A post-apocalyptic mini-crawl. For use with Violence., by Luke Gearing. Work in progress.
Weather
Roll 1d6 at the commencement of play. Roll 1d6 each day thereafter, subtract 2 if the previous day's result was 2 or less, add 2 if it was 5 or more:
# Result
-1 Violent sandstorm.
0 Light rain.
1 Overcast
2 Warm.
3 Warm.
4 Hot.
5 Hot.
6 Very hot.
7 Very hot.
8 Extremely hot.
Random Encounters
Each day, roll 1d20 and consult the table below. Consider terrain, mode of travel, and intention when determining encounter distance. If in doubt, roll 1d20 for each party - a result of 11+ indicates that they are not surprised.
1d20 Result
1-6 No encounter.
7 (If within 2 hexes of 03.01) 6-man scout team from the depot.
8-11 3d10 feral dogs.
12-16 Caravan of 1d4 traders and 2d12 guards.
17-19 1d6 Parched.
20 (After dark) A Nightcrawler.
Hex Key
01.04
The crow-picked body of Kath (01.02) lies dried and darkened in the sun, bearing a vicious wound to the side and bite marks (human-ish dentition) on the arm. The inside pocket of the corpse's coat holds a scrawled map showing the way to the Anicet District water treatment facility (01.07) from Carches (02.03). A well-oiled revolver holds three rounds. Her canteen is empty.
01.05
The dust-choked remains of a roadside village lie just off the crumbled asphalt of the old highway. Ashen sand has submerged the lower levels of many buildings, but the smashed-in storefront beneath the winking trout sign of 'Jean's Sporting Goods' yawns onto the main strip. The shop has long been stripped of firearms and ammunition, but the storeroom holds a pallet stacked with sealed sacks of pickling salt. A blocky safe in the back office, long seized up and the combination forgotten, holds 3 magazines of rifle ammunition and an infra-red scope.
01.07
A rusted chain link fence surrounds the four long sheds comprising the former Anicet District water treatment plant, dried up along with the irrigation canals that once criss-crossed the plain. If the weather has been still, humanoid tracks can be seen ranging around the building - all lead back to the sand-filled sedimentation and filtration pools. A lever-action rifle, machete, and flatbow, not long dropped, lie in the dust near the pools. Bones litter the interior of the buildings, and traces of old gore spatter the walls and floors. Three bodies (02.03), covered in bite marks and utterly drained of all liquid, lie slumped in the corner of one shed. They bear 6 days of rations, thirty rifle rounds, 15 arrows, two knives and a club.
7 Parched lair here, drawn by some unknowable promise of moisture. They are settled beneath the surface of the sand in the pools, awaiting nightfall or the arrival of prey to ambush.
The machinery in the sheds is long-ruined, but there remain nineteen sealed barrels of water treatment chemicals, and two car-sized membrane filtration canisters - each could supply clean drinking water for years to a town of thousands.
02.03
Next to a dried riverbed in a narrow valley, dense thickets of swaying willow trees ring the former Carches Agricultural College, obscuring much of the bleached brutalist structure and its satellite houses behind green fronds. The college's intact library is a font of information on agronomy and husbandry, and the facility's veterinary suite possesses a small reserve of quickheal - the existence of which is closely guarded. Each season sees more ground phytoremediated by the groves, the pollarded wood burned, used for building, or simply stacked to dry and seal away the toxins leached from the soil. Crops grow uncontaminated, but the same cannot be said of the water - the village's crude borehole pumps out as much filth as it does potable drink, and the filtration process can barely produce enough to sustain the inhabitants. All who drink the water unfiltered sicken rapidly. In addition, the ancient tractor used to till the fields has failed beyond the community's ability to repair, and they lack suitable equine alternatives.
Alvin, a bald, sun-creased elder who chairs the community's discussions, asked Kath (01.04) and several others to seek out a water line running from a treatment plant to the west (01.07) referenced in old college records. Two weeks have passed, no one has returned - he suspects Verreville (04.05) has something to do with this and will happily divulge information on the matter.
42 combatants. 10 are Blooded in violence, the rest untrained. 8 bolt-action rifles are distributed among the most experienced fighters with the others wielding shotguns, half of the remainder are armed with pistols and the other half with bows. Melee weapons are simple, like spears and clubs, or repurposed farming tools.
02.06
An ankheg waits at the bottom of a conical pit in the desert sand. The bodies of its previous victims have been hurled beyond the rim. The creature will wait for prey to approach the edge of the pit before hurling sand and rocks up to destablise the edge and send the unwary tumbling into its maw. Having tasted blood, there is a 2-in-6 chance it pursues an escaping victim, seeking them out via their footsteps in the sand.
Within the rocky cave at the bottom of the ankheg's trap lies an intact 4wd pickup truck, covered in dust and with one door torn off but half-fuelled and functional. A sealed case of computer components lies in the passenger footwell along with a pump-action shotgun. The passenger door is gone and the seat is a shredded mess of dried gore and fabric. A case of 28 cartridges sits in the glovebox.
03.01
A pocked concrete-walled depot sits atop a hill. Holes in the walls have been plugged with sandbags and rusted razor-wire, with mines set on the approaches to the gaps. Within dwell 28 souls, the remnants of a remnant that crossed the Parch years past, leaving a tattered regimental flag and a mass grave to be buried by the dust. The inhabitants are well-furnished with Old World military body armour, small arms, grenades, and ammunition from the depot's secure armoury, and a machine-gun nest in the squat blockhouse overlooking the main gate is constantly manned. 6-man patrols regularly scout the surrounding area. Maintenance of the advanced weaponry is beginning to suffer due to a lack of metalworking and gunsmithing equipment, and the depot's automated turrets are offline, requiring mechanical maintenance, electrical power, and a significant amount of computer components to restore functionality.
'Captain' Emmitt, a middle-aged woman wearing a darned and patched camouflage uniform bearing the name 'Livia', receives visitors cautiously but in good faith. She knows that the outpost is doomed without allies and fresh supplies and will use the promise of advanced equipment to secure assistance. Any sign of treachery brings a hail of lead.
28 soldiers, all Trained. Every 3rd is a Veteran.
03.02
19 carrion crawlers infest a dank section of old road tunnel in the hillside, coating the walls in sticky secretions. Entrapped in the slime are seven people, three of whom can be saved with prompt treatment. In two days, four more crawlers will hatch. In 5 days, three more. 1d4-1 victims will be found each week, incubation takes a week.
A rusted-out delivery truck, the cab crushed by a fallen concrete span, holds four dumpy bags of pelletised nitrogen fertiliser, and the hollowed-out remains of the crawlers' previous incubators have 3 torches, a bow with 6 arrows, a hatchet, a 50' coil of rope, a battered semi-automatic pistol with 2 full magazines, and a First Aid kit in their bags.
03.06
The ruins of an old farmhouse and its outbuildings, dilapidated even before the days of the Great Dying, sit preserved in the ashen dunes of the Parch. The remains of a campfire, a couple of days old, gathers dust in the lee of the main house and what appear to be wagon tracks heading north have been carved into the hardpan here and there. Wood creaks and wind whistles through the glass-less windows. An outlying barn bears evidence of recent activity with a crude latrine dug in one corner. The interior of the house has been scoured by the constant rasp of desert sand in the wind, surfaces smooth and worn. An enterprising soul stashed 84 tanned leather hides beneath a tarp in the former kitchen, months ago by the dust on top of the cover. A collapsed bookcase blocks a staircase to the basement - beneath the farmhouse lies the remains of an old drug lab. The narcotics within are long-past usability, but 19 sealed barrels of pharmacological precursors remain, as do 25 books of Old World fiction.
Lario's band (04.02) use the house as a stopover camp.
04.02
11 slavers make their camp in a hollow amidst the marram grass where the dead sea laps at the shore and rusted hulks loom on the horizon. Lario leads them, his skin covered in insect tattoos and his hatband stuffed with body-part trophies. Their clients lie to the east. In the camp are two-dozen captives lashed to a pair of wagons, taken from out in the Parch. They have been fed and watered the bare minimum, and suffered other privations at the hands of their captors.
Lario is armed with a military rifle, semi-auto pistol, and sword; 7 are armed with pump-action shotguns/lever-action rifles, revolvers, and lances;.the remainder wield bows. All are mounted and possess long knives and desert leathers (-1 armour). Lario is Hardened in violence, his men are experienced. Their weapons are adequately-maintained. They will not turn down additional bodies.
The captives are weakened from their brutal journey - treat as Untrained.
The wagons hold a stash of 12 bottles of spirits, 3 packages of Old World medications, 6 drums of preserved seedstock, and 54 containers of fixings.
04.04
A sun-bleached concrete water tower thrusts up from the sand, a gaping hole in its side having vomited forth its contents long ago. The interior is cool and sheltered from the elements, home only to the occasional bird nest.
04.05
Verreville, home to 53 souls, provides scant welcome to outsiders. Thieves (04.06) have made off with guns from the village's weapons cache and the settlement is on high alert. Maria, the village's stern and unchallenged matriarch, has ordered extra patrols to ward off further attempts, but it is not enough. Verreville sits in the open plain and the aging folk can't watch every avenue of approach, especially in the dark. Jan, a leathery man in late middle age, publicly grouses about the need for new blood and proposes a trip to Navaeiros (04.07) to work something out, but recent rumours from the south have folk unsettled.
The weapons cache still holds enough weapons to equip a company.
24 combatants, armoured with scrap armour (-2 armour), half armed with bolt-action rifles, half with sub-machine guns. All carry sidearms and hatchets/clubs, and are Blooded in violence.
04.06
10 secessionists from Navaeiros (04.07) pitch their tents in a narrow canyon overlooking the old highway. Federico, a young, wild-eyed man, has lead them in stealing bolt-action rifles and revolvers from Verreville (04.06) and he now plots his takeover of his home village, believing that only force can bring order against the wasteland. He will launch his attempt in a fortnight, which will see the town burn and the sands run red with blood. In the meantime, the band will happily pick off and scavenge what they can from those they think they can take, and attempt to recruit those they think they can't.
Each bandit is mounted and carries 50 rounds of rifle ammunition. A further 1,000 rounds are stashed at their camp, along with a dozen grenades. Each carries 36 revolver rounds. The camp also holds several bottles of spirits, five well-thumbed novels, and two weeks-worth of rations.
04.07
Navaeiros eats itself from within, its 85 residents set against their fellows. Gonza returned from the desert three months ago bearing word of the Unity. His rantings have since attracted some two-dozen followers, not enough to cement the cult in power but enough that they feel able to flex their muscles - beatings and intimidations have begun. Federico (04.06) and his band stole the village's horses and left a fortnight ago after a bloody brawl with Gonza's followers. To where, no-one knows. None have attempted to track them.
Beatriz, formerly leader of the village council, now futilely looks for ways to avoid further bloodshed - she cannot confront the reality that returning to the past is not possible. Elise, who teaches the children out of battered old texbooks and encyclopaedias, and those aligned with her are not so concerned - arsons against cult houses will begin in the next week and be answered in kind. Federico will return the week after with stolen arms from Verreville, and blood and fire will reign.
50 combatants. All wielding poorly-maintained revolvers, bows, shotguns, and simple melee weapons. All are Blooded in violence.
05.04
The mounting pole of a small wind-turbine (5kw) thrusts up from the scrub-covered hills, nacelle and blades shredded from decades of caustic wind. Nearby, almost consumed by shrubs and vines, lies the remains of a small cabin. A hatch in the dirt floor leads down to a dug-out cellar. The jars of preserves within have long since expired, tops bulging and glass cracking, but the shelves hold a full set of turbine replacement parts along with charge controllers, inverters, and other necessary accessories. In addition, a scoped bolt-action rifle wrapped in oil cloth rests on a small table, under which is stashed 200 rounds of rifle ammunition.
06.04
Patrice and 9 other tribals make their camp in a small canyon cave, keeping well out of sight. The affable elderly trader's caravan is resting before departing to their range in the Parch having made the dangerous journey to trade in Gaptown. Their wagon is loaded with luxury foodstuffs, salt, Old World medicines, and several technical manuals, which the group are happy to trade for.
Patrice underwent initiation under his tribe's shaman, and failed. The experience left him with latent psionic awareness - to those with the same (1-in-20 chance), he offers a potent hallucinogen which will awaken their talents on a standard roll (add Advantages/Disadvantages as appropriate, trip-sitters are advised).
10 combatants, all clad in hide armour (-1 armour). Patrice is armed with a revolver and hatchet. The others all wield bows, backed up by spears, hatchets, long knives, and clubs. Patrice and two others are Experienced in violence, the remainder Blooded.
06.05
A gang of 17 Eaters squat in the remains of a visitor centre overlooking the wooded valley to the east. The creatures know the region well and stalk all who enter. The interior of the building sees little distinction between living space, larder, and latrine, with butchered corpses skewered awkwardly on rebar, and viscera piled into corners.
A crude pit dug in a former car park holds decayed corpses and several rusted firearms discarded in a fit of primal understanding: a double-barreled shotgun and lever-action rifle can be salvaged. The visitor centre storeroom holds a dozen spare textbooks and wilderness school curriculum dossiers detailing foraging, carpentry, outdoor survival, hunting, and field dressing/butchery skills. The latter appears to have been clumsily thumbed through by a filthy hand before being discarded in a corner.
At any one time there are three victims held captive in an old walk-in fridge. There is a 3-in-6 chance that each has been mutilated to a point beyond saving.
17 Eaters, all wielding crude clubs and knives, if anything.
06.07
An old highway interchange gouges its way through a valley in the hills, spans and stancions still standing in defiance of time. The carcasses of vehicles litter the old blacktop in a tesselated nightmare - the initial wave of strandings shoved to the side of the road only for their followers to run out of fuel in turn. Skeletal remains line the spaces between the rusted hulks, fallen while the great masses of refugees wandered from one starving locality to another.
A small junction has been cleared of old vehicles. Following the road off into the hills reveals them to have been dragged into concentric rings of rusted protection around a small set of cabins, behind which lies the concrete entrance to a bunker. A watchtower of peeled and stacked logs overlooks the winding track leading up the hill. The 127 inhabitants of Santaral are only a few years emerged from their underground haven, having been driven up by the gradual failure of their power generator and life support systems. What little power remains is used to fabricate defences and mechanical parts to maintain critical water purifiers, but the machine operators are also able to fashion simple firearm components with relative ease. The bunker contains sufficient feedstocks for years of work.
The original corporate council quickly disintegrated under the stresses of the Long Night, and was replaced with elected representatives from the different dorms. Marcus, the current 'Head', is gathering support for an expedition to the San Balaldo boneyard to the east in search of the Old World components they need. Sara, from Dorm 3, instead argues for further exploration to the west and making contact with other settlements in the area. Without intervention, Marcus and two-dozen others will journey to San Balaldo in a fortnight. Only three will return.
60 combatants, armed with bolt-action rifles and semi-auto pistols. All are Untrained in violence.
Bestiary
Ankheg
−6 armour (thick chitin). Spits acid. Burrows. The size of a small car. Counts as a Veteran of violence.
Tremors.
Further.
Closer.
It hears.
Vinegar stink.
The earth yawns.
Something else swallows.
Carrion Crawler
Paralysing tentacles.
The dead feed them, but corpses cannot compare to the embrace of warm flesh. Limp bodies raptured
away in darkness line the nest, feeling only the gnawing of the young.
Eater
Strong. Excellent sense of smell. Unintelligent, but not stupid. Use crude melee and thrown weapons. Instinctively Experienced in violence.
Not all were lucky enough to perish in the fires of Armageddon. Many lived long enough for crops to fail
and livestock to perish, before turning to the only source of meat remaining.
Feasting so in the Great Dying had permanent physiological and psychological consequences.
Nightcrawler
Use Inhuman Violence. Skilled psion - will only attempt to cause fear and misdirect targets.
Evasion: −2 (psionic misdirection)
Shooting: N/A
Melee: 2d8
Harm: Whenever a Nightcrawler would be Injured or Downed from Shooting, instead roll 1d20 and
consult the table below. Melee attacks and explosives are resolved normally.
1d20 Result
1-10 Psionic warping deflects the bullets from its hide.
11-15 The shot disrupts its concentration for 1d6 rounds, rendering it vulnerable to gunfire.
16+ Roll normally for Injury Checks & Down.
The night holds many terrors. Light glints from eyes and claws, real and imagined. Something glides
across the surface of the mind like a knife through silk. The mental jaws bite down before the physical.
Parched
Extremely fast - additional Disadvantage to Shoot while moving. Lies perfectly still beneath sand and
gravel. Counts as Experienced in violence. Never uses weapons.
The Water of Life held a different meaning during the Great Dying. Adapting to a purely predatory
existence was exacting, even for those suffused in the background aura of mutagenic contagions.
Morality, emotions, and finally, sentience were all discarded as unnecessary accessories in a new,
haematophagous existence.
