Chronicles of Yore: Outpost Raiding for Fun and Profit

Here follows a battle report from a while ago now of a couple games of Nuclear Renaissance that I played with fellow CSW member, Tim. He brought his Neo-Soviet future men, and I, of course, brought my Slagscape Conservation Collective mounted up in their brand new Mayhem Machine.

It was a cold, fluorescent dawn over the crossroads community Orehill, last outpost of the Inner Outlands after the Unthinkable Incident.

...reason being, they had a well protected community bunker. Word was that it packed full of Canned, Hyper-Enriched, De-hydrated Dietary Aid Rations—commonly known in the wastes as C.H.E.D.D.A.R.s

As luck would have it, both bands of Wasteoids came across the same rumor. Informants are scarce out here. The Neo-Soviets roared out of the alkali dust on choppers and a land vessel.

Meanwhile, on the other end of town, the Slags rolled in off the hard pan. Slow going, since the Professor couldn't fit in the truck, what with his lobotomised gorilla body.

The Neo-sovs didn't waste much time getting into the center of town to crack open that bunker full of C.H.E.D.D.A.R.s.

But then neither did the Slags. As soon as they realized they weren't the only ones interested in a few recommended monthly allotments of calcium, they revved up the old Mayhem Machine and gunned it into town, with Graf Moxie and Janx Moogin spittin' fire from the copula.

Even though they commanded a full field of fire on the bunker, the Slag's were unable to close and make off with any of the cheez (the obvious outlander slang for C.H.E.D.D.A.R.s).

Meanwhile, the Soviet bikers buzzed along the flank, past the food carts, emptied of their cheez in the final minutes before the Incident.

Graf Moxxie got gunned down as he tried to leave the safety of his rolling fortress to make a dash for the bunker.

But the Slag's gave as good as they get. Downtown Orehill quickly becomes lousy with wasted Wasteoids.

It was at this point that the Neo-Sovs withdrew, figuring this particular haul was not worth the havoc. As it turned out, they had another trick in mind.

We decided to play another game representing the Slag's attempt to transport their hard-won C.H.E.D.D.A.R.s down the main road leading out of Orehill. This time, though, the Mayhem Machine was so packed with rations that none of the collective could take up crew space.

And it just so happened that the pissed off Soviets were waiting in ambush.

It didn't take long for them to start pouring hot lead and hotter plasma into the Mayhem Machine's hood.

Nor to start springing on their adversaries from the side streets.

Unfortunately, they were not counting on the as-yet un-tested Gatling prowess of Professor Parcival-Blythe.

After a flurry of exploding gas tanks and a hail of bullets, the road was clear...

...while the erstwhile bushwhacker met with the business end of Sprightly Jiles's Stunbrella.

It was hard fought, but the Collective won its way out of Orehill with the cheez in hand. There was much toasting on the Slagscape that night. The Conservation Collective celebrated with a fun do.