jobs in the wasteland
You thought The post apocalypse was going to be fun. You dreamed of it during luch hours at the office. You saw yourself cruising the desert in a dodge charge, al leather jackets and gun fights. Now it’s here and you still need to survive, people still need jobs, only the salary is worse and there are no vacation days. So what could be your vocation? There’s little need for accountants right now.
The treasure hunters of The Glow and other dangerous zones. Stalkers trek into places where no normal human would go. Irridiated bomb craters, army basis with still active defenses and minefields. For just one goal; shinies and old technology. Maybe they manage to drag out a old portable fission reactor or a Plasma Rifle, worth enough caps to feed them for their last few years. Or they keep plotting away thourgh danger until they croak in the bleak desert sun. Stalkers come in many forms. From lone wanders, slwoly losing their mind to organized tribes of hunters, who slowly, over the years map and pick clean the same region, teaching their knowledge to the younger generations.
Any one with a starting capital of enough Bottlecaps or gear, and a knack for haggeling and deceit, can become a trader. Some set up shop in small commmunities and are close to decent. Others travel the wasteland, looking for a rub in need, willing to pay any price for that last clip in stock that happens to fit that empty gun they found buried in the rubble. No trader is dumb enough to deal in amrs and other dangerous items without some protection. They always keep the best gear from themselves and pay bodyguards and merchernaries handsomly to stay alive. Traders are scumbags, willing to sell their own mother for some brahim hide, but be nice to them, who knows when they manange to sell exactly what you need, exactly when you need it.
a gun, or blade, for hire. more or less skilled combatants with a loyalty to bottlecaps.
being a Raider is not just a proffesional career, it’s a way of life. You roam the wasteland in packs, carrying a vicious looking defunct asault rifle and an improvised blade and handmade armour, looking for the lone wanderer to rip of his last water and bottles caps, leaving him to die in the burning sun, or mercifully putting a bullet between his teeth, if you can spare a bullet. Mohawks and an ugly scowl are optional, but strongly recomanded.
So the NCR doesn’t stretch it’s desert cameo clad arm of justice and civilization this far south yet, but they an’t let any criminal escape justice just by walking down to the boneyard. That’s where the you, the bounty hunter, come in. For a moderate fee you find any one with a price on their head, and take them back for a bag full of nice and shine bottlecaps. Ofcourse, it’s a lot easier to just carry their head back, after all the bounty is on their head, isn’t it. Bounty hunters are exert trackers and have a way with words to coax your whereabouts out of the most tightlipped mute. They also have a thing for long ranged weapons such as hunting and sniper rifles.
So, you have a medical degree, more or less. Or at least you have read a beginners manual of surgery and anatomy, right? well, at least you might be able to read the instructions on the side of a bloodpack, don’t you? anyway, for better or worse you make a living py patching people up. You’re not sqeamish of the human body and it’s numerous fluids and you know how to set a leg, perform a abortions, or a birth, administer a bloodpack or pull a soar tooth.
Even after the collapse of society you need someone to pour you a drink after a days hard work. The bartender does all that and more. He knows every one around, provides cheap booze, knows the distillers and probably can offer entertainment. Maybe an old movie projector or some girls. At leat some magazines.
Up there they hang around in that old cathedral. Preaching love and understanding, and the new change of the cleansing flame. Joining them will provide you with a square mail a day and fresh robes, and even a change of advancement within the church.
“The beliefs of the ”/campaign/the-boneyard/wikis/Children%20of%20the%20Cathedral/new" class=“create-wiki-page-link”>Cathedral’s Children are based on the belief that the nuclear holocaust (referred to as the Holy Flame, the Sacred Fire), invoked by human greed, corruption and selfishness was a chance to begin anew. It is the proverbial light that nearly destroyed humanity. The Master is the antithesis, the Dark God, waiting in the Darkness below (quite literally), leading his children into a new era of peace and unity.1
He brings about the Unity, through which the Nexus of Rebirth2 will be reached, during which all the worthy ones will be baptized in the holy FEV and become the next generation of humans. When everyone reaches this next stage of evolution, the Age of Peace will come, when there will be no more war and no more suffering."
Between a trader and a raider. Slavers are highly orgnaized groups that hunt and capture lone wanderers, poor farmers and anyone who looks lightly defended. Slaves are sold to farms or mines to perform manual labour until they die of malnutrition er exertion. If you find yourself captive of slavers, stay calm and hope for rescue. Do not attempt to escape unless absolutly sure of your changes, or you’re insides will be stuffed in a bag and hung from a ceiling or pole, left to dry out. No physician in the wolrd can help you then.
Brahim herder/ farmer
those that are trying to make an honest living, working. They stay together in groups, mostly under the watchful eye of the NCR or other organzition dedicated to reesteblishing civilization, like the enclave. Their presssence seems to attract wild life and raiders like moth to a lamp. Any brahim field should be protected from many bloatflies at night, who are drawn the the creatures blood.
very similair to a bounty hunter, but some one who actually chases down wild creatures for the meat, hides or other products. Almost any creature in the wasteland can be shot for a profit. If you know how. Removing the poison glands from a radscorpion is dangerous and difficult work, under the best surcumstances. Doing it in the middle of the night, with his kin prowling around you is nerve wrecking. But when you’ve gotten back to town and brewed that antidote, you might just have enough the cure the poison running through your veins you got when fighting the creature in the first place. Mole rat meat is pretty tasty, and deathclaw claws can be turned into some fierce melee weapons.
you have deans repair manual on your night stand, and people come to you when bullet holes have ripped their favourite leather jacket apart, or when their hunting rifle cannot be repaired with ducktape and a spare barrel anymore. When you have a place to work, the right equipment and some time, you might build up a valuable bottle cap mine, or a the dangerous Rock-It-Launcher.
oke, you don’t have any skills to speak of, but you can bully or flatter people to do your every bidding. You now a little bit of everything, but have no expertise. So you turned to lead a small band of survivors into a small thriving community. At least until some body starts to chatter about free elections and freedom and other such nonsense.
The most fragile of the people of the desert, but also the ones with the most change to rise to greatness in the postapocalyptic world. You have just, for reasons entirly not your fault, been kicked out of hte safety of living underground in prewar conditions. Or you have been send out on a grand quest to save the people of your vault. Anyway, the bleak glare of the desert sun shines into your darkness accustomed eyes, and you have nothing on you but a blue jump suit and maybe a pipboy. Having no knowledge expect from your vague sense of morality and prewar mentality of progress and humanity to make it into an entirly differnt world
you own an old personal computer. It works somewhat, if you can find the power cells that run it. It might even have some old files or programs on it. But you’ve learned from. Like the smith, who does analogue repairs, you know everything about circuit boards, computers and security systems. You skills might not come in use enough to make a living, so it’s more of a hobby. In time of need you can also be a doctor, a raider or anything else you need to be.
He, you have a bike. Everyday you prayed to god to give you a bike. He didn’t answer. So you stole a bike, and now pray for forgiveness. You carry an oold picture of a roadracer in your pocket at all times. You burned a sprocket into your calf as a improvised tattoo. The bike itself probaly has wooden tires, and a single speed chain that keeps skipping and slipping of, but you’re still faster than anything through the streets of the downtown area and the suburbs. You get payed gold old caps for delevering supplies and letters. or you travelled all around the wasteland on two wheels. Last but not least, you’re repais skills are constanty tested.
This depraved individuals, or sometimes small cults, are widly feared and loathed around the wasteland, for they have turned to eating human flesh. You probably not one of them, right? Anyway, most of them can be recognized by a few missing digits of fingers. A rather unexplained phenomena. ‘Sages’ claim it to be a sort of initation rite, while others claim that cannibals just can’t resist trying their own flesh.