Fallout d20 adventure - Farmstead Blues

 This is the latest adventures of my RPG group in our home grown d20 Fallout game.

My RPG group's last adventure saw the lads going with Roger Bannister, acting as his guards, on a trading run throughout the isolated farmsteads in the western Commonwealth. Towards the evening, they arrived at one farmstead hoping to camp there for the night. However, as they arrived, they noticed that the farm gate was ajar. Something unusual for such an isolated farmstead.

As they arrived, they were quickly assaulted by a group of raiders know as Reavers, a psychotic group of cannibals hellbent of having the lads for their next meal or three. 

The Benderbot player character, called USL-E55 (aka. “Useless”), soon found himself surrounded by a group of Reavers whilst the others quickly got into firing positions ready to take out the raiders hidden behind the sentry posts.

Interestingly, the player whose character has power armour and a minigun, elected to stay well away from the combat and hide behind a tree, much to the other players annoyance. So let him forever here be shamed for his cowardice!

After some tense action, the players started to get hits on the Reavers. Fortunately for the shooters, the Reaver melee fighters were focussed on the robot rather than them. Soon the lads began whittling down the Reavers with gunfire, USL-E55 taking only minor damage thanks to his innate robotic armour.

Finally, they had taken down all but one of the Reavers. With a concentrated effort of firepower, they eventually got him, giving the players a satisfying "Wilhelm scream" as he fell from his guard post.

Upon inspection of the farmstead, in the dwindling light they found the vicarate remains on the farmer and his wife. In disgust, they piled the Reaver bodies together with the intent of burning their remains in the morning. Night was approaching fast now and, with a moonless night almost upon them, they set about making camp and fixing and lighting the four wood filled drums to illuminate the night.

They found two empty auto turrets in the workshop at the back of the farmers shack and Roger realised that the farmer must have been about to reload both turrets when the Reavers, seeing their opportunity, attacked the farm. Roger noted that the Reavers were known to live further west of there in the hill country and rarely made the journey this far east. He mused that something must have driven this band here for them to have come this far.

One of the players decided that the 5.56mm ammo boxes that held the ammunition for the auto turrets was a good find and promptly filled his backpack. The others complained but the player insisted. As such, the auto turrets remained empty and useless to the team.

One of the lads decided to give the tractor a go and, with a Natural 20 on the roll, got the thing started and drove it inside the gate. No idea what he wanted to do with it. But there it was.

As night wore on, and they were settling down in their makeshift campsite, they became aware of lots on noises in the moonless darkness around them. A snapped twig, the sound of rustling, an odd animalistic grunt. These sounds seem to come from around them and yet they couldn't pinpoint their sources.

The sounds kept coming closer. Perhaps attracted by the light of the fires set in the old oil drums. But still, whatever was making those sounds remained elusive beyond the firelight.

Still, no one thought to reload the auto turrets. Seriously! You try to give the players some useful items and all they do is completely the opposite to what you would have expected. Still, their loss!

Soon something could be seen in the darkness. A faint green glow. Never a good sign! Still, there was other movement also. Indistinct, but shuffling in the darkness and making its way around the fence line until reaching the farm gate.

"Ghouls! Ferral Ghouls. And a bunch of 'em!" one of the lads cried as he spied them.

The Ghouls made their shambling way towards the fence gate. Shambling? Yes, shambling. Which was very odd for Ghouls. But if this wasn't bad enough, they were accompanied by a Glowing One. The Glowing One became more agitated as it spied the lads in the light of the fires, and it responded by glowing brighter as its metabolism accelerated due to its primal instincts alerting it to a potential meal.

USL-E55 extended his robotic arms and legs and mounted the sentry post next to the gate, preparing to shoot whatever may try to come through.

The others watched in stunned silence as the Ghouls got closer. AND STILL nobody thought to reload the turrets!

The Ghouls started to bash on the gate, trying to get to their late evening snack. Meanwhile, that "snack" just waited and watched. Seriously, players can be so dumb sometimes.

Useless tossed a grenade. Not at the Ghouls mind you, but at the base of the gate. His thinking was that the gate would be flung open and smash the Ghouls. His plan partially succeeded. The gate did fly open and knock a few of the Ghouls flying. But little harm was done and now the gate was wide open!

The Ghouls quickly recovered and surged in through the gate.

USL-E55 began opening fire whilst the other players were finally galvanised into action. Roger and two of the player characters ran up the ladder and on to the roof of the shack. The PC in power armour decided to instead run in another direction and mount the sentry post at the back of the farm. Everyone then kicked their ladders to the ground so that the Ghouls couldn't reach them.

Then the shooting began in earnest.

Much to the PC's surprise, no matter how many bullets they put into these things, the Ghouls only seemed to become staggard and not go down. Pretty soon the farmstead was swamped.

Shot after shot kept pouring at the Ghouls and every time I had the players roll a Hit Location d20. The player in the power armour and holding the mini gun thought he was in for a Turkey shoot. His joy soon turned to frustration as bullets slugged through the bodies of the Ghouls and, undeterred, they kept on coming.

As the Glowing One approached the guard post nearest the gate, one of the PC's started to suffer radiation damage. He quickly fell back across the ladder bridge to the safety of the shed roof. Roger, being a Ghoul himself, and USL-E55 were unaffected and so stayed put shooting at the Ghouls below.

Now the Ghouls started to attack the guard post closest to the fence. This had been weakened somewhat by the grenade that USL-E55 had thrown at the fence gate. The constant hitting and bashing of the guard post only served to weaken the structure further.

Roger saw USL-E55 pull a Molotov Cocktail from his chest unit and light it with his cigar. Realising what was about to happen, Roger fled back across the ladder bridge to the safety of the shed roof. USL-E55 dropped the Molotov on top of the Ghouls below and the night sky was treated to a burst of firelight as it exploded at the base of the guard post. This idea had both strengths and a crucial weakness. Namely, whist it set two Ghouls on fire, it set the base of the weakened guard post on fire also. Each turn I began rolling to see if the guard post would fully catch on fire and collapse.

Finally, old mate in the power armour and mini gun began to have some success. He noted that bullets that hit the Ghouls in the head seemed to do the trick in killing them. Something was very odd about these Ghouls. However, those who had a line of sight on the Ghouls noted this oddity also and began to try to target for head shots.

Slowly, but surely, they began to thin the herd. Before long the Molotov's fire began to die down. Fortunately, the guard post still held (amazingly!), but so too did the two Ghouls at its base. Blackened and burned, they still smashed into that guard post.

Finally, in the glowing light of dawn, they took down the last of the Ghouls. The guard post was heavily damaged but remained intact. Rickety, but intact.

It was then that they heard a strange buzzing sound. It was the sound of mechanical wings. Finally, one of the team spotted a tiny metal insect alight upon one of the Reaver's bodies and inject its metal proboscis into the fallen raiders neck. He observed a black substance emanate from the injection site and begin to slink under the skin through the veins of the body like some black oily spider's web. Within moments, the Reaver's body spasmed and jerked back into life. The raider rose in spasmatic and jerky movements. As they watch on in horror, the Reaver rose up. Then, all as one, the lads opened fire, ripping into the Reaver with gusto.

One of the lads hammered the Reaver in the head with an excellent Critical Hit and the body collapsed to the ground once again, lifeless.

Finally, in the growing twilight, they loaded the auto turrets and set them to where they could guard them as they got a few hours shut eye on the roof of the shed. Better late than never, hey!

USL-E55 also remained on the rickety guard post seeing he needed no sleep.

With dawn finally upon them, and nothing but death about their feet. The lads decided to hook up their cart to the tractor and, hitching Molly and Mertal to the back of the cart, headed off into the dawn at a leisurely 8km/hr. Well, at least it beat walking.

As one final gesture of goodbye, they piled the bodies together and set fire to the farmstead.

They didn't want to take any chances. Better safe than sorry, right!

Hang on! Where did that metal insect go?