“Where the prairie
meets the pyre.”
Once a quiet farming crossroads, Westlock now roars with the
forge-fire and engine shrieks of the Boreal Buccaneers’ inland stronghold.
Known across the north as The Wrecker’s Anchorage, Westlock serves as
both scrapyard and shipyard—a rust-belt pirate port where landships are born,
rebuilt, and sent screaming across the wrecked prairie highways. Grain
elevators have become watchtowers, trainyards serve as launch bays for raiding
convoys, and the Iron Reliquary hums with sacred grease. Here, among frozen fields
and fire-welded steel, the raiders don't just worship the past—they bolt it to
an engine block and drive it into legend.
The Shipyard of the North
Though the Boreal Buccaneers’ high command operates out of
Phase III of the Great Western Mall, Westlock is where their war machine is
built, fixed, and reborn. Thanks to the combination of the massive trainyard,
the Canadian Tractor Museum’s Iron Reliquary, and nearby salvage-rich fields,
Westlock has become the de facto shipyard of the wasteland—where rust-rigs,
landships, and siege-crawlers are forged from prairie steel and old-world
engines.
Their crews retrofit into long-haul command wagons, rebuild
diesel locomotives into armoured raiding caravans, and lay down fresh treads
using scavenged rail. A semi-formal parley with Mayor Larry of Ed-Town
designated the Westlock as a kind of post-apocalyptic AMA (Alberta Motor
Association)—offering “roadside repair, rerouting, and redirection” to travellers...
for a price. In practice, it’s more extortion and toll collection than public
service, but it gives Westlock a thin veneer of legitimacy.
"Need a rig blessed by the Order of the Drive Chain?
Need a hull made of melted grain silos? Need to outrun a Death Gopher on
Highway 63? You go to Westlock."
This unique identity cements Westlock as not just a raider
den, but the industrial backbone of the Boreal Buccaneers, where every engine
starts its second life—bristling with cannons, adorned with sail-spikes, and
baptized in smoke.
The Buccaneer Brotherhood: Governmental Structure
*“It ain’t a government—it’s a *chain of grudges held
together with duct tape and charm.”
—Par-5 Gibberly, Golfclap Syndicate Spokesman
High Council of Captains (Based at the Great Mall – “Phase III”)
The de facto ruling council of the Boreal Buccaneers.
Think of it like a blend between a pirate war council, outlaw senate, and mafia
dons' table. Each captain who controls a major port, fleet, or faction gets a
seat.
·
Decisions are made by consensus or
intimidation.
·
“Phase III” is seen as the heart of
buccaneer pageantry, diplomacy, and high-level scheming.
·
Its environment is more ceremonial, theatrical,
and backstabby.
The Anchorage Syndicates (Westlock Power Blocs)
In contrast, Westlock is where things get built, fixed,
moved, or buried. It's a looser, more practical network of
mechanical clans, scrap crews, and convoy bosses who know how to get things
done. They provide the steel and manpower to the Great Mall’s pomp.
Key Features:
·
Governed by a Rotating Assembly of
Quartermasters, each representing a crew, convoy, workshop, or outpost.
·
Adheres loosely to the “Articles of the
Anchorage”, a constantly evolving document based on pirate code clichés,
technical schematics, and one-liners from old VHS tapes.
·
Votes are weighted by what you haul—tonnage,
miles covered, salvage delivered.
·
Important disputes are settled via "Geargrudges"—duels,
demolition derbies, or rig-building competitions.
Analogue: Jersey crews who run the docks, warehouses,
and trucking. Less ceremony, more efficiency. But still deadly.
Mall vs. Anchorage: The Power Dynamic
·
Phase III is the heart of Buccaneer culture,
diplomacy, and legacy.
·
Wrecker’s Anchorage is the heart of
Buccaneer industry, mobility, and enforcement.
This means:
·
Westlock crews resent being treated like
“mechanics with guns” by the Mall elite.
·
Mall captains look down on Anchorage
leadership as uncultured grease-thugs—but they rely on them for vehicles,
fuel, and food.
·
Westlock folk pride themselves on honest
raiding and earned respect, as opposed to the ceremonial pomp of mall-born
Buccaneers.
·
The Mall sees the “parley” with Mayor Larry as
suspicious... but they still benefit from the AMA-style recovery operations.
Local Leadership in Westlock
Quartermaster’s Circle
- Rotating
council made up of:
o Lead
fabricator from the Iron Reliquary
o Convoy
boss from the trainyard
o Skyfall
Corsair wing rep
o Archivist
of Infamy (social records & myth)
o Neutral
innkeeper or elder (often the Velvet Anchor’s current owner)
- Overseen
by the “High Wrecker”, a ceremonial title elected during Rustfall,
a yearly harvest festival turned demolition derby.
Informal Advisors
· Commodore
Whiskerly, the psychic cat, often weighs in with cryptic commentary. His
“approval” carries real weight.
· Lucille
the Goat is considered a tie-breaker vote in some traditions. No one’s sure
why. They accept it.
How This Shapes PC Interactions
· PCs
might have to navigate both bureaucracies: the polished lies of the Mall
and the raw pragmatism of Westlock.
· A
quest approved by Phase III may be blocked or sabotaged by Anchorage
crews if they weren’t consulted.
· Earning
favour in Westlock might involve running cargo, fixing a rig, or winning a
bar brawl—not political posturing.
· Factions
within Westlock could feud or unite depending on who controls the convoy
routes, scrap supplies, or fuel caches.
Key NPCs of The Wrecker’s Anchorage
Friends, foes, and everything in between.
Brother Crankshaft
High Greasemaker of the Order
of the Drive Chain
Brother Crankshaft is the fiery, oil-soaked heart of the
Iron Reliquary—equal parts prophet, priest, and deranged mechanic whose sermons
shake the rafters and rattle the bolts. Draped in welding leathers and smeared
with sacred grease, he preaches the gospel of motion, combustion, and
reclamation, claiming that every engine holds a trapped spirit begging for
release. Pilgrims, raiders, and desperate scavvers come to him seeking
blessings for their rigs, knowing full well his “tune-ups” range from
miraculous to catastrophically explosive. The High Greasemaker guards forbidden
pre-Hodgepocalypse blueprints like holy scripture and whispers of a coming
“Great Ignition” that will either save Alberta… or burn it clean.
Plot Hook:
The High Greasemaker tasks the PCs with retrieving a lost “engine soul” sealed
in a derailed cargo car—but warns them the machine guarding it has become sentient.
When the crew returns, they must decide whether to hand over the artifact… or
stop the prophet from igniting whatever apocalypse he’s about to unleash.
Captain
Slip “the Streak” Vandermeek
Skyfall Corsair Veteran
e
Captain Slip “the Streak” Vandermeek is the undisputed
legend of the Dropzone. This one-legged skyboarding maniac straps
himself to rusted parachutes and rides updrafts like a saint of
self-destruction. Clad in neon wind-cutters stitched from sailcloth and
hubcaps, Slip is as much a showman as he is a saboteur, known for
stealing gear mid-air, tagging enemy rigs with graffiti mid-glide, and once
landing on a moving combine with nothing but a crowbar and a wink. His missing
leg has been replaced with a grappling-hook boot he fires from mid-fall to
anchor himself or yoink others off their feet. Whether training new
blood or leading death-from-above raids, Slip lives for the drop—and doesn’t
much care who survives the landing.
Plot Hook:
Slip offers to train the party in aerial infiltration using cursed parachutes
and a set of cracked anti-grav boards… but insists on testing them mid-raid.
When the PCs discover the target is a fortified oil tower swarming with
gunners, they must choose between bailing out—or becoming airborne legends
themselves.
Commodore Whiskerly “the Silent Fang”
Commodore Whiskerly, the so-called Silent Fang of
the Boreal Buccaneers, is no ordinary feline. Draped in a scrap-leather tricorn
and adorned with relics of forgotten shipwrecks, this sleek black cat carries
an aura of myth and menace. His piercing silver eyes see more than light—they
delve into minds, glimpse possible futures, and judge souls. Revered by pirate
crews and feared by telepaths, Whiskerly moves unchallenged through anchorages
and reliquaries, trailing silence and psychic static in his wake. No one knows
how he rose to power—or why no one dares dispute it. Some say he was once a
ship’s cat aboard a ghost convoy swallowed by the storm. Others claim he never
had a first life, let alone eight. All agree on one thing: when Whiskerly curls
up beside you and purrs... destiny shifts.
Plot Hook: "The Cat That Knew Too Much"
After a routine salvage run, the party finds themselves
haunted—not by spirits, but by visions not their own. Commodore Whiskerly has
begun broadcasting a fragmented memory of a hidden treasure vault buried
beneath the Dropzone. The only problem? Every Buccaneer who’s ever gone looking
for it has vanished… or returned half-mad. Now, the PCs must follow the trail
of thought left by a telepathic cat with an unreliable attention span, all
while dodging psychic booby traps, jealous rivals, and the cult of the Ninth
Tail—who believe Whiskerly’s time is up.
Conductor Hobble
Conductor Hobble is the grim, gravel-throated maestro of the
Westlock Trainyard, ruling over rusting landships and crawling freight monsters
like a pirate admiral on rails. Once a proud railway engineer, now warped by
years of post-apocalyptic attrition and betrayal, he stomps across the depot
with his crowbar cane and a shattered conductor’s cap tilted like a crown.
Hobble speaks in timetables, curses by train codes, and trusts no one who can't
read a rail manifest blindfolded. Every shipment, every landship, every
desperate migrant knows: if you want to move through the North, you have to go
through Hobble—and he never runs a train for free.
Plot Hook:
A crucial cargo needs to leave Westlock fast—but Hobble’s declared the line
“under siege” until someone clears the backlog. PCs can grease his palm, dig up
dirt on his rivals, or do the impossible: get his personal flagship, the Thundercreep,
running again.
Grin-Splitter Oloff
Ice Axe Warlord of the Scree Slopes
Grin-Splitter Oloff rules the treacherous Tawatinaw
Outpost like a frostbitten ghost king, his cracked beard forever caked with
ice and old blood. Clad in jagged bone-wrapped armour and wearing the skull of
a snow-elk as a crown, he lords over the Scree Slopes, a gauntlet of
avalanche paths, razor winds, and deathtraps disguised as sled runs. Oloff
rarely speaks, and when he does, it’s in haiku-length riddles carved
into ice chunks or muttered between gnarled teeth. Rumours say he once outran
an avalanche on a burning sled—and he’s spent every season since daring
others to try and do better. His code is simple: survive the Scree, and you may
earn his help—or his territory.
Plot Hook:
To cross the northern trails safely, the party must earn Oloff’s respect by
accepting a sled-race challenge... where the tracks are mined, the turns are
cursed, and the other racers are his own lieutenants. If they win, they gain
passage and prestige; if they lose, they may become permanent “sled markers”
for the next fool to follow.
Lady
Scribblecut
Master Forger of the Archivists of Infamy
Lady Scribblecut is the spider at the center of Wrecker’s
Anchorage’s web of lies, legends, and beautifully edited truths. Operating out
of the Memory Forge, she crafts fake deeds, lost wills, forged maps, and
entire invented backstories with the precision of a calligrapher and the bite
of a con artist. Her wardrobe is stitched from black silks and tarps covered in
living ink tattoos—some of which crawl or whisper at night—and her tools
are antique quills made from the feathers of psychic birds and a stylus carved
from the tongue-bone of a preacher. She deals in secrets, trades in rumours,
and can rewrite a pirate’s past into myth or erase them from memory—for the
right confession.
Plot Hook:
Lady Scribblecut offers to create a legendary identity for one of the
PCs—complete with a backdated bounty, a fictional heroic lineage, and forged
relics to match. But soon bounty hunters show up, demanding the PC answer for
“past crimes” they never committed… and the only person who can help vanished
from the records two days ago.
Lucille the Goat
Lucille the Goat is a menace, a miracle, and maybe a
messiah. With mismatched eyes that glint like cracked gemstones and a coat that
sparks faintly in the dark, Lucille roams the Hodgepocalypse with unholy
purpose. She’s been spotted headbutting wraiths in graveyards, chewing up
radioactive shipping manifests, and napping on bar counters like she owns the
place. Nobody remembers when she showed up—but old-timers swear she was there
when the Iron Reliquary opened its first vault, and some Ember Ravers claim she
blesses their speakers with divine bass. Priests mutter that she's a Minor
Saint of Spite, Spirit, and Sustenance. Barkeepers just want her to stop
breaking the furniture.
Plot Hook:
Lucille has taken a strange interest in the party—staring at them from
rooftops, leaving half-eaten hexed pamphlets near their bedrolls, and once
charging directly into a soul fog to retrieve someone's lost boots. A rogue
cult has begun following her trail, convinced she’s the key to finding the
“Gospel of the Goat.” The PCs must decide: do they chase her off, follow her
lead, or try to win her favor with pickled radish and a sturdy headbutt helmet?
Maul-Chop Mae
Maul-Chop Mae, matron of the infamous JD’s Fuel
Stop, is equal parts den mother and demon chef. Behind her welcoming grin
and apron smeared with mystery sauce lies a culinary warlord who wields her chainsaw
cleaver like a maestro. Her reputation stretches across the wastelands not
just for her greasy miracles that can cure a hangover or ignite psychic
visions—but for keeping the peace (and fear) with a glare sharper than any
blade. The moment you cross the threshold of her diner, you’re part of her
kitchen—whether as a guest, a grunt, or a grease stain.
Plot Hook: Mae offers the party a taste of her newest
“psyche spice” meal—on the condition they work a dinner rush alongside her. But
just as things heat up, a rival gang barrels in, dragging their feud into the
kitchen and turning service into a full-on food-fight brawl.
Par-5
"Gentle" Gibberly
Spokesman for the Golfclap Syndicate
Once a high-society golf pro with a sponsorship deal and a
personal caddy-drone, Par-5 “Gentle” Gibberly now struts across the
blood-soaked Greens of Glory in mismatched argyle, brass epaulettes, and
a titanium driver repurposed as both weapon and microphone. Equal parts duel
master, carnival barker, and glam-sports warlord, Gibberly referees the
Golfclap Syndicate’s notorious wager-based tournaments, where grudges are
settled with slug duels, flaming golf balls, or trick-shot executions. He
speaks in theatrical bursts and explosive one-liners, always followed by
an exaggerated pause for applause—often piped in by the speaker. Beneath the
swagger and smirk, however, lies a schemer’s mind—one who knows every bet is
a story, and every story can be rewritten with the right swing.
Plot Hook:
Gibberly invites the party to compete in a high-stakes tournament with rare
salvage and favors on the line—but insists someone must dive to ensure
the “right narrative.” If the PCs go off-script, they may expose a cheating
ring, earn the Syndicate’s wrath… or steal the spotlight for themselves.
Sawbones Vex
Sawbones Vex once
claimed to have studied medicine—though most assume the "study" was
on unwilling patients. Clad in a patchwork lab coat reinforced with scrap metal
and mystery stitching, Vex roams the wastelands in a rusted surgery cart,
offering cybernetic enhancements, field amputations, and chemical cocktails
brewed from pre-apocalypse tech and backyard biochemistry. Equal parts genius
and madman, he fixes as many problems as he causes, and his tools hum with
leftover power from a better-forgotten age. With jittery hands and a grin too
wide, Vex views flesh and circuitry as puzzles to be improved—whether the
patient consents or not.
Plot Hook:
Sawbones Vex offers to "enhance" the party for free—on the
condition that they help him settle an old score with Brother Crankshaft, a
rival tech-cleric who stole his blueprints. Unfortunately, Vex's upgrades may
have... unintended side effects.
Tactics & Schemes of the Boreal Buccaneers
“Why fight fair when you can fight loud, sideways, and on
fire?”
—Captain Chainbite of the Dust Vane
The Boreal Buccaneers are not a navy. They’re a movement of
chaos stitched together with scrap, pride, and ambition. Born from rogue
freight crews, ex-soldiers, and outlawed engineers, their battle doctrine is
less about lines and ranks and more about improvisation, spectacle, and
overwhelming unpredictability. Every encounter is a show—booby-trapped railcars
loaded with cannons, decoy convoys stuffed with fireworks, landships flanked by
trick riders and psychic goats. The Buccaneers excel in asymmetrical warfare,
favoring speed, noise, terrain manipulation, and morale-shattering theatrics.
From explosive diversions to psychological feints led by telepathic mascots,
their goal is simple: leave the enemy confused, embarrassed, and preferably
running on fire.
Tactics
Bushbaiting
A twisted form of roadside hospitality. Corpses rigged with
salvageable gear or broken-down tech are left along trails. When scavengers or
patrols investigate, the Buccaneers spring from hiding—fast, brutal, and
mercilessly amused.
Civic Collapse
The ultimate long con. Buccaneer crews steal just the right
components—generators, pump systems, even sewage processors—to hobble a town.
Then they offer protection and “replacement” parts… for a steep price. The
collapse is orchestrated, the rescue profitable.
Convoy Ambush Flip
A classic pirate maneuver, landship-style. The Buccaneers
use decoy technicals loaded with junk to lure enemies into pursuit, then spring
a brutal pincer trap using hidden units and sniper nests. The "flip"
comes when the hunters realize, too late, that they’ve become the hunted.
“Friendly Repairs”
Some Boreal crews masquerade as travelling mechanics under
the banner of the Auto-Mutualist Alliance. Once the marks are lulled by
false professionalism, their vehicle is "repaired" with sabotage—or
held ransom for spare parts and supplies.
Ghost Convoy
An unmanned landship, loaded with volatile cargo, rolls
silently into town—often at high speed. Whether it explodes or distracts
doesn’t matter; as defenders panic, the real attack comes from the side, led by
riders howling under flags of flame.
Harvest Run
When the Buccaneers go reaping, it’s not just for loot—it’s
psychological warfare. A ring of settlements is struck in quick succession,
sowing chaos while pirate radios blare taunting broadcasts. They don't just
take; they make everyone feel taken.
Nailstorm Retreat
Even a Buccaneer’s retreat leaves scars. As they pull back,
their vehicles scatter caltrops, welded rebar spikes, and even rigged
"porcupine bombs" that shred tires and morale alike. Pursuers often
find the chase costs more than the target.
Rust Plague Bombs
Using scavenged caustics and designer rot from Nucleomancer
labs, Buccaneers lob canisters that eat through tech, armor, and nerves. Hit a
mech’s joints or a gate’s hinges, and the rust plague spreads like wildfire.
Evacuation usually follows.
Skyhook Drop
The Skyfall Corsairs earn their name by launching from
gliders or hacked-together parachutes to land in the middle of moving convoys
or enemy camps. Surprise is their blade; mid-air is their approach vector. It’s
not about subtlety—it’s about terror from above.
Smoke & Screech
Engine stacks belch thick, choking smoke while retrofitted
exhausts emit screeches tuned to disturb both man and beast. Deployed before or
during raids, this chaotic symphony frays nerves, muddles comms, and sends
weaker foes scattering before the first shot.
Schemes & Hustles
Cargo Swap Scam
In friendly negotiations, the Buccaneers always bring gifts.
One crate holds genuine barter goods—the other, a storm of angry raccoons or
hallucinogenic powder. Guess which gets left behind when the deals go sideways?
Convoy Divorce
Using voice samples and scrambled comms, Buccaneer
infiltrators sow suspicion between allied landships. A mistranslated threat
here, a missing supply crate there—by the time fingers point, the alliance
breaks... and the Buccaneers are already looting the fallout.
Festival Grift
Clad in feathers, sequins, and synth-saxophones, pirate
troupes crash local festivals claiming to be performers. While crowds gawk at
the glitter, stealthier hands relieve pockets, carts, and sometimes the mayor’s
prized artificer.
Phantom Tollbooth
Along cracked and forgotten highways, Buccaneers erect
makeshift barricades draped in fake sigils of the “Mall Council.” They shake
down wanderers for bogus tolls, citing imaginary bylaws, and vanish before
anyone checks the nonexistent fine print.
Pirate Branding
The Syndicate sells counterfeit letters of marque to upstart
scavver crews, promising legitimacy. Once the new bloods fly their colors, the
Buccaneers ambush them for “impersonating official pirates,” reclaim the loot,
and resell the paperwork again.
Prophecy & Payola
Buccaneer mystics plant forged omens—scrawled glyphs,
“cursed” heirlooms, or pre-apocalypse relics humming with radiation. When the
marks take the bait, a crew shows up offering to “cleanse” the item... for a
price. Sometimes, they even make the curse real.
Radio Ruse
With cracked encryption gear and stolen broadcast towers,
Buccaneers fake distress calls and reroute help to nowhere. While the
responders flail in phantom fires or battles, the real strike hits the
now-unprotected flank.
Warrior-for-Hire Bait
Desperate towns often hire mercs to fend off threats.
Buccaneers offer “discount muscle,” then fold mid-battle—having been paid more
by the enemy. The crew leaves with two paydays and zero regrets.
Customs & Social Code of the Boreal Buccaneers
"Despite the chaos, camaraderie and shared myth are
sacred to the Buccaneers. These customs preserve order, keep fights from
getting too personal, and build a strong 'we’re in this together' ethos."
The Articles of the Anchorage
A living pirate code, scrawled in grease, blood, and
annotated tractor manuals. It’s not legally binding—but violating it means
social exile, loss of raid rights, and sometimes a punch to the throat.
“The Anchorage remembers. And it holds grudges.”
Core Traditions
These are observed by every serious crew, whether moored in
the Velvet Anchor or skimming rust dunes out near Lac la Biche.
The Chain Feast – Two crews who raid together share a
literal feast chain—each forging and wearing a new link until next time.
Geargrudges – All internal disputes must be settled
by 1-on-1 challenge: a duel, a landship race, or prank warfare.
Rustfall Festival – Annual demolition derby and
forge-feast to celebrate survival, forge alliances, and duel for prestige.
Mark of the Hood – Saving another’s rig earns you the
right to mark their hood with your sigil.
Patchwork Parley – Rival crews exchange a symbolic
scrap (bolt, badge, license plate) to signal peaceful intent before talks.
The Right of Flames – When a landship is too damaged
to ride, it’s burned in a sacred blaze. Crews keep a charred piece for luck.
Spark & Spoke Toast – New vehicles are blessed
with ethanol shots and an axle-side speech by the crew.
Tale-Tell Night – Weekly gathering for epic, often
exaggerated tales. Lying is allowed—unless you're caught.
Rites of Belonging
Initiation and loyalty are everything. These rites bind
Buccaneers to the road—and to each other.
Curse Flipping – If you jinx a crew (spill salt, bad
omen, failed raid), you owe them a favor—or must feed Lucille the Goat by hand.
Risky either way.
Ride the Combine – To officially join a crew, one
must complete a lap around the Threshing Ring (on foot or in rig), cheered—or
booed—by the Anchorage.
Mutual Rescue Vows – Pirates who save each other in
battle are considered “geared.” They wear shared pendants and must repay
debts... or else.
Social Lubricants
These rituals smooth over tension, resolve rivalries, and
blow off steam.
Ember Raves – Blazing fire pits, techno-drumming, and
stomping dirt dances help the Buccaneers reset between raids.
Grease Paint Challenges – Artistic duels between
pirates, involving face paint, banner-making, or graffiti-style territory
claims.
Scrap Court – Disputes over loot are resolved by
improvised poetry, insult contests, or wrench-juggling (winner takes the
spoils).
Honor Among Heathens
An unwritten, yet fiercely respected warrior code—even
pirates need limits.
·
Never break a parley... unless the other side
does first.
·
Never abandon a landship that hasn’t failed you.
·
Dead foes deserve their wheels buried with them.
·
No pirate wears a hat they didn’t earn.
·
Don’t screw over Lucille. She remembers.
#Hodgepocalypse
#TTRPG
#IndieRPG
#Worldbuilding
#RPGSetting
#TabletopGames
#PostApocalyptic
#Dieselpunk
#Landships
#WastelandLore
#ScavengerSociety
#PiratePunk
#Rustpunk
#ScrapBuilt
#CanadianWasteland
#AlbertaRPG
#NorthernFrontier
#BorealBuccaneers
#Westlock
