Spades (Victory): Tell the group about a great victory or personal triumph in your adventurer’s past. How did it affect him afterward? Was there a reward?
Hearts (Love): Speak fondly of the character’s greatest love—lost, found, or waiting on him back home. What is her name? Where does she live? Why is the traveler not with her now?
Diamonds (Desire): Tell a tale about something your hero wants (or already has). It might be a material possession, recognition, a political goal, or even a trip he wishes to take to some amazing destination.
Clubs (Tragedy): Describe a tale of tragedy or misfortune from your hero’s past [or present], featuring one of his Hindrances if possible. If the teller has a dark secret of some kind, hint strongly at it, drop clues, or otherwise give the rest of the group a glimpse into your hero’s dark side during your narrative.
Task:
Using the prompt above, post a response in this thread describing an interlude. This can be from the trip back to the Lazy S. It can be a side trip the character took to prepare for the drive once you are back or even something that you took care of in Sutter's Flats before leaving. You have approximately four weeks before officially heading out. Time is guidelines, take liberties for AWESOME if you need to.
A few weeks later, Hope was wrangling some cattle into a pen in preparation for the drive. Across the pen, one of the longhorns got loose, tossing its great horns around. The more competent cowhands tried to wrangle it, leaving Hope to manage the more docile cows. She watched the contest worriedly though.
With a toss of his head, the bull’s horn caught Luke in the leg, tearing a bloody gash and throwing the cowboy clear across the pen.
“Luke!” Hope exclaimed, urging Devil’s Eye forward through the press of cattle quickly. The horse seemed to sense her urgency and whinnied, forcing his way through. Hope leapt down and knelt next to Luke.
“You’ll be okay!” Hope tried to reassure him as she studied the wound.
“Look out!” came a yell.
Hope’s head shot up to stare down as the bull charged at her and Luke.
“Shit! Holy Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Hope prayed, holding out her hand. “Stop!” A thunderclap sounded. The bull suddenly dropped, as if poleaxed, its momentum carrying it forward as its knees buckled. It skidded to rest a foot from Hope and Luke, the great bellows of its chest still rising and falling, still alive.
The cowhands stared at Hope, and she gave a sheepish grin. Then she quickly knelt next to Luke again and prayed, her hands bloody as they rested on his let. “The artery,” she murmured. Her hands glowed slightly and the blood stopped flowing.
Luke looked up at Hope, and she smiled bashfully. Why was she embarrassed? She had been a whore. She had even slept with Luke once already.
“You should probably change those pants,” Hope said, straightening the bloody, torn cloth over his healed leg.
“Want to help?”
Hope chuckled and smiled. “You might not have the energy to work after, if I did,” she teased, standing and helping him up.
“Fair enough,” Luke said with a chuckle. “But I owe you. Barn, tonight.”
Hope blushed. “We’ll see.” She watched the handsome cowhand walk back to the others, who looked on with awe. She shook her head, pulled off her hat, and wiped her brow, pushing back her red hair.
Payback: Play on an opposing Wild Card. Your attacks and damage against him are made at +2 for the duration of the scene.
Better You Than Me: Play when your hero has been hit by an attack and there is an adjacent character. The other character suffers the attack instead. This may be played on friend or foe.
With everything that had been going on; seeing Hope again (now he knew who she was) kept digging up memories best forgotten. He’d sworn not to talk about it, but it was getting crowded out on the plains. At some point, someone will figure something out or they’d run into smething like it.
The three men watched as the stage coach made its way slowly through the crisp snow. The storm had ended and they could leave now.
Doc Summers, an older man, with grey beard, held his doctor’s bag close to his chest, a few flecks of blood on his face.
Mr Pettinger; clad in a black suit, but his fancy white shirt was ripped open at the left hand side and his waist covered in bandages.
And Him, John Baxter, former Union Scout, now outrider and … now oathbound even further to the Union. He was a patriot, but keeping secrets, he wasn’t so fond of.
“Considering all these unanswered questions and strange behaviour,” John kicked the snow; it may be passable again, but it was still piled pretty high, “somebody is going to go straight to the local sheriff.” “Don’t worry about them, I’ll handle that.” Pettinger coughed, “you two keep up your oath about keeping quiet and help with the corpses.”
The doctor sighed as he clutched his doctor’s bag to his chest. “I’d have liked to have examined what we found. We could learn a lot …” Pettinger cut him off “Don’t want any chance of those getting out. Safety first, remove the danger and nobody any the wiser.”
John nodded, playing his harmonica as he looked for some matches.
“Baxter, before you go,” Pettinger rummaged amongst his saddle bags, “if you hadn’t taken the lead after I was wounded, things here would have been a lot worse.”
He held up a large pistol in a specially designed holster. “Take this and use it when you need to. Capable of putting a few large holes into people.”
Once they got back to Sutter’s Flats Bishop got out her bundle of letters from her aunt. Aunt Sarah had introduced to her a world outside of small town life, a way of living that she had never considered before Sarah blew into town and shook things up. It had been many months since she’d heard from her- highly irregular considering how often they wrote each other after splitting ways.
Sarah had eventually had her fill of meandering around and seeing new things and decided to settle down, while Bishop still had the itch to travel. They made sure to keep each other updated on their comings and goings though. The last she had heard from her aunt, Sarah had been facing some harassment from a group of folks not too thrilled with her runecasting ways.
I know I’m not strong enough to save her if she’s in trouble out there. If that crew was able to drive Sarah off or damage her enough she hasn’t been able to write I don’t stand a chance. Everything I learned was from her and I still have less abilities than her. I never thought I’d be glad to knowingly be facing danger but it seems to be kill or be killed in these parts and if that doesn’t sharpen me up, nothing will.
The desire, no, the need to improve her hexslinging talents and become capable of taking on a group strong enough to intimidate her aunt had become Bishop’s driving force. Every giant spider and creepy howling critter they were to come across on the trail would be just another opportunity to sharpen her shooting and hone her instincts. Those who messed with her family would learn of why the Whately blood that ran in her veins was so feared. Bishop would make sure of it.
As the ranch made its preparations for the long cattle drive ahead, Archibald took the opportunity to sort through and repack his belongings. Some would travel by wagon, some would go in the saddlebags of his horse so that they were close to hand if the situation arose. He picked up a bundle of papers, but the string that tied them broke and sent paper flying everywhere. "Oh blast!"
Archibald set about gathering the loose papers, most were letters from family or his army colleagues. One caught his eye; a copy of the London Gazette from April 1879. His mind went back to the December of the previous year, he and a small party of sappers had been sent to survey a crossing point on the Buffalo River to see whether it could be useful for the then impending invasion of Zululand. There had been trouble from tribals in the area, though other tribes as well as the Zulu, and a protection party of infantrymen was also sent along. Normally, such a small force would be led by a subaltern but a colonel decided to attach himself to it.
Ah yes, Colonel Blackwood.
An insufferable man Archibald had thought, and still did. Archibald strongly suspected that Blackwood only came along because he was eager to see a bit of action rather than die of boredom. He berated everything on that small expedition, singling out Archibald and his sappers whom he didn't consider to be 'real' soldiers. Archibald had found it best to ride towards the rear of the column, preferring to let Blackwood lead it and thus keeping some distance between the two of them. It was to prove rather fortunate.
The first anyone knew of the ambush was when one of the soldiers let out a dying shriek and toppled over, a spear impaled in his chest. And then the cries, oh dear Lord the cries.
They came at the column from all sides, dark skinned warriors screaming as they charged the redcoated soldiers. They were already frighteningly close, too close to organize a volley of rifle fire as some of the men were using their rifles as clubs to fend off the spear attacks of the tribals. Archibald fired all six shots from his revolver during those first hectic few moments, then drew his sword not knowing or caring whether he'd managed to hit anything.
His officer training kicked in and he began shouting commands, gradually rallying the men nearest to him and beating back the ambushers enough for rifle fire to be brought to bare. Glancing round he saw that Blackwood was struggling and, even worse, the column had stalled. With the colonel floundering, Archibald started shouting commands to get the wagons moving again. Though the wounded were starting to pile up, the British were tipping the skirmish into their favour. Much to Archibald's relief the column was moving again and he managed to reach Blackwood's side, helping the colonel to fend off attacks until they were clear of the ambush.
Blackwood was quiet until they got back to camp and parted ways, Archibald hoped the man had been humbled by the ambush. Though Blackwood passed from his thoughts, at least until several months later when Archibald received a letter from his brother. The letter included the copy of the London Gazette which, much to Archibald's surprise, Blackwood had written a citation for his actions during the ambush.
While riding back to the Lazy S, Jack was thinking about what he had seen happen with Hope, how the rain just seemed to bounce off of her. She is definately a beautiful woman. Smart, Intelligent and able to handle herself, all the qualities you want in a woman....Just like Mary.
I remember meeting Mary, I was about 5 days south of Dodge and my mule had received a small cut on his leg and I wanted to rest him. I had just peaked over a hill and saw the small homestead down by the pond. As I rode up, I was met by one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Now she wasn't all done up with fancy clothes or face paint but, her simple look and those eyes had caught me instantly.
I wasn't much of a ranch hand however, I was able to trade room and board for repairing and cleaning up what few guns they had for hunting, I had also paid them soem coin to help with expenses. When I wasn't fixing, I was walking with Mary. Helping with her chores, or jsut talking. We had talked for hours on end day and night, this had gone one for almost a week until I was sure my mule was all healed. I was starting to think of excuses to remain on the ranch so I could be with Mary. I didn't want to leave no matter what, we started talking about us being together until the rider arrived.
Apparently he had just ridden in from the small town just west of here and told a story of a group of riders who had ridden out of Dodge looking for a gunsmith who had fled out of Dodge late one night. While the rider was watering his horse and talking with the Mary's father, I realized he was talking about me and that those men were after me. That night I told Mary that I had to move on, that it would be best for everyone but, I wanted her to come with me, to go west and start a new life together. That wasn't going to happen. No matter what I said or did, I could not convince her to go with me, so that night, I mounted up and rode out, never to see Mary again.
After reliving that painful memory, I just continued to ride, wondering if I would ever find someone to love and be with. This world can be so cruel at times.
Signature
Parry: 4
Toughness: 7
Charisma: +2
Pace: 6
Bennies: 2 White, 1 Blue
Adventure Card: Spill the Beans The subject of your questioning tells you everything you want to know, whether by friendly persuasion, intimidation, or force.
