The Bloody Basin IC

[Shades of Gray]

Chapter 1: Good Morning

Six men are about to leave a town behind them as the sun rises, the early morning mist taking on a slightly red hue. Last night was one of the scarce nights where rain hits the basin. This morning, however, not a cloud lingers in the sky. The ground, usually a mix of dirt and sand, has turned into a mud that is slowly beginning to dry and crack, sticking to the soles of one's boots.

Their map, upon which numerous notes detailing rumours regarding the Riders are scrawled, has been safely tucked away; the men know their destination lies to the west, the domain of Joseph "The Kid" Shane. The specific rumours they have heard of "The Kid" show that he left The Riders due to his agenda not meshing with theirs, followed by him seeking those who killed his parents. Shane, with his quest completed, had no interest in policing his portion of "The Basin." By all accounts the land has degenerated into lawlessness; the same kind of environment that had fostered those who had killed his parents nearly forty years ago.

The town, built originally to harvest the large clay deposits, has been one of the victims of the recent increase in number of outlaws and theft. The people there had been pretty hostile and inhospitable, rightfully so, because of the fear that they experience daily.

The six men look out at the West, a land covered in shadow as the sun rises behind them; an ominous sight as they begin their long journey.

[Wyntonian]

Obidiah rides in silence, his engraved gun at his hip and his parent's urns clunking together in his saddlebags. His eyes are unusually sunken after a long night mourning his parent's death with his aunt and uncle at the hands of bandits. He keeps his hat a little low over his eyes, trying to avoid too much conversation with his companions. Normally he'd be as conversant as any townsfolk, but the last couple days have been trying. The Kid can probably help. He tells himself. Wherever he is, he did exactly what you're trying to do. And you have a whole group to travel and manhunt with you. You'll be able to scatter your parent's ashes soon. He looked up at that thought, glancing across the horizon and over to his companions.

[Joxer t' Mighty]

Though not quite as fast as the horses, one of the men seems to have no need for the use of a steed. He runs forward at breakneck speed, leaping over puddles and weaving around rocks. His legs are nearly a blur, but his body and head remain gyroscopically straight, and his arms only move gently from side to side.

This is Doc Buckshot who runs tirelessly. No sweat beads upon his brow, or even a labored breath escapes his lips. Timber doesn't perspire, and steel needs no air.

He did not sleep the previous night, nor any other, but returned with the dawn from Percival's, having told him his plans. There is a possibility the Kid may know of the string of grave robbings that have been occurring across the land. Or maybe not.

Still, Doc had found others with their own agenda in locating the Kid, and that was enough for him to seek a slim lead.

[THEChanger]

Along side the man of metal and wood, astride a black steed, rode another odd man. The only physical manifestation of Zackary's peculiar nature was his brilliant blue eyes, radiating a soft blue glow. No, the most obvious features of Zackary's power were the creations he bore. The blue crown, emanating light with the strength of a torch. The glove-shaped mist surrounding his hands. The azure Winchester rifle slung across his back. Zackary Lynn, the witch-boy. Zackary Lynn, the self-appointed Lord of Order. He rode forward, upon his trusty steed Hector, with their goal in mind. Find the Kid. Convince him to take his role as protector seriously. And failing that, take his place.
His companions didn't necessarily know about that last part of the plan, but Zackary thought they would find out sooner rather than later...

[Noblesse]

Jerry

The past thirty years had past by with relatively little to speak of day by day for the old man. A gradual shift in attitude and a slow but constant increase in the lawlessness. Stirred by the suffering of a small child who had grown up listening to his stories of "The Riders"; Jerry sets off to rustle up some dust once again, hopefully with his old pals once again.

His horse, Solomon, resembles it's rider; older than most, but still keeping pace, unwilling to be dead weight. These two old souls had life in them still.

Jerry's cool gray eyes look out upon the barren land and then towards his new-found comrades. Each a generation or two younger than him. It was these young men that would have to continue the task once he and The Riders make one last ride into the sunset.

Spotting a worn, ridged wooden cross slightly towards the West, Jerry remembers what happened here, 32 years before. Almost to himself, but also towards the others he speaks aloud. "It was here that Madman and the others took out the leader of the bandit ring named "The Red Guns"... It was unbelievable; five against thirty. Even I couldn't believe it. The two groups just looked upon one another for what seemed like hours and in just a moment--- It was settled. Before the bandits could even finish aiming-, bang bang bang bang bang! And the bandits all crumbled down to the ground..." After that he let out a deep breath. The memories of old times felt warm within his heart; looking up into the sky; Jerry rides on.

[TekHed]

Morgan

Near the head of the group, a stoic figure sat upon a "painted" stallion, a beautiful animal with light brown fur marked with splotches of white. It's rider was, nearest as anyone could tell, the youngest of the group, barely a man at just 17 summers. Long dark straight hair fell untethered past his shoulders from under his wide flat-brimmed hat, framing his exotic features. Clearly of mixed blood, high strong cheekbones, a proud nose, and dark eyes stood in contrast to his pale skin and despite his young years his face already bore several scars, including a long vertical slash over one eye.

Brown leather chaps covered his legs over black-dyed canvas trousers held up with a wide cracked leather belt. He wore a fringed buckskin vest that showed off his broad shoulders and powerful arms, a glint of metal betraying the mailed hauberk hidden under the garment. On one shoulder and down his arm ran a thick tattoo in heavy deep black ink. Braided into his long hair were several long feathers from a bird of prey and proudly gleaming upon his vest was a bright silver star within a circle that declared him a Marshal.

Unlike the rest of his companions, the Deputy Marshal scorned firearms of all kinds. Instead several small well balanced axes hung from each hip and in his hand, laid across his saddle he grasped a stout javelin. Slung across his back was a large round circular shield made from a dark, nearly black wood lined with a grain of deep mahogany red. In white paint was emblazoned the outline of a bird with wings and talons outstretched and shooting out in a x pattern were 4 stylized white lightning bolts, the symbol of the Stormcrow. The sturdy shield bore evidence of many battles, and it's dark surface was pitted and scarred with many circular divots.

As they rode along in silence, with the rising sun yet casting long shadows, Morgan reflected upon his new companions. Just last night he'd ridden into town, looking for clues of Williamson's passage. Conserving what coin he had left, he'd offered the saloon a few songs in exchange for his room and board and had soon drawn an appreciative crowd of drunken listeners. After playing a few rounds and taking a few requests he'd posed his questions and attracted the attention of the Old Timer Jerry. A charismatic fellow with a youthful gleam in his eye that belied his advancing years, Jerry had convinced him to join his unlikely posse. It was a reasonable line of logic...going after each of the original riders in turn lead to a greater chance of uniting them all and after some small debate the vote had swung towards locating the Kid first and foremost, a concession to which Morgan had reluctantly agreed.

Casting his gaze over each of them in turn, the Deputy Marshal marveled at the oddest assortment of individuals that had perhaps ever ridden the Basin. Most were twice his age in years and Jerry twice that again. Aside from the weathered gunslinger, their party consisted of several strange beings, each more peculiar than the last.

Nearby was the half-man upon his pony. He seemed fairly normal for his race, if a bit haggard of countenance. It was he who'd argued most vehemently in favor of seeking out the Kid first. It seemed the half-man shared a similar sad tale of parental loss and a grim thirst for vengeance. While Morgan could empathize with the small tinker's pain, he worried that such a dark obsession might prove detrimental to their mission-at-large.

Next was the other human in the group, this one quite unsettling in his appearance with his strangely glowing eyes and accoutrements. Morgan had heard rumors of such men before, born under witch's moons and, it was whispered, they crafted their raiment from the very essence of souls.

As foreboding as he was however, the self proclaimed "Order Bringer" had nothing on the macabre figure bringing up the rear with his creaking wagon of medical charlatanry. Morgan had heard tales of "Two Dollar" Bill...a dead man who peddled peps and cure-alls to the gullible towns-folk of the Basin. He'd once met a man who claimed to have taken one of Bill's prescriptions for headache and ended up with a rheumatoid fever that had lasted for over a week. Something about the shifty snake-oil salesman gave Morgan the heebee-jeebies and it was out of that revulsion that Morgan rode near the front of the party, trying to maintain as much distance as possible between himself and the walking-dead-man. Such things were unnatural and undoubtedly the work of dark magics.

Lastly, and the only member of the group not mounted on an equine, was perhaps the strangest of all. Made in the image of a man, yet not of flesh and blood, Doc Buckshot loped alongside the party upon feet made of metal and stone. His features were crude and unformed yet his eyes still shown with a sharp intelligence. He claimed to be a tracker, which explained his preference for ambulatory locomotion and despite his mechanical nature, Old Jerry had vouched for him as a person of merit. Of course, it was a matter of some debate amongst the local preachers whether or not the mechanical man possessed an immortal soul and thusly whether or not he was eligible for priestly benediction, but Morgan left such scholarly debate for the clergy. After all, among his mother's people they had their own religious beliefs. It wasn't the place for a layman to judge. Surely however, no ancestors watched over the strange mechanical man. The ministration of the halfling tinker, who'd shown a keen interest in Doc's inner workings, would have to be enough.

As the unlikely posse rode out to meet the breaking dawn, no one saw fit to break the silence among them. Each was surely engaged in their own appraisal of their new company, and Deputy Marshal Morgan of the Stormcrow saw fit not to interrupt their reverie...

Eventually, Old Jerry broke the ice with a yarn about some long forgotten battle, whose only commemoration was a half-decayed crucifix standing sentry at the top of a small hill.

"Quite the tale old-timer." Morgan replied. "Only five bullets for thirty bandits..."

Helpful Images:

A closer look at Morgan:
http://img835.imageshack.us/img835/2696/unledffw.jpg

Live-Action version showing his tattooing:
http://www.dacascosfan.com/mdpic/mani41.jpg

Morgan's Horse "Moses":
http://southshadow.homestead.com/files/Horses/Reo_Mr_Parteebuilt/Mr-Parteebuilt_APHA_Overo_Stallion_3691-high.jpg

[Callos_DeTerran]

Bill

At the rear of the small band, and not entirely by choice, is a gaily decorated carriage that rumbles along the rough paths of the Basin, filling the air with the musical noise of bottles clinking and clacking against one another. Or at least it was music to the 'man' driving the carriage, resplendent in his finery with two large white draft horses pulling him and his carriage behind him. Black with gold trim, the carriage has scarlet drapes drawn to hide the sight of various kinds of cure-alls and miracle remedies from sight, obviously having cost more then a pretty penny but it didn't really hold a candle to the driver.

A great, big, and fancy bob-hat bobs up and down upon a dried out and leathery brow, a red stripe about the base as a white-gloved hand reaches up to idly adjust the hat's position. William Prescott Cuttingham, as he had introduced himself to his now-current companions, was dressed in his finest wear in a black tuxedo with long coat-tails that had somehow managed to avoid the dust and grim of the road. A smart-looking green vest is buttoned up beneath, a gold chain swaying from Bill's pocket to bounce against the grip of the well-worn revolver buckled to his waist. The entire gun-belt was wrapped in bullets, a nice precaution against trouble even if his crisp white shirt and fanciful pants suggested he'd never sink to such barbaric actions. He even had some of those gentlemanly, and painful, looking pair of shows from outside the Basin that were all the rage!

He was the very image of cultured respectability, though most were rather put off by the fact he was also the very image of a dead-man. Beneath all the rich trappings was leather-like skin that had been pulled tight across old bones, water sucked out of Bill's dead body by the unforgiving sun though the upside was there wasn't a particularly strong smell to him. If anything, the dead-man smelled kinda like a spice rack. Watery and graying blue eyes peer out curiously across this most curious band, having the perfect time to observe each of them in kind as he urges his carriage on with the reigns in one hand and his showman's cane in the other.

In truth, William was a bit surprised to find himself falling in with a group like this, most found his presence...unsettling to one degree or another but they all, against all odds, seemed to share the same goal! Who would have guessed that the slowly growing lawless nature of the land was rankling more then a sly con-man like Two-Dollar? Course, his real motive for joining up was well-shadowed by the fact he had been quickly approaching the time when he would have over-stayed his welcome in the last town. Only spend enough time in one spot to sell five crates, no more and no less. It's about that time that people wised up to his act and usually sought to expel him from their towns. It was all a glorious set of coincidences that seemed to have propelled him on this new trail. Who knew? Maybe he'd find his own answers at the same time.

"Heh, five bullets is nothing my young friend. You just have to know where to place them, in the right circumstances. By my word, with enough TNT a single shot could take out an army by itself! And I do imagine that Madman, if anyone, would have enough such materials for the Riders purposes." Bill finally speaks up after listening to the story, a smile stretching across his dessicated face, "Now if you're telling me they used no such methods in that battle then I, as a man of science and medicine, of course find myself a fair bit more skeptical of the matter but I of course still give Mr. Jerry the benefit of the doubt."

[THEChanger]

"Highly unlikely." Zackary gazed about the area, looking at the curve of the terrain, the placement of rocks and trees. "The level of marksmanship that would have been needed to hit thirty men, as well as the power of the guns used, would have been...supernatural." He chuckled. "So, unless TNT was used, I think five bullets is a bit unlikely. Still, five against thirty is no small feat." He frowned, thinking. The Five Riders were clearly even more skilled than he originally thought. And more dangerous.

Zackary gazed over his companions. The man of metal and wood. His aura was...odd. The true nature of the man was difficult to detirmine. But Zackary had no care whether the man was truly living or not. Any who could aid in the quest were welcome. The dead-man, even more peculiar, was someone to watch for, however. His trade was one not conductive to Zackary's goals. The snakeoil salesman took advantage of those without knowledge, which was in no way fair. After the mission was complete, Zackary would have to decide what to do about him. Jerry was knowledgable of the Five, but, in Zackary's opinion would not survive the journey around the Basin. The halfling, Obidiah, seemed normal enough. His gun was fairly interesting, though. Zackary might like to learn more on how it worked, at some point. He had an interest in guns. The last of this merry band was the Deputy Marshal, who came from the Stormcrow. A noble people. But perhaps not agreeable to his plans.

All in all, a strange bunch. But if anyone could bring back the Five, it would be these six. Just as it was in the old times. How ironic.

[Noblesse]

Jerry

Grumbling, These damn upstarts take everything so damn literal these days, little Joanne understood it all without a fuss, bless her soul. Deciding it was best to ignore the criticizing words, Jerry instead decided to just comment on their bit about Madman.
"Ol' Madman did have a liking to TNT. Always did say that there's never a problem a bunch of TNT can't fix-- if not, you obviously didn't use enough." After that he let out a hearty chuckle.

[TekHed]

"There's one rider I hope we don't find," replied the stoic half-injun. His voice was set like his jaw, hard and grim. "Or if we do, may it be at the bottom of a bottle...or a ditch." The Marshal spat his digust upon the dusty ground.

"If it's order the Basin needs, it is certainly not of the Madman's brand. I'll not trade one tyranny for another. White men could learn a thing or two about harmonious living from the Red. Yet he slaughtered my cousins for savages. We'll find the Kid, Morrison, Curtis, and Hank, but I'll have no truck the Murderer..."

[Shades of Gray]

Suddenly, before the conversation has a chance to continue, gunshots are heard; bullets fly from either side of the road, punching a hole through Bill's wagon as the sound of broken glass and spilling liquids is heard. After these gunshots the six men can hear the slogging of boots through mud, and begin to see some dark, human shapes through the reddish mist. Luckily, the six travelers are just as obscured by the mist as the gunners. One bullet does manage to hit poor Old Jerry. As they see one of their targets recoil, the gunmen all shout out energetic and enthusiastic cries. Whoops and hollers, as if victory had already been achieved. They begin reloading their weapons as they continue moving.

"Y'all better turn back if ya know what's good fer ya, or we'll shoot 'gain." declares the voice of a young man. Between the smoke from his firearm and the morning mist the six travelers can barely make out the form of a man, standing beside the cross that had propelled their previous conversation. The man kicks the cross over and steps on it, the old wood cracking underfoot.

OOC:
Jerry takes 11 damage.

The road is 30ft. across. The ground to either side of the road is muddy, reducing movement by 1/4. All ranged attack rolls are at a -2, and range increments give double penalties. Each gunman is approximately 60 feet away, and is likely wielding a Springfield or Winchester. One of the gunmen is standing at the cross marking where the five riders fought, hiding behind it.

[Wyntonian]

"Easy there!" Obidiah shouts, his pistol in his hand in a flash, aimed at the nearest gunman. The fact that it was entirely unloaded didn't bother him. It never needs to be. Even as he spoke, he is acutely conscious of the breeze flowing around him. With a silent request he calls it closer and closer, swirling and picking up speed. In the time it takes him to close his eyes for a moment and reopen them, a coat of the winds his ancestors rode on encircles him. He thumbs the hammer back in a move both menacing and useless. "You just hit my friend there. That wasn't smart. Now, we're willing to be exactly as sensible as you are. Right gentlemen?" He appears to look to either side as he says this, while keeping his eyes directly on his mark. He is acutely aware that his sort stature make his threat less intimidating, but he hopes his glare makes up for it.

[Callos_DeTerran]

Two-Dollar

Like any sensible person, Bill is notably startled at the sudden gun fire, throwing himself to the side as bullets punch through his carriage to ruin cases of oh-so-valuable product. The next he's stepping off the side of the carriage, cane in one hand and revolver in the other, casting a fearsome glare up at those gunmen who had obstructed their path. The well-dressed dead-man makes his way to the front, a frown still stretched across his leathery features.

"Reasonable my foot! These hooligans have ruined precious product!" William growls out, snapping his cane up to point at the speaker's chest, "You! Do you know how expensive the ingredients for my elixers are? Or how much I charge for them? Cause you, young man, are getting a bill for each and every broken bottle that I find. You hear me? Each one."

[TekHed]

At the sound of gunfire, Morgan's horse Moses whinnied loudly, but under Morgan's skillful hand, neither spooked nor faltered. Seeing Jerry recoil under the impact of a bullet in the gut however flared Morgan's anger...a righteous wrath born from decades of persecution. No. There would be no turning back, even had blood not just been drawn. Their aim was clear and these lawless highwaymen were exactly the sort of cancer that needed to be cut from these lands.

The Deputy Marshal smoothly slid out of his saddle, using Moses's large form for partial cover from the bandit leader's elevated position, and drew a tomahawk in the same motion.

In a loud clear voice he addressed the men in the mist.

"Stand down! You are all under arrest for aggravated assault against a lawful Marshal of the Basin and attempted murder. Drop to your knees and surrender your weapons or my posse will respond with lethal force. This is your first and last warning...stand down!"

[Noblesse]

Jerry

Jerry (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=333664)
M Lawful Human Gunslinger, Level 3, Init +0, HP 17/28, Speed 30
AC 14, Touch 10, Flat-footed 14, Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +2, Base Attack Bonus 3
Colt+1 (120) +10 (2d6+1, x4)
Masterwork Springfield +10 (2d10, x4)
Mithril Chain Shirt (+4 Armor)
Abilities Str 7, Dex 10, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 22
Condition None


It had been many a year since the old man had been shot at, and a few more since he'd been hit. This was one memory he ould have gone the rest of his lifetime not being reminded of. Luckily though, while still extremely painful, this bullet would not prove to be fatal. It passed right through, narrowly avoiding his key organs.

"Damn young fools." The anger in his voice apparent, yet all the same easily justified. Jerry reflexively reaches down and pulls up the old Springfield while sliding off of Solomon and aims it at the upstart kid. His gut reaction told him to blow him away, but Morgan suddenly reminded him of just what they were trying to achieve. You don't go about just killing every bad guy to make an area '"good" again. There's simply too many. You gotta change 'em and spook the bastards into changin' their ways. And those that don't? Well as ol' Madman said... nothin' a good bullet won't fix. It was like his companion said, he had one last chance before he sent him on to whatever god he prayed to.


Readied Action to fire at the gunman should he or any of his men fire again.
Attack Roll: [roll0]
Damage Roll: [roll1]
(The -2 is already factored in, and he's off his mount and within his 1st range increment)

[Joxer t' Mighty]

Doc had been taking the rear during the ride, behind the wagon, missing much of the conversation at hand.

The mind races as it watches the trajectory and impact upon the body of Jerry.

Shot. Human. Passing through the transpyloric plane, possible damage to liver, right kidney. Non-fatal. Revisement, upon consideration of age. Systems more prone to shock. New diagnosis: likely non-fatal.

The contraption nods its head and there are whirrings and clickings. A shotgun raises up from a cavity hidden by protective iron plates. With a fluid motion it reaches back a hand and flips over the firearm into position against the shoulder and sites the weapon. Too far. Damnation.

Doc ducks down, and with inhumanly long strides, backs away from the confrontation. It then begins to circle around behind the outlaws, far enough that even it cannot see through the mist, but close enough that it can hear them. Once behind, it moves quietly forward.


Move Silently = [roll0]

[Shades of Gray]

Two-Dollar
"Reasonable my foot! These hooligans have ruined precious product! You! Do you know how expensive the ingredients for my elixers are? Or how much I charge for them? Cause you, young man, are getting a bill for each and every broken bottle that I find. You hear me? Each one."



"Stand down! You are all under arrest for aggravated assault against a lawful Marshal of the Basin and attempted murder. Drop to your knees and surrender your weapons or my posse will respond with lethal force. This is your first and last warning...stand down!"

The gunmen all start laughing.

"That's rich. The laws of don't hold here, fancy pants. Don't you know where you are? You're in the Kid's turf. Now, nobody's seen The Kid for years, and he ain't never left any deputy. You know what that means?" The man reloads his weapon; all around the other gunmen all finish reloading as well. "It means that might makes right. There's a new Kid every year; people think they can waltz onto our turf and expect to be called sheriff. But it ain't that easy. You have to earn respect. And that's what I've done. Ain't nobody a mile in any direction that hasn't heard of me. I came to "The Basin" with my shirt on my back and a gun in hand and now here I am, about to get even richer. It's what happens with the honest life. Livin' the dream."

DC 15 Knowledge (Local Check)
The man speaking is clearly Harrison "Coyote" Harrison Jr. Ten years ago he came to The Basin and settled in the area, becoming a notorious outlaw.
DC 20
Five years ago he ousted "Massacre" Andrews, becoming the new Top Dog in the area. He believes himself to be the new Kid, following the previous Kid's departure.

"Yer welcome to try and stop me, "Marshal." Or you can play nice and return to whatever backwater town you come from. But no way in heck yer gonna come here with illegal contraband like what I knows you got in that cart." He declares, pointing to it with his gun. "Now, if y'all give that there cart to us, as well as a... donation, I'm sure we could turn a blind eye to letting y'all through."

Despite his diplomatic words the six men can see the gunmen taking up better positions and training their weapons. They look ready to shoot at a moment's notice.

[THEChanger]

"We do have to get through." Zackery turns to Two Dollar Bill. "Bill, why don't you find these nice gentlemen something from the cart for their troubles of keeping these roads clean from vagabonds." He holds his blue rifle akwardly, in a way that would make it impossible to quickly fire. But he puts a few fingers down, one on the trigger. Trying, desperately, to communicate his plan to the others. Get close enough to them for the light eminating from his crown to reveal their enemies. And then blast them to bits.

Yeah. Bluff check to send a secret message. Trick the bandits so I can get closer to kill them. Which, of course, will be a bit of a long shot. But if I trust in the luck of the dice....
Olidammara guide me....
Bluff Check-[roll0]
My plan is to get within 30 ft of the man who spoke, which will negate any concealment based on natural weather effects, like fog, cause of Diadem of Purelight being bound to my Crown Chakra with a point of Essentia. Then, shoot ALL THE GUNS!
EDIT:.....Well, not quite, but at least nobody gets wrong info. You just don't understand what the hell I'm getting at.

[Wyntonian]

Obidiah slides down from his pony, holstering his gun and silently relieved to have apparently foregone the violence, even if it wasn't his work. "Here, Bill. How about I give you a hand with one of those chests? Let's just give these gentlemen a gift for working so hard to keep these roads safe." Even as he walked in the most dignified manner afforded by short legs, he was keenly aware of the calling rune he had carved in the grip of his gun and the way in which he could make it leap from holster to hand in the time it took most men to blink. Firing at the nearest man would take even less.

[TekHed]

"A whole mile? In every direction? Well. Isn't that quaint. It's no wonder we've never heard of you, and it sounds like you have never heard of me either, so allow me to enlighten you. My name is Morgan Stormcrow, and I am a lawfully appointed Deputy Marshal of the Basin. Do you know what that means? It means my jurisdiction is wherever I'm standing."

As he spoke Morgan sauntered slowly closer and closer to the gathered bandits in the mist. His steps are measured, his pace steady and his nerve set.

"Now you look here Mister whoever-you-are. We carry no contraband. My associate, in spite of his unhale complexion, is a man of medicine. Surely you wouldn't relieve a doctor of his stock in trade?"

Bluff:[roll0]

[Callos_DeTerran]

William

"..."

"...Fine. I am nothing if not a man of healing and peace, and if it'll prevent some rude conflict then I suppose that I could donate a case or two of my fabulous elixir for the 'cause'." He finally grumbles, voice positively icy as he gestures back towards his ornately, if now shot-up, carriage and beckons for the leader to approach. Even as he does, the dead-man appraises the speaker with a keen eye, noting how tall he was, how he carried himself, the unsightly stain of his teeth that suggested hard drinking.

One white-gloved hand remains on the gold pommel of his cane as he opens up the right-side door of his carriage, both to inspect the damage that these hooligans had caused and to allow the bandits a chance to paw over his fine goods.

Outrage simmers in his eyes though, both for having to bend a knee to these neanderthals and at the presumption of his comrades-in-travel for offering them up as a sacrifice. At least that Stormcrow fellow had the good sense to not offer what was not his!

Dang..Despite what I had thought, I don't have the skill trick I need so on to a different plan! Bill will ready an action to jab the closest bandit with his combat syringe should combat break out.

Swift Action to appraise the speaker with Surgical Precision...
Heal Check: [roll0] against a DC of 10+speaker's HD

Attack: [roll1] The bandit may be caught flat-footed since the syringe is a concealed weapon, not sure if they would though so...you know...leaving it to you.
Damage: [roll2]
Crit Confirm (if needed): [roll3]
Crit Damage (if needed): [roll4]
Surgical Precision Damage (if target is leader): [roll5]

If Bill hits, the bandit will need to make a DC 14 Fort. save at the beginning of his next turn (and for four more turns after it) or take Con damage from Winter's Heart.

Which'll be...[roll6] for the first round.

[Shades of Gray]

Coyote sends one of the gunmen to examine the cart. Visibly shaking with fear, he approaches.

"Now, y'see, you done got criminal and idiot confused. It's perfectly allowed to have tolls here in the Basin."

An audible gulp was heard from the gunmen by the cart.

"Hey Marshal. My daddy taught me to fight fer something I believe in. If you believe this is yer "jurisdiction", and that we're committing some sort of "injustice", fight for it."

And with that Coyote and the other four gunmen open fire. Coyote himself takes aim at Morgan, while the other four fire at those who had been uninjured. Coyote's gun glows golden for a moment; the bullet leaves a trail through a mist, dispersing it.

[roll0][roll1]
[roll2][roll3]
[roll4][roll5]
[roll6][roll7]
[roll8][roll9]
[roll10][roll11]

Coyote's bullet strikes Morgan in the leg. The bullet caused an odd sensation, an extra stinging pain, as if it was corrosive.

The other gunmen are not able to fare so well, their reflexes poor and their vision obscured. The man who had approached the cart lashes out at the undead doctor, punching him in the face before getting a dose of dangerously deadly disease delivered to his diaphragm. Suddenly, a gun appears in Obidiah's hand and fires at the man as well, straight through the kidney. The man falls to his knees, coughing.

Summary
Morgan takes 9 damage.
Bill takes 4 damage.
Gunman at the cart is dead.

Enemies are still about 30-40 feet away. Coyote is 40 feet away, on top of a hill. Due to the mud and the hill, movement is halved towards him.

[Wyntonian]

Obidiah spins on his heel away from the cart and drops to the ground as bullets part the air around his hat. Some part of him shies away from throwing himself in the mud, but at this point, he could care less. He takes a careful aim, whispering a quiet litany, and looses a not-really-bullet at Coyote with a narrowing of the eyes and a thrust of will. You're not the only one with a nice gun...

Obidiah Wilson Halfling Warlock
Initiative +8 HP 14/14 Speed 30
AC 20 Touch 15 Flat-Footed 16
Saves: Fort+4 Ref+6 Will+4
Attacks: Eldritch Blast +7, 2d6 Damage, Range 250; Bowie Knife +2/+7 (Thrown), 1d3 Damage, Range 10 ft.

Free action to drop prone, it should give me a +4 to AC against ranged attacks. I assume I can use a pistol while prone.
Standard action to fire an eldritch blast round at Coyote.

Attack roll: [roll0]
Damage Roll: [roll1]

[Joxer t' Mighty]

OOC
I was using a full round action to move around the bad guys. Anything come of that?

[Noblesse]

Jerry

Jerry (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=333664)
M Lawful Human Gunslinger, Level 3, Init +0, HP 17/28, Speed 30
AC 14, Touch 10, Flat-footed 14, Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +2, Base Attack Bonus 3
Colt+1 (120) +10 (2d6+1, x4)
Masterwork Springfield +10 (2d10, x4)
Mithril Chain Shirt (+4 Armor)
Abilities Str 7, Dex 10, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 22
Condition Grit Remaining 6 5


That was the last straw. Jerry was [barely] able to hold back when he got shot in the initial barrage; but even after an attempt at diplomacy they attacked unprovoked. Jerry unloaded on the leader of the bandits.


Swift Action: Grit point spent for Focused Aim
Standard : Rapid Shot Coyote with Springfield
Attack roll:[roll0]
Damage roll:[roll1]
Attack Roll: [roll2]
Damage roll:[roll3]

[TekHed]

OOC:
Shouldn't we have rolled initiative at some point, or did I miss that? If I did: 1d20+1
Morgan Stormcrow (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=333416)
Male Lawful Human (Dragonblooded) Scout 1/Bard 1/Fighter 1, Level 3, Init +1, HP 13/22, Speed 30
AC 17, Touch 11, Flat-footed 16, Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +3, Base Attack Bonus 1
Tomahawks (4) +4 (+2 Ranged) (1d6+3, 20/x2)
Javelin (1) +4 (+2 Ranged) (1d6, 20/x2)
Chain Shirt, Darkwood Shield (+4 Armor, +2 Shield, +1 Dex)
Abilities Str 16, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 15, Wis 8, Cha 16
Condition None
+1 to save vs. Paralysis/Sleep

Morgan was struck in mid-stride, catching him in the leg below his shield and causing him to stumble forward into the mud. He very nearly slipped face-first and had to scramble several feet before he managed to recover his sure footing beneath him.

He looked down, assessing his leg. The bullet was screaming pain into the wound. That golden flash, some kind of magic in his gun. Another hit like that, two at the very most, and he'd be down, maybe dead if he didn't get help in record time. He looked up at Coyote, his eyes filled with fire and vindication and he spit his contempt upon the mud.

He was closer now...close enough to be within short range of his javelin, which left him with a choice. He wasn't nearly accurate at range as he was up close. He could take the shot from here, maybe miss, and get cut down by return fire. Or...he could call upon his ancestors for aid and empower himself and his allies. Even if he should fall, their blessing would flow on in the hearts of the others, improving the chances they would survive to resuscitate him. The choice was clear...

Standing taller on his crippled leg, Morgan shot back a look of proud defiance at the smug bully. Drawing in a deep breath and raising his arms, Morgan began to sing. It was a war chant of the Stormcrow people, whose language was said to have been handed down by the great dragons of old, and as his grandfather had taught him, legend held it still contained some of the magic left over from the song that formed the world.

As his chanting rose up, each of his allies felt a wave of emotion and energy rise in their breast...felt a stirring of something within, a quickening of the blood, a sharpening of the senses, and a feeling of power that drove away all fear. All of them save for old Dead Two-Dollar that is. His mortal coil no longer pulsed with any spark of natural life.

Morgans voice rose loud and clear, penetrating the mists, and as he sang, the Marshal Star upon his fringed vest seemed to catch the light. Everyone who saw it was reminded of the law...whether they feared or favored it...none could deny it's power.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNuNsKwG1RI

Move Action 15' forward towards Coyote. Standard Action to initiate Bardic Music: Inspire Courage. Immediate Action to Activate Badge of Valor.

The party (except for Bill, who is immune to Mind Effecting), receives a +2 Morale Bonus on saves against charm and fear effects and a +2 Morale Bonus on weapon attack and damage rolls.

[Shades of Gray]

Coyote is struck three times by the combined firepower of Jerry and Obidiah. He leans back against the cross, collapsing as both he and the monument slide backwards down the muddy hill and out of sight of everyone except Morgan, who can see that he is bleeding and coughing.

Doc' Buckshot manages to get behind two of the gunmen.

The gunmen who had been stabbed by Bill manages to crawl over to Obidiah and stab him with a knife, before collapsing from the disease.

The other gunmen open fire, panicking and missing entirely. One of the gunmen begins to run away, a difficult task because of the mud, and collapses at Buckshot's feet. He looks up at the metal man in terror.

OOC:
Obidiah takes 4 damage from stabbing.

[TekHed]

Morgan stops his chanting as crests the hill and approaches the wounded Coyote. "Stay down." the Marshal instructed. With the hooked end of his Tomahawk, Morgan went to disarm the bandit leader of his arcane firearm.



Ceasing my Bardic music so I can speak. The +2 on attack and damage rolls will persist for everyone this round and for the following 4 rounds after.

Morgan then attempts to disarm Coyote, and provokes an attack of opportunity (although Coyote is prone a gun should be considered like a crossbow for this purpose), and Morgan is fighting defensively, taking a -4 to his attacks but his AC jumps to 19 for this round.

If Morgan does not get shot/take damage his disarm attempt goes through. He and Coyote make opposed Attack Rolls. Coyote is at -4 for using a light weapon and another -4 for using a ranged weapon. Depending on your ruling, he may take an additional -4 for being prone for a total penalty on his disarm check of -8 or -12.

Disarm: [roll0] Edit: I forgot how much the dice roller here seems to suck for Player Characters most of the time...

[Wyntonian]

Obidiah contains a squeal of pain, turning it into what he hopes is a masculine roar. He rolls onto his back, away from the attacker bent over him and fires into the mass above him, flinching away from the spray. He then makes a short prayer to his ancestors the hairy and none-too-clean bulk doesn't land on him.

Obidiah Wilson Halfling Warlock
Initiative +8 HP 11/14 Speed 30
AC 20 Touch 15 Flat-Footed 16
Saves: Fort+4 Ref+6 Will+4
Attacks: Eldritch Blast +7, 2d6 Damage, Range 250; Bowie Knife +2/+7 (Thrown), 1d3 Damage, Range 10 ft.

Standard action to fire an eldritch blast at my attacker from prone, move action to cross my fingers.

Attack roll: [roll]1d20+7[roll]
Damage Roll: [roll0]

[Joxer t' Mighty]

Buckshot places the barrel of his shotgun to the temple of the man at his feet.

"Ye'd best throw your piece away and be still lest ye face Hell wi'out a face." the construction says, speaking for the first time that day. It sounds perfectly human, though with an overly pious dialect.

It whistles without puckering lips it doesn't posses to begin with, and tosses a pair of manacles over to Morgan. They are of exceptional craftsmanship (masterwork lock).

[Callos_DeTerran]

William

There's no blood or shot of pain when Bill gets shot, mostly cause any blood in his veins had long since dried up and he didn't feel pain in the traditional sense, but that didn't keep him from getting angry though! They'd put a hole in his suit!

Pulling out his fanciful Colt, William stands to the side to present a smaller target to the bandits and aims at one of the ones still standing. He takes his time to aim before finally squeezing the trigger.

Just regular Colt shot.

Attack: [roll0] +1 if they are within 30 ft.
Damage: [roll1]

[Noblesse]

Jerry

Jerry (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=333664)
M Lawful Human Gunslinger, Level 3, Init +0, HP 17/28, Speed 30
AC 14, Touch 10, Flat-footed 14, Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +2, Base Attack Bonus 3
Colt+1 (120) +10 (2d6+1, x4)
Masterwork Springfield +10 (2d10, x4)
Mithril Chain Shirt (+4 Armor)
Abilities Str 7, Dex 10, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 22
Condition
Grit Remaining 6 5
Inspire Courage +2


After dispatching the leader Jerry slings his gun and proceeds to take out any who are not fleeing as was the rule of The Riders; well at least most of them. (a couple in particular shot those who fled as well).


Rapid Shot
Springfield Attack Rolls[roll0] [roll1]
Damage Rolls:[roll2] [roll3]
Bullets Remaining in Clip: 1

[THEChanger]

Zackary also began to gun down the remaining bandits. Those who attacked without provocation deserved nothing less.


Attacking with my Incarnate Winchester on any bandit-os still in range.
To Hit-[roll0]
Damage-[roll1]

[Shades of Gray]

The men manage to gun down their attackers. Coyote himself spits as his gun is wrestled out of his hands. He displays an obvious contempt for the Marshal, however most of his energy is currently being spent on his wounds. He seems half-conscious.

The gunman in front of Buckshot throws his gun down as he continues cowering in terror. "Yessir. S-sorry sir. I'll go t'church from now on sir," he apologizes, stuttering.

[Joxer t' Mighty]

"Worthwhile goal acertain for those as hast souls." Buckshot says, "Thou must needs see the wrong thou hast done first and vow to live a life devoid of they, else church means naught. Remove thine boots."

[TekHed]

Morgan said nothing at first but used his boot to kick Coyote roughly over onto his belly. Dropping his knees down onto Coyote's back the brawny half-native reached over and grabbed the manacles the iron Doc had thrown him. Grabbing each of the bandit's wrists in turn, Morgan roughly secured his prisoner then grabbed the felon's firearm and tucked it into his belt.

Standing up, Morgan reached down with one muscled arm and picked up Coyote by his collar, making sure he was facing away lest he spit or bleed upon him. He then reached down and unbuckled the knave's holster and bandolier and slung it over his other shoulder.

"There. Now you won't be hurting anyone anymore. Looks like your might makes right philosophy didn't work out to well for you this morning. However seeing as you've lost, I s'pose your philosophy means you'll come along without further incident then?"

Coyote coughed and a bit of bloody saliva dribbled down his chin.

"Now don't you worry Coyote. We've got a doctor with us remember? We'll take good care'a those gunshot wounds for ya. Course, better hope you and your boys didn't shoot up the last of his anti-bi-otics..."

[Wyntonian]

Obidiah chuckles at Morgan's half-joke, then winces as he moves his bleeding shoulder. Deciding to leave the lawbreakers to the lawmen, he goes over to the good Doctor, holstering his gun in the process, and rolls up his sleeve, baring the injury."Care to patch this up, Bill?" He asks politely. "Assuming they didn't take out all your medicines and such, that is."

[Callos_DeTerran]

William

As the conflict stumbles to a halt, the dead-man takes a moment to adjust his mighty fine top-hat, reload his colt, and survey the damages to his carriage before turning to the matter of the hooligans. He storms right up to the captured 'Coyote' and with a smooth flourish of his waist-coat...draws his gun and presses it to the bandits head. Bill's face is a solemn rictus as he ***** back the hammer.

"Oh, I have the cure for what ails him right here." he all but whispers, crouching down so that Coyote can stare into the withered and dried up orbs of Bill's eyes, "I've seen this scum's kind, both in the Basin and outside it. Little bullies who think a piece of iron in their hands entitles them to the world at the cost of others, and the worst part? They never change. They can go to prison, be forced to give up their ill-gotten gains, or even feel the kiss of the hangman's noose but their irredeemable."

He presses the gun tight, hard enough to cause some pain as his bony finger rests on the trigger.

"Their only 'cure' is a bullet in the head and a prayer over their grave. Maybe they even get a second chance, like me. That sounds about fair in my books, certainly fairer then any chance this son of a saloon girl gave his prey!" He finally looks up and scans the other captives, "Where's your second then Coyote? Maybe seeing me execute you will convince these lily-livered cowards that their better off trying to make a respectable living?"


And Bluff to convince Coyote Bill will really pull the trigger: [roll0]
Intimidate on Coyote: [roll1]

[TekHed]

Sense Motive vs. Bill's Bluff to see if Morgan believes his threat: [roll0]

"Come now Bill.we're no better than him." Morgan kicked Coyote in the back of his knee causing him to collapse onto his shins. "Then again...maybe you were right Coyote...if we want to establish law, we're going to have to do it by force. See now where you were mistaken is that might doesn't make right. No...might and righteousness are two separate things. Fortunately for you...you picked a righteous group of men to lose to."

Morgan reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small box, popping open it's spring-loaded lid. Reaching inside he procured a pinch of medicinal dipping tobacco and rubbed it in behind his lower lip.

"Put that pistol away Bill, 'fore somebody other'n you dies. We'll patch him up, make an example of him, not a martyr..."

The healing magic infused into the tobacco was already running it's course so Morgan spat out the sloppy wad onto the ground beside Coyote and squatted down next to him, and spoke in a low voice, "You try and escape, or if any of your boys try and stage a rescue...I won't stop Dead-Man-Walking here from doin' you slow...you got me?"

Morgan stood up and addressed the others.

"Let's tend to our wounds and keep moving..."

[Shades of Gray]

Coyote nods before falling unconscious entirely. The land is now silent, with most of the gunmen dead.

The gunman dealing with Buckshot does indeed take his boots off, staring at the metal man in confusion.

[Joxer t' Mighty]

"The road to Redemption is a rocky one. Thou mayest depart, and the lord have mercy on thy soles." Buckshot deadpans. He pulls the man to his (bare) feet and gives him a light shove away from the group.

[Noblesse]

Jerry

With the gunshow over Jerry hobbles over to Solomon and stows away his Springfield after carefully replacing the bullets. Always keep your gun loaded for you never know when a new threat might befall you. Then Jerry reached into his sack to pull out a small green dusty vial. After uncorking it he lifted up his shirt and poured a couple of drops into the open wound before downing the rest. Green lights shimmered over the gunshot wound and started to fade into non-existance. Giving a sigh of relief Jerry stashed the empty vial.

Watching the so-called-sheriff and the deadman deal with the detainees brought a slight smile to his face. He decided to let the new generation handle it as the world was now theirs and Jerry knew he wasn't long for this world. Certainly it wasn't the same as thirty some years ago, but none-the-less; in Jerry's eye he saw the potential beginnings of a new set of legends. Hopefully, just hopefully he'd survive to see it come about.

[Callos_DeTerran]

William

Bill finally tilts his pistol away, still glaring down at the highway man before he takes out a small piece of paper and writes down the cost of the broken bottles, shoving it into the bandit's hands.

"Bless your lucky stars that you aren't here alone with me live-boy. I better get a parcel with the cost of my broken goods within the ten-day, or I'll come back to finish what I started." he growls in an uncharacteristically harsh voice, before popping out the chamber and slipping another bullet into the empty chamber.

His smart shoes crunch in the dirt as he fetches some rolls of bandages from his carriage and tosses them over to Jerry, "Here. Should help keep the dust off of your wound."

[Noblesse]

Jerry

"Thank ya kindly Bill" After accepting the bandages he proceeds to apply them; all the while thinking that despite bein' a dead-man, Bill sure does care for the livin folks.

[Wyntonian]

Obidiah

Obidiah steps up the gunslinger, peeling back his sleeve away from the stab wound on his shoulder. "Care to give me a hand? I can't exactly reach that."

[Shades of Gray]

The six men continue on the path after managing their wounds, leaving behind the muddy hill and the destroyed cross. As they ride onward the morning mist disperses and the sun looms high overhead, beating down on them harsh and without relent. Coyote was unconscious or sleeping, he was in no rush to face his captors. The convert rode beside them without a saddle, having retrieved his horse from behind the hills that he and his companions had set up the ambush, and stayed silent.

Eventually the men reached a small settlement, about the size of the one they had just left, by the name of Foursilver. It used to be a prosperous mining town many years ago before the mines ran out. The younger, impetuous miners moved on to other towns, leaving the elderly, the young, and the women in this town. It was quite common for family men to send money back to their wives in Foursilver, if they were even remembered at all. The mayor of this town is a lazy individual, though there is relatively little reported crime in this quiet town.

The Kid was spotted in Foursilver a few years ago, judging by some rumours. His visit here was rather short, and did rather little to stir up any commotion; much different than the Kid that the legends told of. Apparently he visited Foursilver to see a childhood friend, a fellow orphan from the church, certainly now in his thirties. There was no great procession, no cheers for the conquering hero; the people had forgotten about him.

[TekHed]

Morgan rode in at the head of the caravan, so that the local townsfolk would see that the procession was convoy of a law and not banditry. The first order of business would be to declare their intent to the local mayor and any Sheriff present. After that he would inquire as needed into the name and current whereabouts of the orphan...was he still living in the town? If so may we have his address, if not can you tell us where you reckon' he's gone. If the mayor didn't have or wouldn't share this information, the next likely places of inquiry would be the church he grew up in, followed by the local saloon.


I know this isn't a direct in character post but my Gather information roll takes a number of hours so I' describing the order of his inquiries. If there is a better way to represent this let me know.

[Shades of Gray]

Morgan finds that the mayor must be an alcoholic, altogether incapable of speaking more than a few mutters. He is clearly not used to visitors (and even more clearly hungover). He gives Morgan a grunt of recognition when he introduces himself. His assistant apologizes for his behaviour, and directs him to the sheriff.

The sheriff's room is adorned with all sorts of hunting trophies; with such low crime he has been free to take up a hobby. He is a rather gaunt and strict man in his mid forties, and more helpful. He apparently is a good friend of the Kid's childhood friend. Unfortunately, he has the news that the individual the travelers are searching for went to the mines a few days ago for some unknown reason. The mines are a half-day's journey away, and most of them are closed due to the lack of silver.

The church is a small, quiet place. Curiously, there is no pastor. The old pastor past away, with no suitable male replacement. There have been no real masses or services for years. Buckshot agrees to become their new pastor. As thanks, the church gives the travelers all they can spare; three vials of holy water and a potion of cure moderate wounds.

[TekHed]

Morgan was a bit shocked by the Mayor's condition but thanked his assistant nonetheless before leaving.

The Sheriff is much more helpful and Morgan offered to be at his service should he need an professional backup while the posse was in town. That it was a quiet town was a good thing...better for the people than the alternative. Still, it made the weaker population vulnerable to outside bandits. That's why the posse had to move on...it wasn't about any one town, but about the future of the entire basin.

While sad to see the unusual preacher leave their ranks, Morgan had to agree it was fortuitous timing that he seemed to find a niche here. He had been looking forward to getting to know the strange mechanical man better but at the same time, Morgan would sleep better at night knowing the capable Doc Buckshot would serve as both sentinel and shepherd for the good people there. Taking the potions and holy water with gratitude, Morgan rode back towards the Main Street saloon to rendezvous with the others.

When they were all gathered together again, sipping firewater around a quiet corner table in the upstairs mezzanine, Morgan informed the others of what he had learned.

"Looks like Peter Collins went into some mines outside of town a few days ago. I suggest that be our next destination..."

[Noblesse]

Jerry

Doc Buckshot certainly was an odd fellow, and Jerry was more than happy to leave him in this town, something about machines acting as people never quite sat right with Jerry. He always had a sneaking suspicion that someone was pulling their strings, ready to strike at the opportune moment, them not needing sleep and all.

After deeming the deputy's gatherings sufficient, Jerry joined Morgan in the Saloon. If it weren't for his assistant pointing them twards the Sherriff and him providing some much needed informations, he reckon'd he'd have some words with that fellow--- give him a real reason to drink.

"I 'gree. Sooner we find Pete, the sooner we find Kidd and the rest of the gang. 'Sides, can't risk too much time should he head off somewhere else, or gets waylaid by some more of those kind folks we met on our way in."

[TekHed]

"Then it's settled." Morgan replied. "Saddle up gentlemen. We've got a mine to prospect..."

The half-native lawman mounted his horse Moses and lead the way in the direction the helpful Sheriff had indicated...