"Okay, DM, we're in town. What do we
see?"

?Well, let?s see ?there?s an inn . . . and a
tavern, and a stable, and a trader?s shop,
and a . . . a . . . uh, what else do you
need??

?Zzzzz.?
 

Has this ever happened to you? Sure it
has! Well, next time your players enter a
new town, throw one of these establishments
at them as a change of pace to the
?same-old-shop blues.?
 

Shippy's Bait and Tackle
Who would guess that the decrepit leanto
squatting like a bloated toad at the edge
of the rotting wharf was in fact the residence
of the infamous Cap?n Shippy? Everyone,
that?s who, which is why most
decent people give the place and Cap?n
Shippy (AC 10; MV 12?; F1/Tl; hp 6; #AT
1; Dmg l-8 with lead-weighted club; S 8, I
14, W 15, D 9, C 8, Ch 4, Co 5; SA caustic
comments about characters and their
mothers; AL N) a wide berth.

Perhaps it?s the four leaky rowboats tied
to the dock, their bottoms rotted from
disuse, advertised for rent at 2 gp per day.
Possibly it?s the charming, hand-lettered
signs covering missing windowpanes,
proclaiming ?No Wimmen Allowed,? ?No
Gold, No Bait,? and ?Closed,? Or maybe it?s
the human skeleton tied upside-down by its
feet and labeled ?The One that Got Away?
that gives Shippy?s its quaint atmosphere.
But don?t be fooled by outward appearances,
for inside, Shippy?s is a veritable
cornucopia of fishing paraphernalia. Witness
the shelves stacked high with jars and
bottles of exotic bait (some of its origins
best left unknown) and a multitude of
hooks (ranging from the microscopic
feather hook to the half-ton ?Thunderbarb,?
whose purpose can only be guessed).

And talk about worms! Shippy?s has
every variety known to Mother Nature.
Among the listed varieties are dew worms,
shrew worms, dead worms, red worms,
head worms, green worms, bean worms,
in-between worms, sand worms, land
worms, hand worms, purple worms (just
kidding), wigglers, squigglers, squirmers,
crawlers, and, of course, the rare and
special speckled spackle worm.

For those characters not been lucky
enough to have already visited this establishment,
their first meeting with the
proprietor is sure to be a moment to remember.
Shippy appears to be in his sixties,
although his actual age is unknown.
He has one good eye, which he fixes steadily
on his customers until they either buy
something or leave. (The other is a glass
eye, which Shippy rolls on the countertop
when he wishes to annoy a slow shopper.)
His thin mouth is fixed in a perpetual
frown, and long strands of white hair
protrude from his ears and nostrils, perhaps
compensation for the lack of same
upon his head. His posture resembles a
question mark, and he walks with a pronounced
limp, leaning heavily on a cane
constructed from a stuffed swordfish.

Shippy is always cursing something or
someone, usually in a very loud voice. He
pretends to be quite deaf, berating everyone
to ?Speak up!? even if they haven?t
spoken. In truth, his hearing is quite
sharp, and he is able to overhear quite a
few conversations that would not take
place otherwise. This makes Shippy an
excellent source of information, if one is
prepared to pay his outrageous prices for
bait and sit through several hours of ridiculously
exaggerated sea yarns. Rumor has
it that Shippy?s place is host to illegal
worm fights on Friday nights, but this
allegation has never been proven.

Madame Zuzu?s Bread and Fortunes
The sign in the dusty window of this
little shop proclaims ?Madame Zuzu ?
Fortune Teller ? Sees All ? Knows All ?
Fresh Bread Baked Daily.? Inside is a small,
round table surrounded by four chairs.
On the table are a crystal ball and a large
incense burner which gives off an odor of
burning leaves. Madame Zuzu (AC 10; MV
6?; T2; hp 7; #AT 1; Dmg 1-4 with thrown
object, l-2 with bread loaf; S 9, I 12, W 14,
D 7, C 14, Ch 4, Co 4; AL CN) is a skinny,
hook-nosed old crone with protruding
chin hairs and a rather prominent wart in
the middle of her forehead. She wears a
multicolored turban and a long black robe
decorated with silver stars. Madame Zuzu
can usually be found seated at the table. A
curtain at the back of the room leads to a
small kitchen and fireplace where bread is
baked.

Speaking in a thick accent, Madame
Zuzu tells the fortune of anyone who pays
her a 1 gp consultation fee. This reading is
accompanied by a great deal of mumbojumbo
and hand waving over the phony
crystal ball (actually an inverted mixing
bowl). Roll 1d12 for one of the following
(faked) fortunes:

1. You will embark upon a long journey.
When you arrive, you will have reached
your destination.

2. You are about to misplace something
very precious to you. When you find it, it
will be in the last place you look.

3. I see a young man/woman in your
future. He/she will be wearing matching
stockings. Celebrate with some baked
goods.

4. New enterprises may bring misfortune.
Remember: Initiative comes to those
who wait. Buy some bread soon.

5. You will succeed where others have
failed, if you learn the meaning of success
and failure.

6. All is not as it seems. Trust no one
but yourself . . . and Madame Zuzu?s hot
muffins.

7. An old friend will be the bearer of
glad tidings. Invite him in and give him
b i s c u i t s .

8. You will reap what you sow and sew
what you rip.

9. You will live to a ripe old age, unless 
you are killed. 

10. You will receive your greatest wish,
then not want it.

11. A fool and his money are soon
parted. One gold piece, please.

12. Beware the green monkey. He barks
at midnight.

After the reading, Madame Zuzu declares
that "the ball has gone cloudy," and
tries to sell the patron a loaf of her stale
bread (5 cp). If she is asked a direct question
about present or future events, she
replies with either "Your question has
much merit. The spirits smile on your
inquisitive nature," or "The path you travel
may well lead to that which you seek,?
whichever is more appropriate. If the
group questions her authenticity as a
medium, she orders them out of her shop,
threatening them with the dreaded curse
of the slobbering camels and a large loaf
of French bread.

Realm of Junk
An 8?-high wooden fence encloses this
half-acre junkyard. The sign on the front
gate proclaims ?Realm of Junk ? His Royal
Highness King Woofer, Ruler of the World
? No Peasants Allowed.? The gate is not
locked, but a wooden board nailed across
the opening at chest level forces anyone
attempting to enter to bow. Inside are
piles of trash and junk of every description
filling the entire half acre. There is a
gold-painted, one-room shack to the left of
the entrance. A line of old shields embedded
in the ground forms a path from the
entrance to the house.

An examination of the shack reveals the
paint to be cracked and peeling. There are
2 suits of dented battle armor stationed
on either side of the front door. The front
window is draped in tattered velvet.
Above the door is a wood-burned sign
bearing a crown and six X marks.

Inside the shack, seated on a throne
made of old armor, barrels, pipes, horse
shoes, and other odds and ends, sits King
Woofer himself (AC 9; MV 12"; F3; hp 11;
#AT 1; Dmg 1-6 with pipe; S 8, I 14, W 3, D
9, C 11, Ch 11, Co 12; AL CN). Woofer is
quite mad. He actually believes that his
junkyard is the entire sum of the civilized
world and that he is its ruler. He wears a
thick, patchwork robe and a crown composed
of 41 gold coins welded together.
His scepter is a piece of lead pipe mounted
with a stuffed piglet head. His coat-ofarms,
painted on a shield hung behind the
throne, shows a mangy rat emerging from
a battered chamber pot with two
crossed chicken bones above and beneath
the legend ?Dis Gust, Dis Grace, Dis Place.?
Lining the walls of the shack are suits of
armor in various positions and states of
disrepair. These are Woofer?s ?subjects,?
and he treats them as if they were alive.
He considers anyone who enters his domain
as a barbarian and treats him accordingly.
King Woofer expects everyone
to bestow upon him all the respect and
subservience his position demands.

The coin of his realm is junk, and he
expects all visitors to bestow a small gratitude
to approach his presence. All the
locals know of his condition and transact
all their junk business without visiting the
throne. If they have something to unload,
they merely bring it in and dump it; if
they wish to purchase something, they
search for what they need and leave food
or clothing in exchange.

If the group does not go along with the
king?s eccentric behavior or makes him
mad in any way, he screams for the
prince. A low growl from behind the party
follows. Standing in the doorway, wearing
a spiked collar and a tin crown, is the
biggest, meanest junkyard dog the party
has ever seen. Prince (AC 6; MV 15" ; HD
3; hp 15; #AT 3; Dmg 2-8/1-4/; AL NE)
springs to the attack, attempting to claw
away and lock his slavering jaws around a
character?s neck. He is not rabid, but his
nails are filthy; any scratches have a 60%
chance of becoming infected (as per a
giant rat?s bite) if not properly treated.

Searching the house reveals nothing of
value except the crown, which is made of
actual gold. Any weapons or armor found
are in no condition to be used. If the PCs
choose to search the junkyard first, they
are able to find almost any item they desire
after careful searching, though none
of these items are usable. There is also a
60% chance per round that the party
encounters Prince, who presents himself
in the characters? path. If he smells fear, or
if the party moves to attack, he springs. If
the characters avoid him or try to be
friendly, he backs off but follows them
until they leave, growling all the while.

Gristle's Butcher Shop
This small, stone building with a stuffed
pig in the front window is the domain of
Gristle the butcher (AC 10; MV 12" ; Hero; hp
18; #AT 1; Dmg l-6 with bloody meat
cleaver; S 15, I 10, W 7, D 12, C 15, Ch 6,
Co 6; AL N). Links of greasy sausage are
draped freely about the store, and several
unmarked barrels of disgusting animal
parts are stationed throughout. A grimy
glass display case half blocks the curtained
back wall. The back of the store consists
of a combination cutting room, storage
room, and living quarters. The entire place
reeks of blood and entrails.

When anyone enters the shop (signaled
by a tinkling bell), Gristle emerges from
the back room and stands behind the case,
cleaver in hand, glaring at the customer.
The meat displayed in the case is very old
and not very appetizing. Gristle is not
really a good butcher; he just likes to cut
up animals. He calls everything ?meat? and
charges the same price for all his cuts (1
sp per pound). Gristle has a tendency to
drool a lot and punctuates his speech by
waving his cleaver.

The butcher offers to buy any extra
horses or pack animals the party may
have. If they refuse, he, tries to sell them a
hog?s head he has in one of the barrels,
claiming it would make good soup. If the
group spurns all his generous offers, he
reaches behind the counter and retrieves
a dented, white metal mask, which he
places over his face. He then dances
around, waving his cleaver and shouting
unintelligible curses until the party flees.

Bobo Watson's Chicken Emporium
The first thing most visitors notice about
this establishment is the 12"-tall wooden
chicken welcoming them from the roof
with open wings. This giant clucker announces
to one and all (with a magic
mouth) that they have arrived at the
world-famous Bobo Watson Chicken Emporium.
Sprawling over a hundred acres
of prime gravel, the Chicken Emporium is
home to over 33 varieties of fowl. Visitors
may choose any bird for their Sunday
meal, and may even watch its beheading
on the premises by one of several professional
axemen. Local children, employed
as chicken chasers to catch the chosen
chick, have to be fast and must possess a
keen eye, for over 5,000 chickens call this
ranch their home.

The gift shop boasts such delightful
surprises as down pillows and comforters,
hand-painted eggs, egg candles, books of
delicious egg recipes, feathers for hats and
headbands, and, for the kiddies, Junior
Chicken Rancher badges and the amazing
ship-in-an-egg.

Every day at noon, there is a demonstration
of raw egg juggling. Kids love to
watch the chick feedings at 1O:OO A.M.,
2:OO P.M., and 5:OO P.M. The admission price
is only 6 cp. Chicken dinner prices vary.
No one has ever seen Bobo Watson.
Some say he was a poor chicken farmer
who struck it rich and now lives the life of
a recluse. Others attest that he fell into a
vat of mash and was pecked to death
several years ago. Still others claim that
there is no Bobo Watson -- that it is a
fictitious name dreamed up by a group of
merchants to help sell chickens. Who
knows? To this day, the mystery of Bobo
Watson remains just that: a mystery.


APRIL 1987