of Shotguns
A quick note (hi Ben its Mike), I play Hephaestus 'Hef' Jericho, the 'mad scientist / gun nut' of the group. We've since played a few more sessions (which I look forward to seeing fictionalised here) especially some of my... erm, freakier exploits.
Just for reference, my character is an inventor, with points placed heavily on Crafting and Knowledge of the Sciences. As such, I try and invent new and interesting stuff for the group every session, mostly from scratch. The first example of which is my 'shotgun'. Which is actually a heavy modified grenade launcher, converted into a revolver pistol.
Featuring two barrels (to fire the top and bottom cylinders either individually or dually) it can carry a load of up to 6 12-guage shells. There are an entire set of rules for it I wont go into, but lets just say I invented a few interesting shell variants.
Like Drug Delivery Shells. What wasnt mentioned in the above post is that Quinn gave me some of the extracted Roach blood, which I refined to isolate the mutagen... and then made several 12-guage mutagenic-dispersal shells.
Oh and I filled one with a stimpack to heal my friends from long distance. Sortof.
A quick note (hi Ben its Mike), I play Hephaestus 'Hef' Jericho, the 'mad scientist / gun nut' of the group. We've since played a few more sessions (which I look forward to seeing fictionalised here) especially some of my... erm, freakier exploits.
Just for reference, my character is an inventor, with points placed heavily on Crafting and Knowledge of the Sciences. As such, I try and invent new and interesting stuff for the group every session, mostly from scratch. The first example of which is my 'shotgun'. Which is actually a heavy modified grenade launcher, converted into a revolver pistol.
Featuring two barrels (to fire the top and bottom cylinders either individually or dually) it can carry a load of up to 6 12-guage shells. There are an entire set of rules for it I wont go into, but lets just say I invented a few interesting shell variants.
Like Drug Delivery Shells. What wasnt mentioned in the above post is that Quinn gave me some of the extracted Roach blood, which I refined to isolate the mutagen... and then made several 12-guage mutagenic-dispersal shells.
Oh and I filled one with a stimpack to heal my friends from long distance. Sortof.
Falkus
Explorer
Additional cast members
Larif A'Sylin: A former member of the vault morale corps, Larif transfered to the vault security team in search of more excitement. An ordained priest, Larif is fond of shouting out quotes from the bible, while blazing away at miscreants with his ten gauge shotgun.
Larif A'Sylin: A former member of the vault morale corps, Larif transfered to the vault security team in search of more excitement. An ordained priest, Larif is fond of shouting out quotes from the bible, while blazing away at miscreants with his ten gauge shotgun.
Falkus
Explorer
A week later
The team was on various assignments around the vault. The more technically inclined members were in the Vault Control Center, working with the Zax 1.1 AI supercomputer. This mostly entailed switching out magnetic tape reels. The team had the car secret, and was working on repairing it. A part to fix the computer/engine interface had been ordered from the vault’s fabrication facilities. The fusion cell in the mine’s generator had been salvaged to power it. All that was left to do was find some tires.
Then the intercom sounded. “Security team six, report to the briefing room immediately.”
Hef, Quinn, Beef, Gunther, Grey and Larif wound their way through the vault, and eventually gathered in the briefing room. Security Chief Helena was already there, a scowl on her face, as usual.
“We got a problem,” she stated, once everybody was seated.
“Not more cockroaches,” Grey said, groaning.
“No, worse,” she replied. “Earlier today, one of scout patrols spotted a caravan of outsiders setting up camp several miles west of here. We don’t know who they are or what they’re up to. That’s your job.”
“What do you mean?” asked Larif. He was new to the team, after transferring out of the Vault Morale corps. He was looking for some more excitement.
“We’ve got some disguises for you. We want you guys to circle around, and find out what they’re up to. Make contact if you have to, but do not let on that you’re from a vault, and especially don’t let them know where we are.”
“And kill them?” asked Hef, eagerly.
“NO!” snapped Helena at Hef, her patience wearing thin with the borderline sociopathic mad scientist. “If they’re a threat to the vault, come back here, and then we figure out what to do with them. If you kill a bunch of innocent travelers in this region, you’ll draw the attention of outsiders.”
“What if they shoot first?” asked Gunther, as he slid a clip into a glock he’d been given by the armory a few day’s ago.
“Then use your best judgment. There’s a lot of them, I doubt you could kill them all in a straight up fight. If you they chase you, do not lead them back here, no matter what.”
“So-” Hef started to say.
“Stow it, and get a move on,” Helena ordered, not interested in whatever Hef had to say. “The armory officer has got your disguises and ammo.”
The team was on various assignments around the vault. The more technically inclined members were in the Vault Control Center, working with the Zax 1.1 AI supercomputer. This mostly entailed switching out magnetic tape reels. The team had the car secret, and was working on repairing it. A part to fix the computer/engine interface had been ordered from the vault’s fabrication facilities. The fusion cell in the mine’s generator had been salvaged to power it. All that was left to do was find some tires.
Then the intercom sounded. “Security team six, report to the briefing room immediately.”
Hef, Quinn, Beef, Gunther, Grey and Larif wound their way through the vault, and eventually gathered in the briefing room. Security Chief Helena was already there, a scowl on her face, as usual.
“We got a problem,” she stated, once everybody was seated.
“Not more cockroaches,” Grey said, groaning.
“No, worse,” she replied. “Earlier today, one of scout patrols spotted a caravan of outsiders setting up camp several miles west of here. We don’t know who they are or what they’re up to. That’s your job.”
“What do you mean?” asked Larif. He was new to the team, after transferring out of the Vault Morale corps. He was looking for some more excitement.
“We’ve got some disguises for you. We want you guys to circle around, and find out what they’re up to. Make contact if you have to, but do not let on that you’re from a vault, and especially don’t let them know where we are.”
“And kill them?” asked Hef, eagerly.
“NO!” snapped Helena at Hef, her patience wearing thin with the borderline sociopathic mad scientist. “If they’re a threat to the vault, come back here, and then we figure out what to do with them. If you kill a bunch of innocent travelers in this region, you’ll draw the attention of outsiders.”
“What if they shoot first?” asked Gunther, as he slid a clip into a glock he’d been given by the armory a few day’s ago.
“Then use your best judgment. There’s a lot of them, I doubt you could kill them all in a straight up fight. If you they chase you, do not lead them back here, no matter what.”
“So-” Hef started to say.
“Stow it, and get a move on,” Helena ordered, not interested in whatever Hef had to say. “The armory officer has got your disguises and ammo.”
Falkus
Explorer
Several hours later.
“What do you see?” Grey asked Larif, who had one of the group’s two pairs of binoculars.
The team was in a forest, overlooking the caravan. There were a couple of wagons made out of old cars, and a big, temporary pen filled with two headed cows.
“A couple of guards, maybe a dozen merchants, I don’t see anything more than a pistol, brother,” replied Larif, as he scanned the caravan. “Wait, here we go. A big guy, looks like he’s in charge. Red hair. He’s got a nice machine gun.”
“Really?” Hef said, raising his binoculars. “Yeah, I see it. It’s an old M60. He must be one strong son of a bitch.”
“What should we do? Think they’re a threat?” Grey asked, walking up next to Larif.
“I doubt it. They don’t have enough guns down there to knock over a minimall, let alone a vault.”
“I say we make contact, a couple of us should go down there and start asking questions,” suggested Quinn.
“You sure about that?” replied Hef. “Maybe we should just kill them now.”
“And guess who just volunteered?” added Quinn. “Hef, you and Larif go down and have a chat with them. We’ll keep watch, and join you if it’s safe.”
“How will you tell?”
“If they don’t shoot at you. Now get going.”
Hef and Larif advanced down the hill cautiously, walking towards the guards at the edge of the camp. As they came out of the forest, one of the guards spotted and hailed them.
“Friend or foe!” he called out. The guard had a Colt M1911 in a holster, and was wearing a suit of leather armor.
“Friend!” Larif shouted back.
“What are you doing out here on your own? It’s pretty dangerous out here. Mutants, raiders, that sort of thing,” asked the guard, as the two approached.
“We can take care of ourselves,” replied Hef, patting his customized shotgun in its hip holster. “We’re just looking to do a little business, that’s all.”
“Well then, you’ll want to talk with the boss,” the sentry pointed towards one of the tens. “Go talk to the Trader over there. He’ll set you up.”
“The Trader? Interesting name, let’s go see what he has,” Hef said, and headed over, Larif following.
“I agree, brother,” confirmed Larif, nodding.
The Trader was just as imposing in person as he was through the binoculars. A very large man, with a M60 machine gun hanging on his back, over his body armor.
“Hello folks,” he said, as he lit up a big cigar. “What are you lookin’ for?”
“You the Trader?” asked Hef.
“That’s what they call me,” replied the man, holding the cigar in one hand. “I’ve been across the wastelands three times, and I know just about every town, settlement, city, base and camp where there’s anything worth trading.”
“What do you transport?” Larif inquired, studying the man. He seemed honest enough.
“A few luxury items, but mostly ammo. Everybody wants it, it’s easy to transport, and if you get in trouble, you can use it to defend yourself,” he explained. “Like the other day, when a bunch of bloody raiders thought they could take my cargo without my permission. We buried them.”
“Where are you taking this supply?” pressed Larif, trying to ascertain that the man’s motives weren’t hostile.
“Up to Denver, got a group of NCR rangers running an outpost up there. They always need some ammo, and you can usually scavenge some good stuff from the ruins while you’re in town. It’s a good run, but a little far for most people.”
“I saw that the tires on your vehicles were rubber,” added Hef, as Larif signaled to the others to join them. “Where do you get those? I’d thought most of them form before the war would have rotted away by now?”
“Not all of them. If they were stored properly. Not to mention, the NCR got an old fabrication and replication facility up and running in Shady Sands. They make good tires there, just like pre-war ones.”
The others arrived just in time to catch the last bit of this conversation. “You got any you could trade? We got a, ah, vehicle that needs some wheels,” asked Beef, smiling inwardly. He’d been wondering where he could get some tires for their car.
“Got a couple spares, I suppose I could let four of ‘em go. Cost you 300 caps, though,” Trader stated.
“Damn, we don’t have any of that type of money,” cursed Beef.
“You look like good lads,” said the Trader. “Let’s barter. Tell me what you got, and I’ll let you know.”
The team pooled its spare gear, talked amongst themselves, and nominated Lariff to do the negotiating.
The barter session was rather successful for the team. They walked away with four, perfect condition tires for their car, and a pair of tear gas shotgun shells.
“Not a bad haul,” Hef commented, thumbing the two shells into his shotgun revolver, as they started walking away. They’d gotten the equipment they needed and the mission was accomplished. An easy day, all in all.
“Well, you folks have a safe trip,” the sentry said to Grey. Then, a hole opened up in his face, and blood splattered all over Grey as the man was hurled to the ground. An instant afterwards, a gunshot echoed through the forest.
To be continued
“What do you see?” Grey asked Larif, who had one of the group’s two pairs of binoculars.
The team was in a forest, overlooking the caravan. There were a couple of wagons made out of old cars, and a big, temporary pen filled with two headed cows.
“A couple of guards, maybe a dozen merchants, I don’t see anything more than a pistol, brother,” replied Larif, as he scanned the caravan. “Wait, here we go. A big guy, looks like he’s in charge. Red hair. He’s got a nice machine gun.”
“Really?” Hef said, raising his binoculars. “Yeah, I see it. It’s an old M60. He must be one strong son of a bitch.”
“What should we do? Think they’re a threat?” Grey asked, walking up next to Larif.
“I doubt it. They don’t have enough guns down there to knock over a minimall, let alone a vault.”
“I say we make contact, a couple of us should go down there and start asking questions,” suggested Quinn.
“You sure about that?” replied Hef. “Maybe we should just kill them now.”
“And guess who just volunteered?” added Quinn. “Hef, you and Larif go down and have a chat with them. We’ll keep watch, and join you if it’s safe.”
“How will you tell?”
“If they don’t shoot at you. Now get going.”
Hef and Larif advanced down the hill cautiously, walking towards the guards at the edge of the camp. As they came out of the forest, one of the guards spotted and hailed them.
“Friend or foe!” he called out. The guard had a Colt M1911 in a holster, and was wearing a suit of leather armor.
“Friend!” Larif shouted back.
“What are you doing out here on your own? It’s pretty dangerous out here. Mutants, raiders, that sort of thing,” asked the guard, as the two approached.
“We can take care of ourselves,” replied Hef, patting his customized shotgun in its hip holster. “We’re just looking to do a little business, that’s all.”
“Well then, you’ll want to talk with the boss,” the sentry pointed towards one of the tens. “Go talk to the Trader over there. He’ll set you up.”
“The Trader? Interesting name, let’s go see what he has,” Hef said, and headed over, Larif following.
“I agree, brother,” confirmed Larif, nodding.
The Trader was just as imposing in person as he was through the binoculars. A very large man, with a M60 machine gun hanging on his back, over his body armor.
“Hello folks,” he said, as he lit up a big cigar. “What are you lookin’ for?”
“You the Trader?” asked Hef.
“That’s what they call me,” replied the man, holding the cigar in one hand. “I’ve been across the wastelands three times, and I know just about every town, settlement, city, base and camp where there’s anything worth trading.”
“What do you transport?” Larif inquired, studying the man. He seemed honest enough.
“A few luxury items, but mostly ammo. Everybody wants it, it’s easy to transport, and if you get in trouble, you can use it to defend yourself,” he explained. “Like the other day, when a bunch of bloody raiders thought they could take my cargo without my permission. We buried them.”
“Where are you taking this supply?” pressed Larif, trying to ascertain that the man’s motives weren’t hostile.
“Up to Denver, got a group of NCR rangers running an outpost up there. They always need some ammo, and you can usually scavenge some good stuff from the ruins while you’re in town. It’s a good run, but a little far for most people.”
“I saw that the tires on your vehicles were rubber,” added Hef, as Larif signaled to the others to join them. “Where do you get those? I’d thought most of them form before the war would have rotted away by now?”
“Not all of them. If they were stored properly. Not to mention, the NCR got an old fabrication and replication facility up and running in Shady Sands. They make good tires there, just like pre-war ones.”
The others arrived just in time to catch the last bit of this conversation. “You got any you could trade? We got a, ah, vehicle that needs some wheels,” asked Beef, smiling inwardly. He’d been wondering where he could get some tires for their car.
“Got a couple spares, I suppose I could let four of ‘em go. Cost you 300 caps, though,” Trader stated.
“Damn, we don’t have any of that type of money,” cursed Beef.
“You look like good lads,” said the Trader. “Let’s barter. Tell me what you got, and I’ll let you know.”
The team pooled its spare gear, talked amongst themselves, and nominated Lariff to do the negotiating.
The barter session was rather successful for the team. They walked away with four, perfect condition tires for their car, and a pair of tear gas shotgun shells.
“Not a bad haul,” Hef commented, thumbing the two shells into his shotgun revolver, as they started walking away. They’d gotten the equipment they needed and the mission was accomplished. An easy day, all in all.
“Well, you folks have a safe trip,” the sentry said to Grey. Then, a hole opened up in his face, and blood splattered all over Grey as the man was hurled to the ground. An instant afterwards, a gunshot echoed through the forest.
To be continued
Falkus
Explorer
“RAIDERS!” one of the guards yelled, as they scrambled for cover. About sixteen men in gray clothing and using sports pads as armor had appeared at the edge of the forest on the western side of the roadway.
The guards their started firing with their Colt .45s, as half of the raiders charged, screaming and wielding large axes made out of old sawblades. The other half hung back, and took aim with flintlock muskets.
And somewhere in the forest to the west was a sniper.
The team reacted on instinct, their weapons clearing their holsters as they sought cover. Raiders this close to the vault was bad news, better to deal with them now, then worry about being trailed back to their home.
Gunther and Hef moved up through the wagons, weapons out, and Quinn followed, pulling the pin from a phosphorous grenade as he ran. Grey and Beef circled around to the left, and Larif went to the right, pumping his ten gauge shotgun.
Quinn wound up and threw his grenade, going off mark, however. He was aiming at the gunners, and managed to catch two of them in the flames of the grenade. They dropped their muskets and ran around, screaming and flailing and trying to put out the flames. The wasteland was short on public service messages, apparently, as no one had taught them to stop, drop and roll.
Beef dropped to his knees, sighted down the barrel of his Desert Eagle, aiming right at the head of a musketman, and pulled the trigger. He was rewarded with the gun feeding incorrectly and jamming. Cursing, he started to clear the jam.
The musketmen were using the ditch for cover. As the raiders with axes smashed into the line of cavern guards (one of them being ripped to shreds by a burst from Trader’s M-60 as he ran) the musketeers fired at the more dangerous targets, the security team. But, they missed. Rocks smashed into the ground and stuck in the wagon walls, one of them missing Hef’s head by less than a foot. The Geiger counter he wore on his wrist started to click.
“Watch out, the rocks they’re shooting are radioactive,” he shouted, double checking his Geiger counter.
One of the gunmen wasn’t as lucky as his fellows. He had packed too much gunpowder into his weapon when loading it. The whole thing blew up, taking his heads with them. Screaming wildly, he ran around aimlessly, waving his arms.
Spinning the cylinder of his revolver, Hef took aim at the trench, as Gunther and his pipe joined the fight between the caravan guards and axemen, brutally cracking skulls left and right.
Hef pulled the trigger, and fired the shell into the ditch. The shell was a tear gas penetrator that he had purchased not five minutes ago. The gas spread out in the trench, and the entire squad of gunmen dropped, coughing and rubbing their eyes.
((OOC: After this incident, I have decided to never allow my players access to tear gas again.)
Grey was having a great time, firing into the axemen, blazing away with both pistols, when suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as the sniper from the forest blasted a rifle round into him. “Damn it!” he shouted, rolling behind one of the wagons.
Trader, firing his machine gun from the hip, and hit the gunmen who’d lost his hands with a burst, blowing him down to the ground and into the eternal sleep of the dead.
Beef cleared the jam on his Desert Eagle, and quickly resumed firing, taking down one of the axemen who was locked in combat with a caravan guard. More than half of the caravan guards were down by now. Larif helped even the odds with a ten gauge shotgun blast that turned another one of the raiders into something very messy.
Quinn used the chaos of the melee to rush by towards the ditch. Dodging a sniper shot, he pulled out a pair of grenades, pulled the pins, and tossed them into the ditch amongst the helpless raiders. He immediately dove for cover as the grenades detonated, turning a ditch full of tear gasses raiders into something resembling chunky chili.
Gunter, meanwhile, had jumped up on the last axe raider, and straddled him, bearing him down to the ground as he beat his skull in with his pipe.
With the majority of the current threat dead, Hef took off into the forest, reloading his shotgun as he ran, looking for the sniper. Grey followed close behind, eager for a bit of revenge.
The pair had a hell of a time finding the sniper. Every six seconds or so, the man took another shot at the time, and while they could hear where he was, damned if they could find him. He was using some really good camouflage.
“We need a better plan!” Grey shouted, as a bullet sunk into a tree next to him.
“Find some cover; we can think better when we’re not being shot at!” Hef shouted back.
After about thirty seconds of this lethal game of dodge bullet, they came to rest for a moment, about four hundred feet into the forest, under a large tree, thinking they could take a few seconds to catch a breather before continuing the search.
From above them, there was the distinctive sound of a man working a bolt action rifle, and an empty shell dropped past Hef’s face, a second before a bullet went into his leg.
He screamed in pain, and fired upwards, along with Grey. Two shotgun shells and a 10 millimeter bullet caught the sniper right in the chin, and flipped him backwards out of the tree, to land heavily on the ground several feet away. The raider threat was eliminated.
To be continued
The guards their started firing with their Colt .45s, as half of the raiders charged, screaming and wielding large axes made out of old sawblades. The other half hung back, and took aim with flintlock muskets.
And somewhere in the forest to the west was a sniper.
The team reacted on instinct, their weapons clearing their holsters as they sought cover. Raiders this close to the vault was bad news, better to deal with them now, then worry about being trailed back to their home.
Gunther and Hef moved up through the wagons, weapons out, and Quinn followed, pulling the pin from a phosphorous grenade as he ran. Grey and Beef circled around to the left, and Larif went to the right, pumping his ten gauge shotgun.
Quinn wound up and threw his grenade, going off mark, however. He was aiming at the gunners, and managed to catch two of them in the flames of the grenade. They dropped their muskets and ran around, screaming and flailing and trying to put out the flames. The wasteland was short on public service messages, apparently, as no one had taught them to stop, drop and roll.
Beef dropped to his knees, sighted down the barrel of his Desert Eagle, aiming right at the head of a musketman, and pulled the trigger. He was rewarded with the gun feeding incorrectly and jamming. Cursing, he started to clear the jam.
The musketmen were using the ditch for cover. As the raiders with axes smashed into the line of cavern guards (one of them being ripped to shreds by a burst from Trader’s M-60 as he ran) the musketeers fired at the more dangerous targets, the security team. But, they missed. Rocks smashed into the ground and stuck in the wagon walls, one of them missing Hef’s head by less than a foot. The Geiger counter he wore on his wrist started to click.
“Watch out, the rocks they’re shooting are radioactive,” he shouted, double checking his Geiger counter.
One of the gunmen wasn’t as lucky as his fellows. He had packed too much gunpowder into his weapon when loading it. The whole thing blew up, taking his heads with them. Screaming wildly, he ran around aimlessly, waving his arms.
Spinning the cylinder of his revolver, Hef took aim at the trench, as Gunther and his pipe joined the fight between the caravan guards and axemen, brutally cracking skulls left and right.
Hef pulled the trigger, and fired the shell into the ditch. The shell was a tear gas penetrator that he had purchased not five minutes ago. The gas spread out in the trench, and the entire squad of gunmen dropped, coughing and rubbing their eyes.
((OOC: After this incident, I have decided to never allow my players access to tear gas again.)
Grey was having a great time, firing into the axemen, blazing away with both pistols, when suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as the sniper from the forest blasted a rifle round into him. “Damn it!” he shouted, rolling behind one of the wagons.
Trader, firing his machine gun from the hip, and hit the gunmen who’d lost his hands with a burst, blowing him down to the ground and into the eternal sleep of the dead.
Beef cleared the jam on his Desert Eagle, and quickly resumed firing, taking down one of the axemen who was locked in combat with a caravan guard. More than half of the caravan guards were down by now. Larif helped even the odds with a ten gauge shotgun blast that turned another one of the raiders into something very messy.
Quinn used the chaos of the melee to rush by towards the ditch. Dodging a sniper shot, he pulled out a pair of grenades, pulled the pins, and tossed them into the ditch amongst the helpless raiders. He immediately dove for cover as the grenades detonated, turning a ditch full of tear gasses raiders into something resembling chunky chili.
Gunter, meanwhile, had jumped up on the last axe raider, and straddled him, bearing him down to the ground as he beat his skull in with his pipe.
With the majority of the current threat dead, Hef took off into the forest, reloading his shotgun as he ran, looking for the sniper. Grey followed close behind, eager for a bit of revenge.
The pair had a hell of a time finding the sniper. Every six seconds or so, the man took another shot at the time, and while they could hear where he was, damned if they could find him. He was using some really good camouflage.
“We need a better plan!” Grey shouted, as a bullet sunk into a tree next to him.
“Find some cover; we can think better when we’re not being shot at!” Hef shouted back.
After about thirty seconds of this lethal game of dodge bullet, they came to rest for a moment, about four hundred feet into the forest, under a large tree, thinking they could take a few seconds to catch a breather before continuing the search.
From above them, there was the distinctive sound of a man working a bolt action rifle, and an empty shell dropped past Hef’s face, a second before a bullet went into his leg.
He screamed in pain, and fired upwards, along with Grey. Two shotgun shells and a 10 millimeter bullet caught the sniper right in the chin, and flipped him backwards out of the tree, to land heavily on the ground several feet away. The raider threat was eliminated.
To be continued
You forgot the Sentient Treebeast.
During the battle, I used a round filled with Viral Mutagen, unfortunately, I missed and hit a tree instead, which suddenly became alive, vengeful and completely immobile.
As the sniper fell out of the (other) tree, sans head, his rifle clattered to the ground and fired, which by freakish coincidence hit my Sentient Treebeast, killing it.
During the battle, I used a round filled with Viral Mutagen, unfortunately, I missed and hit a tree instead, which suddenly became alive, vengeful and completely immobile.
As the sniper fell out of the (other) tree, sans head, his rifle clattered to the ground and fired, which by freakish coincidence hit my Sentient Treebeast, killing it.
