Wasteland Bazzar

A doctor sells his services.

He learned his trade at the feet of a man who claimed to be an actual, old-world physician, and has a whole book-shelf full of real, old-world, medical text-books.

He even has some salvaged medical equipment, refurbished to a state of almost full functionality.

His impressive qualifications make his services highly sought-after & he commands exorbitant prices for his help.

A blacksmith selling both mundane metal objects and stuff like swords and armor. Actual quality smiting too, not just a hammered out stop sign or a stick with an axe head tapped to it.

A twitchy, bearded man who smells overwhelmingly of cloying rotten egg intensely attempts to sell anyone who locks eyes pipe-bombs and grenades from what seems to be a roughly converted ice cream van.

a waster sells maps and offers his services as a guide, when hes not out his mind on drugs.

He knows the area like the back of his hand and can lead you to the territory border but he'll go no further. His maps can lead the way in other territories but they'll cost you

A travelling bad of mercenaries led by a blue hairy mutant sells safe passage to the next major settlement.

A trader of herbs & spices. Such commodities have been traded since the dawn of time, and the apocalypse has done nothing to change this.

People are still willing to pay for a little something to make their food more palatable.

A grizzled merchant disregards threats as he haggles over the price of slaves

A weeping widow, selling her youngest son to slavers, to keep her other children fed a while longer.

A kid sells mutated extremely intelligent racoons (B. Sterling, Our neural Chernobyl). Everyone of them retains random knowledge about the world before.

A large man with an impenetrable accent flogs dog-eared books and magazines dating to The Old World from the back of his horse. If you were to ask him, the ancients who came before hid sacred knowledge in their tomes. His horse is named Sportsillustrated.

A priest. Selling minor indulgences.

An electrical technician: A man of rare expertise in the wastelands.

Mechanics and tinkers are ten-a-penny, but a man who can take a pile of salvaged circuit-boards & produce something resembling a rudimentary computer... that's something special.

A shop who's walls are lined, floor-to-ceiling, with cages of all sizes, filled with mutant beasts.

The shop-keeper takes no responsibility for any injury caused by the creatures he sells. His stance on refunds is protected by a number of trained guard beasts.

This priest is bald-headed, and has a long goatee. If questioned about his religion, he dodges the questions with strange and irrelevent proverbs.

>Trapped in purgatory
>A lifeless object, alive
>Awaiting reprisal
>Death will be their acquiescence

RAINING BLOOD!!!

Tss tss tss tss
Blbidugnmcdifhvbnvmvcmraaaarrfgngngngnvi idcnhfgjfjh

The man and his family seem out of place. Setting up their camper in the bazaar, they behave more like tourists from a by gone era.

Their friendly, polite, the children are well behaved, the mother knows a thing or two about some of the neighboring territories, and the dad will be more then willing to fix any small mechanical item for anyone, they just have to listen to one of his "back in my day" stories.

They'll even invite you to join their cook out that they'll happily and repeatedly assure you that what their grilling isn't people.

A local stalker offers to bring people on the safest route through the harshest areas in the wasteland for a fee, people who pay him tend to find the way to their destination 3x faster.

Ditzy sexbot. Seems almost new.

A group of mutated and barely intelligent baboons haggles over fresh produce with a sunburnt and irritated albino woman.

A trio of peacekeepers making their rounds. One would be well to remember that "peacekeeper" is not a synonym for "law enforcement."

The unassuming man.

An older man; getting on towards the tail-end of middle-age, reasonably well turned-out (at least, by the standards of the wasteland), affable and friendly, he seems completely unremarkable in almost every respect.

However.

If you know the right people & ask the right questions, word will get back to him that you require his services.

You give him a name.

Within a week the owner of that name will have a terrible accident, or suffer a sudden illness, or, perhaps, simply disappear without trace.

Then he will come to you and you will give him a substantial sum of money. It is unwise to try and cheat him.

Prince Proteus's House O' Hoes.

A mutant brothel overseen by ruthless, psychopathically violent, pimp Prince Proteus.

Every form of physical perversion may be indulged within it's incense-smoke-stained walls:

Beast-women, hermaphrodites, freakishly over-endowed living sex-dolls; any woman with a fetishized deformity may find employment under the dubious auspices of Prince Proteus.

an old man of afguli descent selling hand-crafted firearms of almost decent quality, if asked he will speak of how his grandfather learned his skills in the caves of the old country.

the firearms are all falling-block types, in a variety of shapes and calibers

a tatto artist, turning mere skin into art

her prices are depending on size and detail

a temple of the four, in these trying and confusing times faith will surely be a guide and comfort,

the tenents of the church of the four can be summed up as,

the rapture happened,
sinners and saints went the way of the dodo,
yahwe and samael killed eachother,
the slighly good and mildly bad got the world,
the meek shall inherit nothing,

most of the prayers revolve around asking the four politly to leave us the the fuck alone

Jezeriah and his cat, its not intelligent or mutated, just smarter than any natural cat has a right to be, are searching for a posse of men to partake in a mutant vegetable hunting expedition, to cull the infestation that has cropped up in the wilderness near his home town.

cunts and food, what else?

a war-band of vaulter mercenaries, two handfull or so of warriors from the mysterius bunker-states,
armed and armoured in pre-war hardware these strangers are a sight to behold, currently between proper employment they are traveling the badlands guarding caravans and doing personal protection jobs

Having made a fortune braving the deep wastes with his trade caravan for years, Stanneil Metcalf is so wealthy that people are willing to overlook his severe mutations.

Word is he's looking to hire some hands for another trade expedition. Folks have been flocking to his walled villa in the residential district to offer thier labour, so you'd better hurry if you're interested.

The Bazaar has no shortage of scavengers hawking odds, ends, curios, & general detritus salvaged from the surrounding wastes. Few of them, though, will brave the ruins.

In spite of the rich pickings available, dark & dangerous things lurk in the shadows of the shattered concreate structures. Anyone brave enough to venture into the twisting, rubble-choked streets may find thier fortune... or thier fate.

...

Water.
There is a guy selling water. Clear, cold, reliable, non-contaminated water
And next to him, his wife is selling fresh garden veggies.

Shit's so well guarded there are literally 5 guys on guard next to them, for their share of profits.

Gangs of small children, often mutants, rejected by their own parents, roam the Bazaar. Begging, picking pockets, running errands for a few coins, they do whatever will get them there next meal.

Those who value keeping an ear to the ground will frequently slip a coin or two to these urchin gangs, gaining eyes & ears everywhere for as long as the money lasts.

A mentally challenged man is being beaten by an old man with a cane, presumably for knocking over the old man's shopping cart and scattering its goods when he attempted to steal something shiny within.

In a dark corner of the bazaar, you'll find a.cart manned by fellow wearing a black robe and plague mask. He's no doctor he says, but he's got enough chems to keep you alive until you can find.one.

The widow is young and if not for her filthy condition, would be comely by wasteland standards. If asked, she'll tell that her husband was slain by a gang of raiders that have been targeting them, leaving their homestead defenseless. Though she can handle a gun, there's only so much she can do to defend her six children, and while the harvest was meager, it would've been enough to sustain them, had the raiders not burned what they couldn't take.

Numerous food-vendors sell their wares, both from stands & carts. Even the most hideously mutated creatures can still taste pretty good if you fry it up properly. A little relish, plenty of salt. Good eatin'.

> mutant vegetables
> infestation has "cropped" up

I see what you did there.

Six of the stalls next to Auntie's burned down two weeks back. Another leaky, rusty fuel drum and too much sun. Or so they say.

Somebody had to set up on the ashes, and I wouldn't think of blaming them for starting the fire, but these people aren't even selling anything. Not for barter, anyway. They all wear the same thing like they're a hoity-toity tribe, putting on airs, calling each other 'yessir' or 'corporal' and they have this red-white banner that looks like a foghorner eating a TV aerial.

These Reds make almost as much noise as the Crier, but instead of sharing tricks and happenings, they boast about how they're going to finally take back the cities now they're cooling off, and that they need everyone old enough to hold a gun and wear their clothes and rattle off their words to help make it happen. Most don't give them the time of day, but this morning they had enough folks behind them to buy out another stall.

Auntie next door to them says they're lovely people, but she goes on like we're all her nieces and nephews, those godforsaken, thieving mutie runts too. But even they stay clear of the Reds.

Cities are getting colder. The road gangs are coming back. Now this. Times are changing.

His wife has a slightly odd sense of humour.

An old hermit selling Geiger counters, metal detectors and some weird things he calls Gipis, but appears to be broken, only showing "No sattelite signal" message upon turning on.

eggs

Firearm alternatives in a post-gunpowder-production society.

...

A Gruff Man in a leather jacket and his Mutant Mechanic companion are repairing their Car after it had been damaged in a fight. After the fight they barely drove it into town into an unused garage.

The two are unwilling to leave the vehicle unattended out of fears it might be stolen, but are in dire need of certain components in order to repair the vehicle.

They believe that the components might be found in the wasteland town's junkyard.

They promise some supplies in return for this service and might offer a lift to the next settlement/point of interest?

The vehicle is in pretty good shape minus the recent battle damage that rendered it inoperable, has off-road suspension and armored exterior.

Depending on the setting it can be one of the few working vehicles still around.

A lot of ways it could be done,

>Implying those would be easier to makes than home-pressing bullets
>Implying crossbows wouldn't be just better

Black powder is to simple to just go away, there are even sulfur less recipes for it although they cause even more fouling.

Gunpowder is actually pretty simple to make, especially saltpeter. Just need a constant source of shit to ferment the stuff........

Cut down double barreled muzzle loader with one barrel loaded with buckshot and the other with buck and ball, possibly with a mixed ignition system.

>Still missing the point
The tools required for that would yield you better, more reliable weapons.

Are you at least semi-aware how hard it is to have access to pressurised air, especially when you don't have a supply of electricity on a whim?
I get it, they had those in MM2, but they had them as massive, vehicle-transported rigs, cutting down problems with such weapon to a moot point. Making them portable meanwhie... well, you are in a world of pain.

Go read about Girandoni air rifle.

notwhich tools and what weapons?

Ok, I rest my case, since you seriously think a hand pump will be able to do that.
I mean it will be able to do that... assuming you have everything super-tight and have spare time to push it about 80-100 times.

Like I said, go read about Girandoni. All the issues with the gun still apply today.

No I do not I am NOT air rifle user. quit implying I am you fucking shit. I honestly don't know what gave you that Idea.

You would need a well-stocked machinist shop, with decent lathe and/or good welding equipment. Preferably both, since I doubt you will have any industrial-tier glue or lubricate to seal the screws.
Those tools need electricity.

Assuming you have a shop capable of making those, you could as well make pretty much anything else. For example, like other user pointed out, crossbows. Which would be MUCH easier to make and definitely more reliable at combat, with roughtly the same fire-rate and definitely better stopping power. Not to mention you can make one, having rigid piece of scrap/wood, elastic piece of scrap/wood and any form of string and cord. Oh, and a knife to bend/carve them together.

Also, this . Girandoni was the only military-issue air gun ever made. And it works only if you ignore pressure issues.

My Idea was something like davide-pedersoli.com/scheda-prodotto.asp/l_en/idpr_36/pistols-howdah-hunter-howdah-hunter-kombo.html with an ignition system made from whats available for a personal weapon. Not a god damn air gun.

How did you get "air gun" from muzzle loader?

Then why the hell you've posted air guns and talked about shooting without having charges? Assuming it was you.

You don't, unless you want to spend a lot of time with ramming and further decrease the muzzle velocity due to lack of proper pressure.

>Bullshit
Make for good fertilizer apparently.

I am not or I did not post those my first post was than than than than I was not talking about a fucking air gun, a muzzle loading black powder sawn off shot gun if what I was fucking talking about.

Why not make up some more game scenarios?

Please?

Me, cause I'm mad as hell

Set me up an encounter for mad user in the wasteland

user mad, user make bombs using random containers, black powder, nitro, or other incendiary substances and about 30 minutes worth of fuse and hides them all over the bazaar the last one was lit about 10 minutes after the first happy hunting.

Sounds........ Painful

>Getting this mad about being confused with different user

>assuming some one is some one else because you can't read.

I wasn't even part of the discussion you had.
Seriously, how new are you to using Vietnamese anonymous imageboards?

Been about 3 years. Normally just lurk, felt like a fun tread and beveis and but head pissed me of now I can't go to bed.

Sounds like a personal problem

A short and excitedly anxious man in his 40s is bellowing at the crowd of disinterested passer's-by. He is attempting to sell drying mud for an exorbitantly high price.

Every few seconds he spills precious water on the mound, stocks of which he refuses to negotiate on.

Above him hangs a large neon sign of arranged letters, powered by one of the few expensive generators available on hire. It states "Ted Sheckler's Moist Dirt Emporium"

Is this some reference I've missed?

A pair of rugged and drunken men stand outside one the Bazaar's many drinking establishments, arguing over the veracity of makeshift weapons. One advocates for compressed air rifles, and the other advocates for simpler crossbows. It looks like they've been arguing for a while, and if someone doesn't interlude, it will almost certainly devolve into a knife fight.

A frog mutant wearing what looks like an antiquated uniform and helmet sits inside a drinking establishment, passively watching their argument. It has what looks like an obsolete bolt action which he refers to as his "nugget."

In an alleyway, a handful of stray cats and kittens can be seen gnawing on the bottom half of what used to be a giant lizard. The bottom half is severely decayed, and looks like it's at least four days old. The cats don't seem to mind, and if someone were to feed them something fresher, they'd be very appreciative.

A heavily armed bear mutant and his adopted daughter are at the Market Town selling salvage from a rickety wooden wagon. Most of their salvage is scrap metal, but they've managed to get their hands on a few canned peaches and a stack of old porno magazines. The bear is very gruff and irrated, explaining that he needs to get enough food to be ready for hibernation later this year, he's irritated because he won't be able to salvage while he's hibernating. The bear refuses to explain where he'll be hibernating or how much food they've gathered so far, for the girl's sake.

A man selling a several crates of Hopes and Dreams. He also sells Dignity, Good Intentions, Happiness, Conscience and Common Sense, most rarest of his goods.

Yes, hello, I'm in the market for a castrated male of girlish build and complexion to serve my warband as entertainment and domestic service. Previous experience has taught me that an actual female is unsuited for this role as she will inevitably cause disputes and infighting within the group.

too l8 m8 bought them all ;P

Following the crudely written signs you will find the animal pens at the far end of the market. All manner of creatures are on sale. Livestock, domestic pets, hunting companions, working animals. In the ruins of the church by the pens you'll find a plastic astronaut. Rudi. Hunter, guide, mercenary

...

A toothless beggar missing a foot is panhandling by the ruins of an old fountain. He seems to be earnest and in need, but if one were to covertly watch him, they would discover that he is perfectly capable of walking with a rusted prosthetic, and only begs out of sheer laziness.

This toothless beggar claims to have served as a Texan Ranger and killed dozens of bandits in his youth, but anyone familiar with the Texan Rangers would realize he's a liar upon asking for specifics.

>And those are all names for pharma-grade drugs

>sir bearington

Ha ha No, get that shit outta here.

Yeah, ok. I completely understand some places will have the resources and know how to make their own gunpowder.

But the wasteland is not a homogeneous unified collection of people who all trade with each other. Lots of pockets where they just don't know. Places where they don't have the stuff.

Come on, it adds variety to a setting.

Sir bearington? Fuck no I was inserting my Cataclysm DDA character, a bear mutant who's more spec-ops than anything. Look at that pic, do you see anything that suggests that bear is a knight or shows any chivalrous tendencies apart from a protective instinct towards that little girl? If I was going to insert sir bearington I wouldn't have been that subtle about it user.

Do you even need to ask?