Welcome to Fallout: Crescent City.

This is a post-apocalyptic roleplaying game set in the Fallout universe roughly in the same time frame as Fallout: New Vegas. It will utilize a slightly customized version of the FATE Core Roleplaying system, available here on a pay-what-you-want basis.

Check here for Character Creation Guidelines (at least the non-collaborative ones).

Act III: Enclave

Excerpt from the diary of Cassie Parker, Aged 11

Dear Diary,

I don’t know what is going to happen to us, but I want to talk about it before I get too scared again. Yesterday there was a big gun fight in town. Mommy and I were in the trailer when the gunshots started. One put a big hole in the ceiling and Mommy started yelling and crying. I hid under my bed with Rupert. Then a robot came and told us to go to Maggie’s trailer. Turns out Maggie had a secret room under her bed! I wonder if my bed has a secret room under it, too. We went into Maggie’s secret room. The big men called it a Vault, but it doesn’t look like a bank to me. There’s no money, just lots of mold and water. We were stuck in a room in there for a while, but the nice robot figured out how to get rid of all the water, and then we ate some Cram. It was delicious! Mine was salty with bits of olives and onions in it. I hope we get to eat more Cram tomorrow. With the water gone, we started to clean things so that the mold wouldn’t make us sick. Mommy said we might get to live in Maggie’s secret room once we get it fixed. It took a long time to clean, but then I took a nap with Rupert. After a while, the men in charge told us to hide again, so we went in the room we’d cleaned. We could still hear all of the shooting, and Rupert got really soggy when I set him in a puddle by accident. One of the men in charge said that things were ok for now but that more shooting was going to happen and to grab our things and be ready to leave if we needed to. A man named Rocco passed out cans of Cram to everyone but told us not to eat them in case we needed them on the road. Rocco seemed nice, and he had a really cool track suit on. I hope I can get one of those someday. Mommy always says that the clothes make the man. I think they make the woman too. I should get a pink track suit with white stripes. Then Rupert and I could run faster than all the bullets and Mommy. I really hope that we don’t have to leave again. I just made some new friends from Pearlington and now that Maggie’s secret room is clean, we should stay here. If we have to go, though, I’m going to use the BB gun I found to shoot bad guys. No one’s going to take away Rupert or Mommy or my Cram. I feel less scared now. If we get too scared the robot will probably help us again. It was very nice for a robot. So really I just need to find a pink track suit and everything else will be ok. Talk to you later diary!


Act II: Brotherhood

Things were certainly tense around Parker. With the Brotherhood on one side, the Chinese on the other, and a LOT of newcomers, Mayor Jack Parker should have been in his element. After all, there were plenty of hands to glad and babies to kiss (too many babies, some might say), but this situation felt more dangerous than anything Parker had weathered in the past. Luckily, a few of the newcomers had been savvy, and some were already saying that Cayman Jack was going to save the town. Luckily, the Mayor had great foresight and had aligned ‘imself with that grifter straightaway. Old cons know their own, that’s for sure, and Cayman Jack was one of the best Jack had ever seen. Luckily, Cayman Jack seemed to be traveling with a conscience or three, so the Mayor felt better about turning so much power and influence over to the man. If the town made it through this, then he might worry. Of course, the Brotherhood had already dug themselves in like ticks for god-knows-what reason, so there might be a whole mess of worry when things sorted themselves out. The die has been cast, though, so no point in worrying about it. Just time to wait and see how it lands.

Act I, First Beat

Mingo Rochon traded. That’s what he did. Some people called him a fence, others a procurement specialist (his preferred term), and others still a dirty thief (if they called him anything at all before spitting at him or drawing a weapon), but they all would have agreed that he was one of the best at what he did. After all, not just anyone could have turned up sealed shakers of Emeril’s Cajun Spice for the Major’s daughter’s wedding reception last year or the CRTs for that helmet those Brotherhood guys needed to fix a few weeks back. No, Mingo was a man that knew how to get things. He also knew who wanted things, a skill that was practically as important.

When the group from Belle Chasse pulled back in from their scavenging, Pierre could almost sense the black powder pistols as they came off Pierre’s airboat. A collector’s sense as finely honed as his always knew. He’d been eyeing the old war museum for years, but most scavengers were nothing more than wastelanders with too well developed a sense of self-preservation to grab more than low-hanging fruit, especially those guarded by ageless gunbots. No, mint-condition guns like the ones those gents possessed were about as common as whores without the pox in these parts. Just like whores, Pierre knew exactly who would have a hard-on for the guns, and he sent out the word. Profit to be made, after all.

Of course, there was the small matter of procuring the guns themselves from that group of gentlemen, but an inconvenience like that had never slowed down Pierre in the past. He knew how to make a deal, after all, and everyone had a price. The real rub was just how steep a person’s price was and whether the currency was measured in caps or in blood.

Act I

Bayou Bourbonne smiled. He’d heard the reports coming through the radio. Enclave owned Eyebots had started moving through town for the first time in generations as well. Maybe John Henry Eden was just the man this country needed. Not that it was really any of his concern… War means suffering, and suffering means profits can be wrung from a lot of people with nowhere to turn. So long as he stayed a step ahead of the Chinese and worked things right with the Enclave, he could come out even better than he is right now! Instead of just Mayor and Sheriff of some village, he could take a slice of some of the neighboring towns’ action. Maybe he could even seize the south bank of Crescent City all for himself.

He already had his men caching some guns around and he could count on the Brotherhood to throw up at least some kind of resistance to the Chinese, even if Eden was calling for people to rebuild their vaults and get inside. Like that could even happen! His scouts had told him that the only one they could locate, that one in the flooded portion of Crescent City, was completely filled with water. If it came to hiding, the people of this region were well and truly fucked.

The timing was all the more fortuitous that one of that Cayman fella’s enemies had recently made Bayou’s acquaintance and informed him of the man’s more recent escapades. Who’d have thought that he had enemies as far away as Eden Isles or that he’d irritated the Natives? What luck. What luck indeed. Cayman Jack seemed to have a lot of useful friends about Belle Chasse, and between the group of them, Bayou had a strong suspicion that things could get done. Perhaps they could find out where the other vaults were that the old timers passed down in their bedtime stories. If nothing else, Jack and his bunch could tell Bayou what they were dealing with as far as the Chinese threat. Better to trust an honest criminal than a politician like John Henry Eden.

With several plans in motion, Bayou relaxed in his plush leather chair and breathed in the scents of his finely appointed office. He reckoned that he could just sit back and wait for the money to come to him, all without lifting a finger on his own now that he’d started the ball rolling on things. He supposed he could still do a little lifting, though. He dug through the top drawer of his mayor’s desk, past the derringer and the psycho and found what he was looking for: some sweet, sweet bourbon. Just a drop would be enough, right??


At first, it was just a trickle, a few people moving from the East with the usual complaints. Seems that someone always finds a way to get on the wrong side of the right people an’ get run outta town, so when those first few were talkin’ ‘bout trouble across the river, I gave it no mind. Truth be told, I didn’t listen at all. Figured them boys were drunk or worse, so I left’m alone. Could hear a little fighting off in the distance, but that was pretty normal. Every day one’a them swamp gangs comes a shootin outta the bayou and takes some fool trader unawares. It was quiet for the next couple’a days, so I forgot all about it, same as y’all.

Few days later, another group comes, only larger. Spoutin’ nonsense about the Chinese. That night, we could hear explosions and see fire out across the river. Got everyone proper spooked. The Mayor called for the town guard to be on full alert, had people indoors after dark, but there wasn’t no use ‘cause the refugees just kept comin’.

Since then, the flow has been nonstop. People come across the bridge from Pearlington, but we’ve got nowhere to put ‘em. It’s got some o’ the religious folk all riled up. They’re sending off messages to some Church down by Crescent City. Plus all the refugees are starting to settle the burned out area between here and Eden Isles, and things ain’t exactly been tight between the two towns for obvious reasons.

So, we got problems to deal with in town and comin’ cross the bridge every day. And the Chinese on their heels? What’s our plan?

-Tony LeFebvre: during a Parker Town Hall Meeting two nights past, May 5th, 2282.

Fallout: Crescent City

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