The Twisted West


Little Rain Cloud walked quietly upon the earth. She looked up at the cloudy night sky, barely able to discern her precious stars, but the glimpses she did catch through the cloud breaks were enough to speak to her. It was getting close to the time, and she was not far away. The only sounds that were her companions were the buzzes of night insects, the distant cries of her cousin the coyote, and the rattling of the stones and shells on the end of a decorated staff she used as a walking stick. She had been following the trail for two long days, not stopping for rest, food, or water, as she prepared herself ritually through sacrifice for the task ahead. She silently marched onward through the plain toward the spot she was now drawn to.

With the further aid of another break in the clouds, and the full moon being hidden behind them, she saw it. It was not very big, easily missed if you were not looking for it. It was barely more than a gentle rise on the flat plain, and yet the forlorn patch of hurriedly dug dirt was all that marked a sad, and lonely grave. Little Rain Cloud walked cautiously toward it, her sharp eyes searching the area as she moved silently onward. She stopped at the base of the grave, and looked down at the freshly tossed earth. She looked up at the night sky, and then around the area. It would not be long now, and she needed to prepare.

Little Rain Cloud hurriedly gathered twigs, underbrush, and other combustible materials, until she had enough to form the makings for a small fire. She always found comfort in its warmth, and more importantly it completed the elemental circle. She squatted next to the pile and struck two pieces of flint together several times, until a spark fell into the dry tinder. She leaned over and gently blew the fire into existence. She looked back at the grave, and the now eerie shadows dancing across it, which were caused by the flames licking over the larger wood she fed into her fire to create a strong blaze.

She moved to the grave, and studied it silently for many long moments. She finally looked into a satchel she always carried, and withdrew a stoppered animal skin. She pulled the plug, and poured a stream of water in an intricate pattern atop the dirt. She returned it to her satchel, and pulled a rattle, with several raven feathers attached to it, and a black obsidian knife from within. She removed her medicine bag from her shoulder and set it and her medicine staff on the other side of the fire. She tucked the knife into a sash encircling her waist and raised the rattle.

She shook the rattle in a non-rhythmic manner at the grave. She spoke, "Jai mahre anaha. Shae gavagne a pish oloho." She continued to chant the same words of summoning over and over as she shook her rattle at the grave, and began to slowly dance in a counter rhythm around the grave. She continued to dance around the grave, moving quicker and quicker, raising her voice into a high pitched keening chant without words, sashaying her body straight up and then crouching low as she twisted, while her feet pounded a beat onto the earth and her rattle continued to shake counter-rhythmically.

As she danced, the orange flame that seemed to dance with each step she took, took on a paler color, and then changed entirely to an eerie green which flooded the area she danced within. She ignored the fire's peculiarity as she continued her ghost dance. A strong wind whipped up from nowhere, and blew through the plains, carrying a shrill sounding scream with it. As it blew past Little Rain Cloud, whipping her hair and dress with its ferocity, she stopped dancing and stared at the earth. She watched the grave, and soon saw a disturbance. She tucked her rattle into her sash and drew the obsidian dagger. She moved cautiously toward the grave, as more dirt and pebbles tumbled from the top and scattered down the mound.

She stood silently by the grave, watching more dirt become disturbed before finally a pale, fleshy hand burst forth from the center. She stepped back, as she reflexively crouched and brandished the blade out before her defensively. The creature in the grave clawed its other hand out and pulled its upper torso from the ground. It shook its head violently back and forth, causing more dirt to fall away.

Little Rain Cloud saw it was a woman this time, but waited no longer. She stepped up, grabbed it by its shoulder and jammed the blade into the things throat. Little Rain Cloud hissed, "Ah arae con naha watcheheh." The thing coughed black blood into her face, snarled at her and spoke in a grating, unearthly voice before it rattled off with a gravelly chuckle. Little Rain Cloud smirked and touched her white painted fingers to the thing's forehead and spoke a one word command.

The surrounding sounds of the night imploded into an audible, low toned "Whumph" as a visible wave of surging force erupted outward from Little Rain Cloud in an expanding ring, which washed over the creature, the grave, and continued outward. The ring of force caused the vegetation and fire to bend over as it passed, and then straighten as the flame returned to its natural orange color. The surge caused the creature to rock backward violently as the wind picked up immediately, and the shrill scream could be heard traveling away across the plains.

The corpse slumped, as the evil contained within and powering its limbs was vanquished by the diminutive shaman. Little Rain Cloud gently pushed the corpse back into the grave. She stuffed the obsidian knife back into her sash, kneeled down, and began pulling the dirt back over the dead woman. She softly wailed a song filled with sorrow in her native tongue as she went about her task.

When she finished, she kicked the fire out, and gathered her belongings. She sat and gathered the cooling white ash of the fire, mixed it with water, and began smearing it over the white side of her face to clear away the black specks of the creature's vile spittle that had landed upon her. She replayed the event, in which she had been successful at keeping the evil spirit from roaming this time, but there were countless others still roaming freely.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the wind changed, and carried the sounds of raucous laughter and piano music to her. She tilted her head slightly, and walked toward the sounds. She hunkered down lower as she crested the gentle rise, and found she was looking down at a White Man's town. Tombstone, she seemed to remember it being named. She looked at the town in quiet contemplation, as the people within continued on with their late night revelries, unaware of the horror that nearly walked amongst them.


The Usual Sam Intro Blather

Ok folks... looks like only three games are being played lately. School ending undoubtedly... but none the less... I've decided to open my journal o' Sam (you know... my notebook crammed with RP ideas and what nots) and pull an oldie, but a goodie IMHO. Now... this premise is not my own at all... and I take no credit for its success or failure as a theme. This story is based loosely on the Deadlands RPG system. Since this is a western themed forum, I figured it fitting... and since supernatural seems to work ok in CS... it's equally fitting. So... read up... hope you find interest and let's see some well thought through characters. Thanks!

The Background Story

This game is technologically and economically based in the Old West around the Mid-1870's in the famous town of Tombstone for the story's start. White man has been actively fighting against the indian tribes, and making more demands of giving up hunting grounds and sacred locations for western expansion purposes. The great indian nations have forgone their wars amongst each other, in order to decide how to best fight back against this oppression, lest they become extinct as a people. The great meeting of the tribal leaders commences. These leaders argue for many days and nights, and no conclusion or settlement can be seen to be forthcoming any time soon. For the people are all their own cultures still, with their own needs, demands, and foibles.

A powerful medicine man of the Sioux, known amongst his people by the name of Raven, gathered several medicine people of the Sioux and other tribes in order to call upon the spirit world to seek vengeance on the white man. This decision was Raven's own, and without the counsel of the leaders. Thirteen shamans of the tribes entered a cave in the Superstition Mountains in Arizona Territory, and only five emerged a week later. Nobody knows for certain what happened at that ritual circle, but the Reckoners have arrived in the world.

Nobody knows for sure what exactly the Reckoners are, but ever since that fateful night... things... have begun to happen. It's said the dead rise, mothers turn bad against their own children and plead no recollection after the evil deed, magic works, miracles happen, Ghost Rock flows from the hills, and darkness has descended. Luckily... the common folk are somewhat oblivious to the whole thing. Sure... Larry went crazy at the bar and killed a man by ripping him from limb from limb after being shot himself... but he was just angry... and he'd been mining all those years... he must have just snapped. It's nothing that can't be explained. Yet it's out there for those who want to see... people who want to hunt it... or fight it... or join it...

The Rules

Every game needs them. Forum and section rules apply as always. No god mode, no meta-gaming, no killing player characters without previous approval by the character's owner, no more than one character per player (except for OP, for continuation of the story dynamic and direction with an indication that the character is a non-player character). This story is OP driven, meaning I'm going to be watching the threads to ensure continuity and staying within rule perimeters. If there's is something questionable, I will notify you politely what I find questionable via PM, and hopefully we can come to a mutually accepted edit to the thread. Other than that... have as much fun as I hope to have!

The Character

I'm hit or miss about very defined sheets I suppose. I still feel very strongly that they help keep players in check by providing limitations to a character, with the hope that god mode and so forth doesn't occur. I'm going to go with a less restricted sheet format this go, and hope that everybody sticks to being the fine ladies and gentlemen I know you are, when playing your character within the story and what not is concerned.

So saying... there is a limitation as to what is allowable for characters. The following classes may be chosen from, and there are no limits as to how many can be in the story. If you ALL want to play gunslingers... well gods bless you... go with it.


: These are the living dead basically. While they exist in the world, players are not allowed them at this time.

: These individuals are generally magic users. Now, this is the old west folks, but it's got that supernatural spin. These fellows cast spells (offensive, defensive, boons, and curses) using decks of cards and a lot of luck of the draw. The better the hand you draw... the more powerful the effect. (Of course, we're not sitting at a table playing this game, so the card draws are hard to actually figure out success or failure... but use a bit of imagination with your using magic descriptions is all I ask, and don't continually draw high poker hands or the Reckoning might just happen quicker for you)

: Wooha! Exactly what it says.

Law Enforcment
: Sheriff would be for an entire county, Marshall would be an entire town (and limiting potentially so consider that when choosing), and Pinkertons. Pinkertons were initially used on trains and as inspectors of that sort of thing, but this is our game... so let's think of them more as federal level detectives (and most likely to be investigating the supernatural stuff)

: See gunslinger. Though in all fairness... you don't have to be a gunslinger. You could have been an ammo mule if you want it. If it's in the wars... you can go ahead and do it.

: It's not gold anymore that's worth something. Well... gold is worth SOMEthing. Now however, it's Ghost Rock in them thar' hills! Ghost Rock derives it's name from the eerie whistling/shrieking the rock makes when it's used as fuel, and because it burns green. Ghost Rock came into being thanks to Raven. It fuels a whole lot of the supernatural things, and also other gadgets and gizmos that are being invented for every day use and for making the better mouse trap. The trouble with Ghost Rock... is it just ain't natural folks. It makes ya loony eventually.

: Better known as Mad Scientists. These are the folks that take the Ghost Rock, and make something out of it. Most often it's something dangerous... but sometimes good applications are wrought. Horseless carriages, Flying gyromachines, Trains that run ten times faster than steam... that sort of thing. They're also the most likely to be loony fast, as they handle a whole lot of this stuff.

: Somebody with actual training in making people better. You don't got the training, you're just as likely to kill as to heal.

: The miracle workers! People of the cloth, who through holy retribution in these times of troubles are able to tap into the greater divine to bring about great, and horrible things. These are dark times... demons openly walk the Earth... and you might be the last step between salvation or eternal damnation. Preach it brother or sister! And if they ain't listening... blow em away with that hog's-leg you got hidden in your bible.

Workman/Citizen/Ranch Hand/Fill in the Blank
: Somebody that isn't one of those other things, but exist none the less. It's the old west folks... be creative.

The Dirty Other

Now... this shouldn't be taken the wrong way. I'm not racially slanted, nor biased in any way... however... in this game... the natives are very restless and REALLY not looked upon kindly-like by non-natives. So... player characters are not allowed to be openly Native American. If you want to mix a half-breed into your character... I'll allow it... but careful on that description... or you're likely to be lynched. Any other race? Have at it... this is the west in the great melting pot of the world... you can be anything else.

I guess... since I'm on the whole... it ain't pretty talk... genders. Gender choice MAY very well be looked at differently depending on your character's plumbing. It's a man's world in the west, but the women have their place too. Just don't come crying to me if you want your woman Marshall to have any real manner of respect from anybody that ain't a woman. 'Nuff said.

The Sheet

Name: (What you're known by)
Age: (How old pardner?)
Gender: (What plumbing you got?)
Class: (What do ya do?)
Appearance: (What do ya look like?)
Biography: (What you done to git' you where you are?)
Equipment: (What you carrying in that carpet bag?)

__________________________________________________ _

Name: Little Rain Cloud

: Unknown

: Sioux Shaman

: Native American woman of the Sioux tribe. She stands at 5'2" and weighs 100 pounds. She wears moccasins and a deerskin dress, both of which have been dyed dark blue with bead work of silver constellations adorning them, and the pelt of a wolf over her shoulder. Her glossy black hair is adorned with several feathers of the Red Tail hawk. She always splits her face with black paint covering the right side and white paint covering the left side. Her right cheek is painted with three vertical white dots, and her left cheek is painted with three vertical black dots. She always paints her right hand and thumb black, and her right fingers white. She always paints her left hand and thumb white, and her left fingers black.

: Little Rain Cloud is very well known amongst the Native American people, and welcomed amongst all of the tribes, regardless if they are considered friend of foe of the Sioux nation. She is sought and welcomed for her wisdom and guidance in these dark times, for she was one of the thirteen shamans, and the only female, that Raven had called upon the night the Reckoners were unleashed into the world. After that terrible and wondrous event, she is now one of five shamans, who included Raven himself, who walked away from the cave. Of those five, she is the only shaman who remains accessible to the people, the other four having become extremely reclusive and seen extremely rarely. It is said that she possesses greater power than she had prior to that night, and that she seldom roams the plains, but can always be found when sought by those with purpose.

: Medicine Staff, Medicine Bag, Obsidian Knife
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Name: Ian Smith
Age: 30
Gender: male
Class: Pinkerton
Appearance: slightly aging, a few grays here and there, but mostly still young. Usually wears a black frock coat, black trousers, and boots, sometimes seen wearing a traditional Chinese outfit from a trip there (seen here in an early photograph)
Biography: Ian was born in the decade of the 1840's, a beautiful time to be born in, the country awash with Manifest Destiny, running rampant from coast to coast, building railroads, carving states, creating new things. This was the world Ian was born in, an eager Eastern family from New York, getting ready to voyage to the west. He made it, along with his parents, who set up shop (bakery) in San Jose, his parents voting for California to be admitted into statehood.

Growing up, Ian was interested in the fancy looking men with shiny badges, who only popped up after California had become a state, and San Jose was starting to get its fair share of national criminals. After asking one of them enough questions, the man sent young Ian, only 16, to a school set up in nearby Benicia, which he attended, and eagerly became a pinkerton. His first few assignments after graduating were simple, minor robberies that were over state lines, but his first big assignment came with a travel to the Orient, investigating strangeness at the American trading posts there. At first, it was a regular assignment, but it turned into something greater, proving to be Ian's first encounter with the esoteric. Due to memorable events there, Ian will often wear his Chinese attire. He also has a higher respect for Orientals than most other people due to his encounters there.

Back at the states, having missed the Civil War for Oriental adventure, Ian was given bigger assignments, culminating in the capture of a serial killer using the ruse of a friendly miner to snare his victims, usually other miners who needed help. After that assignment, a new one came in, which at first seemed a bore compared to his last one. But, due to his experience with the Oriental esoteric, Ian was assigned to the case. When he arrived in Tombstone, his interest increased, the same things that happened in the Orient were happening here, inventors using strange stone to make wonderful new inventions, rising dead, brief bouts of murderous insanity. Ian intends to find out why it's happening here, and if he can stop it again.
Equipment: Peabody rifle in .45-70 Gov't, Martini Henry, Trapdoor Springfield, Winchester 1866, Volcanic pistol, Colt M1861 Navy Revolver, Bowie knife, canteen, badge, compass (not all carried at one time, one rifle, one pistol, one knife, and everything else)

James the Hunter

Name: James Travis West

Age: 40's

Gender: Male

Class: Former Soldier/Gunslinger

Appearance: Tall, around 6'1. Athletic build. White with brown eyes and brown hair. In a ponytail, just like it was during the Civil War. Brown goatee. Crescent shaped scar over his right eye. Numerous scars over his body, including shrapnel wounds near his left ribcage from a cannon ball blast to name a very notorious one. Wears black jeans and boots. Wears a white button-down, with his former colonel uniform over the shirt. He also wears a black long-coat over all this. He carries a bowie knife sheath on his right boot. Also carries a rifle holster on his back, a sword at his right side, and his gun holster at his left.

Biography: James West is a legend in his own right. Born 30 years before the Civil War, James was born to a native american "exotic" dancer and a gunslinging drunk. He had family problems, but he got along. He had two younger twin brothers, Matthew and William.
The rest of the story goes on and on, including his service in the Civil War as a colonel. His brother William died by Matthew's blade, and Matthew was killed shortly after by James. After the war, he was injured in a battle against a fellow bounty hunter. He killed the other man, but was shot in the right rib during the process. He was saved by Navajo indians and healed. He was treated like a brother, and joined the tribe for two years.
Nowadays, James is like his father. A gunslinger and bounty hunter. He travels the road, doing various oddjobs. He's done almost everything. Been a marshal, a sheriff, a soldier, merc, pirate. Think of something that involves guns and shooting people, and James has no doubt done it. As of right now, he is wandering the road, letting the wind take him wherever it goes.

Equipment: A cutlass and bowie knife for melee weapons. Carries a Henry 1860 .44 caliber rimfire rifle on his back. The .44s are carried on a sling belt over the shoulder (like John Marston from Red Dead Redemption). Carries a Colt Single Action Army "Peacemaker", 1873, .45 Colt. This gun replaced his old Colt Army Model 1860. Other equipment is carried on his horse, such as a wood cutting axe, a bundle of dynamite, tent-making equipment, and other necessities for a wanderer.
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Name: Alexander Nathaniel Cain

Age: 30

Gender: Male

Class: Inventor

Appearance: 5'11" short light brown hair, clean shaven with green eyes. He has a small scar above his right eye where he received a gunshot wound. Wears black riding boots, black pin stripped trousers, white shirt and a grey waistcoat.

Biography: Born to a poor family in England Alex spent much of his early life working as a blockade runner with his father and brothers selling Lee Enfield Rifles to the Confederate army, the work was tough and dangerous however the rewards were good. Upon the wars end Alex stayed in America using the money he'd earned trading weapons with the wrong side to study Engineering and Chemistry before starting up his own armaments company in Boston.
His company, Cain Precision Armaments was moderately successful earning him enough money to live comfortably with his young bride Jessica who he'd married upon the wars end in Richmond. A beautiful southern belle Alex worshipped the ground that Jessica walked on, so enamoured of her that he was that could not imagine a world without her, believing that if such a fate was to befall him then he would surely die from teh grief, unfortunately such a world did arrive and he very nearly did die.
Walking home one day Alex and his beautiful wife Jessica were attacked by a mugger Alec bravely tried to fight the man off however two shots were fired in the ensuing struggle. Alex was to survive the glancing wound he received to the skull leaving only a scar however Jessica was not so lucky the bullet strinking her in the heart killing her instantly on the cobbled streets of Boston.
Heartbroken Alex suffered a mental breakdown as his whole world came crashing down around him, shutting down his company he fled Boston and drifted through the west in search of oblivion.
Eventually Alex came to Tombstone intent on drinking himself into a stupour like he'd done many times before however it was upon the discovery of the Ghost rocks and their mystifying propeties in the surrounding hills that a different plan came to mind.
Buying an old house on the towns outskirts, Alex used his remaining money to set up a small workshop and laboratory in the houses old wine cellar. Driven by his desire to see his projects completion Alex is determined that nothing will stand in his way even if it means killing himself in the process.

Equipment: Pocket watch, Cain1872 Revolver*, various tools and measuring instruments and a notebook and pencil

(*This is a fictional single action revolver manufacturd by Cain Precission Armanents it uses .44 Rimfire ammunition)
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Name: Jean Lafitte

Age: 40

Gender: Male

Class: Blessed

Appearance: 5' 7" and of light build and weight. He has hair that has been described as being almost as dark as night. He wears the trappings of a catholic minister when he attends to religious duties (a cassock in particular). On a regular daily basis he usually wears his collarino (a black dress shirt with a collar that utilizes a white insert) and solid black trousers. He is clean shaven.

Biography: From the state of Louisiana Jean was raised in New Orlean's French quarter. During the civil war he became a colonel and spent time as a rogue after the war before having a religious revelation that brought him back to his Catholic roots. Becoming a man of the cloth and setting aside his gun (well not completely as he carries it with him though not on his person) he set out to help the sinners, convert the savages, spread the lord's word, and even aid protestants in finding the right path (better he be a christian than a man who is goddless). He wanders about on a white horse, and when he heard of the strange events going on outside of Tombstone he decided that a town so full of sinners was being punished and that he should move quickly to help the poor sinners.

Equipment: In his horse's saddlebag he carries his cassock, an extra collarino, a tweed hat for days when the weather suits it, a .44 Kerr's Revolver, a bible, a gold crucifix, and
two simple wooden crosses given to him by a good friend.

David Schofield

Name: Payton Oates-Parson (Sheriff Pops, Sheriff Poppy-seeds, Sheriff Parson)

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Class: Sheriff of the County

Appearance: Tall and thin at 6'0, brown hair that sways back unless wet. Gunmetal blue eyes. Fine curvature in chin and large, deceivingly trusting eyes. Handsome looks. Horseshoe moustache combined with a soul patch reaching down to the top of the chin. Aggressive or passive disposition in stance, changing depending on moods (Sad, angry, irritated vs Happy, loving, adamant).

Biography: Come on now, it ain't hard to see how I got where I am. Just don't call me a trick Shootist. Give me a target and you won't regret it, unless you make yourself that target. It started when I was 16, I decided I'd probably go ahead and get myself a name in my home town. Figure it was shooting buffalo that did the trick, because with a 45-70 Rolling Block, I can knock the balls off a Goat at 100 yards. Part from that, I'm pretty downright energetic for my age. My best deputies Russell and Cliff are some of the finest men I've worked with, but I still like to go it alone. I guess I'm a little bit pig-headed, but my father died in the Civil War fighting Johnny Reb in 1865. My Older Brother died a year later ambushing a Yankee convoy. War was over, too. I can't say I'm much for either side. Then we get to the Injuns. I'm no fan. When I see one come into a town for supplies, I keep my distance and keep my guard. I'm always ready to go after 'em if they stirr up a ruckus. I caught a gang of three stealing horses from the Weatherby stables, They were armed, shot one dead, others fled. They made me a town hero for that, it turned out a white lady claimed she'd been raped by one. No proof, and it was actually one of the Station Wagon guards, but didn't undo my fame any.

MAYBE I DO have a small opium addiction. But It's no problem! It's ok!

Equipment: S&W Schofield Model 3 (with bullets, of course), Leather holster with 36 loops, three speed-loaders, a Pocket Watch and a Bible. Bandolier for Sharps rifle bullets, Sharps 50-90 or Winchester '76 in 45-75 WCF optional carries (One Usually in Horse Scabboard, the other in the office). Opium pipe. Stetson hat with interior brim lined with 120 matches in a waterproof wax wrap. And of course, opium.
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Fine green dust fell as the lathe's cutting tool bit into the Ghost rocks surface, an eerie low moan started to resonate within the confines of the workshops stone walls barely covered by gramophone as it played Wagner to its sole listener.
Alexander carefully inched the handles a fraction of millimetre more, to get it wrong now would require him to start over with a fresh piece, also there was no telling how the rock would react to such rough treatment.
Finally satisfied with the finish he'd achieved Alexander shut down the machine and removed the small piece of rock from the lathe using a pair of tongs, dousing it in a tub of oil, the moaning instantly silenced replaced with the sizzling of something very hot meeting something very cold.
Placing the now cool ghost rock in the palm of his hand he marvelled at the simplicity of what he’d created, it was a bullet, but not any old bullet a ghost bullet. He wasn’t the first man to use Ghost rock as a bullets tip many others were producing them with varying effects ranging from violently exploding in the users hand to simply being useless, worse than lead in fact.
Fixing the Ghost rock into one the brass cartridges that littered the work bench, Alexander fixed in place before placing it delicately in a box with the other five. It had taken him two days to produce each bullet, Tow long days of delicate machining and polishing to get the rock into its current state.
Placing the lid firmly onto the box Alexander climbed the stairs into the main part of the house, leaving the gramophone running to itself in the darkness.
Locking the cellar door Alexander made his way to the front door he had an appointment to keep just outside of town.
“Will you be requiring any supper Mr. Cain?” the quiet voice of his Chinese house maid enquired cautiously as she endeavoured to pronounce every word of the foreign tongue correctly, Mr. Cain was apt to get upset when she didn’t
“No you may retire for the night I won’t be back till late” and with that he closed the door and walked off into the setting sun, Liu Han breathed a sigh of relief, as of late her master had been getting more erratic as of late and she was thankful when he out of the house. Heading towards the stairs she paused to listen to the strange western music coming up from out of the cellar something strange went on down there, it was the one room in the house that she was forbidden to enter and she was pleased of that, somehow she didn’t think she’d like what she’d find down there.

Alexander checked the chambers of his revolver were loaded, .44’s not Ghost rounds even though he had made them all with his own two hands he didn’t trust them to work when he wanted them to or work in the way he wanted them to.
Replacing the revolver in its holster he carried on walking down the dirt track that led into Tombstone, the sun rapidly setting behind him, quickening his pace Alexander hoped to be in town by the time it got dark and the get the meeting over with as quickly as possible.


Name: Silas

Age: 32

Gender: Male

Class: Professional Criminal

Appearance: A man of moderate height, looks like any other man on the street, if you don't notice the off look in is eye. His dirty red hair almost brown and his clothes hang loosely from his wiry body.

Biography: Silas was born under extraordinary circumstances. Extraordinary circumstances would haunt him for the rest of his life. His mother was a common ***** on a wagon train headed west when she had him, in the middle of a Comanche Raid nonetheless, once the wagon train arrived in some no name town in Arizona Territory, his ***** of a mother shoved him into the arms of the town priest and carried on with her work. Unknown to the priest or the young Silas, his father had been a hatter in St Louis, who had long since fallen victim to the mercury used in the making of hats. Needless to say, Silas was cursed from the beginning.

Silas grew to a young boy and then to a teenager, not knowing that the strange impulses and hallucinations he saw were abnormal. He never spoke of them simply because no one ever asked. The priest whom Silas had been foisted on to begin with finally found him a home with a family of dirt poor Irish ranchers who couldn't have children of their own. Working in blistering fields day after day didn't do anything to help Silas' condition, which he still had no idea about.

Odd things started happening around Silas when he was a teenager, a beautiful woman once manifested herself to him and he was found later, his lips pressed to the face of the rock and his trousers around his ankles After that day, his adopted mother made him go to church on Sundays, where he had to endure long talks from the priest who had originally been charged with him. Money began to disappear from the small ranch, as did food and other valuables. All Silas' pre-determined evils ended with a young woman disappearing and later being found tortured to death, and a bloody dress found under Silas' bed a week later. Silas knew what they did to murderers and he knew he had done it, even though he had no recollection of the evil. He knew one thing though, he wouldn't be hanged.

Since the bloody shootout between the mad Silas and the Town Marshall and two deputies, neither of whom survived the ordeal, Silas was all alone, too crazy to end his suffering, but too sane to starve or thirst to death.

Equipment: A Double Action Revolver and a Henry Repeating Rifle, nothing special.


I'm nuttier then squirrel turds. Silas thought, as he reached below the duster that hung loosely about his shoulders. Ah, they have more money then anybody!

The Double Action Revolver that served him so well over the years, since the deaths of those two deputies in his hometown, easily leaped into his hands as he made a high grumbling sound deep in his throat. In front of him, the two women stopped and slowly turned, revealing the crosses hanging from their necks and the rosaries clutched in their hands. The pair of nuns gasped in horror and raised their hands up, letting the holy symbols dangle looped around their thumbs, as terrified expressions crossed their faces. "Hands up, sisters!" he called in his sing song Irish accent.

What on earth am I doing? Robbing such gentle women of the lord? Suddenly, Silas felt pure shame, at the look on the nuns' faces, the scorn and contempt shown there. He knew he was mad as a hatter, how ironic it was that he used that expression. Back to the matter at hand. Silas continued.

"Well? Come on then, drop the purses and run back to your prayin', sisters." Silas called, as he moved the gun's muzzle from sister to sister, the iron sights focuses just above the cross necklaces each of them wore.

The three stood in the darkest part of an alley, formed by a raucous saloon to the right and and equally raucous house of ill repute to the left. The mixed sound of piano music, dirty jokes and, since the three were closer to the left then the right, the banging of iron headboards against the walls and the moans and groans of human, relations, simply served to make Silas fall further into his crazy state of mind and suddenly, he wasn't ashamed to be robbing the sisters, somewhere amid the screams of prostitutes and the hollers of gamblers Silas had lost all semblance of sanity.

The ladies had been, just a few minutes earlier, preaching in front of the saloon. Telling it's patrons of their evils and promising them salvation, if they would but give up their ways. There had been a priest there too, but he had retired earlier then the sisters who had sung psalms and preached until long after midnight, before heading back to the church.

The nuns' unclenched their hands and let the bags full of money fall to the earth with the subtle jingling of coins against one another, but the sound was lost amid the raucous celebrations to either side of them.

"Very good, now, leave!" Silas screamed at them, and the pair scuttled into the night, as Silas reached down into the dirt and picked up his coins. He smiled to himself "Thank you, sisters, for donating to a god catholic boy who's fallen on bad times."


Alexander walked quickly along the dirt path, with the meeting he intended on making playing over and over in his mind. The sun was slowly setting, and nearly completely concealed behind the mountains. His thoughts were interrupted by the howl of a creature he'd never heard. The best description was horrendous, and the worst was unearthly. As he looked around his surroundings, a monster came bounding over a short rise. Utter fear gripped the pit of Alexander's very being.

The monstrosity was huge and covered in long black fur and rippling muscle. Its arms were long and touching the ground as it stood upright and roared in fury. It lifted hands, large enough to envelope a grown man's entire head with nine inch long curved talons sprouting from the end of each of the beast's fingers, and clacked its dagger-like talons together. It's eyes, glowing red as the fires of the hell it came from, locked onto Alexander and the monster grinned. Its maw was full of fangs, which the creature gnashed together as it started drooling two long strands of spittle from each corner of its mouth. It hunched down low, raising its long arms in front of itself in a wrestler pose, and bellowed at Alexander.


The bellow was loud enough to carry across the plains, and alert James as he plodded along his own path. James was struck by a sudden memory of a story he was told while living with the indians. He'd always dismissed it as legend, or stories to frighten the young children and women. But now, he had no doubt that this thing of stories existed. It was a Wendigo. James recalled the stories as he heard the bellow not very far off. The Wendigo was an evil spirit, with an insatiable appetite for human flesh. Wendigo were allowed access to the world when humans cannibalized other humans, and took over the offending person to mutate into a monstrosity that was nigh unstoppable.

The Wendigo howled, and began advancing toward Alexander. As Alexander scrambled his hand to draw his .44, a large humming sound filled the surrounding area and a faint flicker of eerie green, like a tiny will o wisp, appeared between the creature and the man. The Wendigo stopped short, tilted its head in confusion at the thing, and swiped its huge clawed hand at the flickering entity. It jerked its hand back howling in frustration as an arc of green electricity snapped outward from the tiny speck of energy, and singed its flesh. The green speck quickly expanded into a large, six foot sphere of crackling green energy, with stray arcs, which resembled miniature lightning bolts, rotating around it. The sphere's light was intense enough to cause both Alexander and the Wendigo to shield their eyes. The intensity strengthened momentarily, before the energy ball suddenly imploded in a large explosion of sound, which the concussion of sound knocked both the Wendigo and Alexander off their feet, and resounded around the area like an echoing thunderclap.

When Alexander righted himself he smelled ozone, and saw an odd looking woman standing in the clearing where the sphere had been. She was looking around in a dazed manner. She was shorter, with wild, unkempt hair and wearing dark goggles over her eyes. She wore acid stained boots and pants, a white lab coat, and a red scarf wrapped around her neck. Her face was split into a lopsided grin, because apparently the left side was too stiff from being marred by scars from a burn somewhere in her past. She turned her head toward Alexander.

She lifted her goggles, rested them on her forehead and blinked shocking green eyes at the man. "Holy moly! It works! Did you SEE that!?!" She asked him excitedly. "I was there... and now? I'm here!" She frowned momentarily before continuing, "Wait... where is here? Meh... I don't care! It doesn't matter because I'm indeed here when I used to be there! This is most definitely the most exciting discovery EVER! Yes oh my yes it is!" She nodded several times,bubbling over with excitement. "I... why I am going to be famous! I'll be named the greatest inventor of all time! That's right... move over Edison... M is here! Oh my... that was stupendous! And the travel! Why... it's fabulous! Wondrous even! It will completely change how things are done from now on." She probably would have continued in her excited, confusing babble for some time, if the Wendigo hadn't since regained its feet and bellowed at the intruder and Alexander. The woman jumped startledly, and slowly turned in place to face the Wendigo.

"ACK! Jesus Christ! What the hell is THAT thing?!?!" She retreated immediately behind Alexander, just missing being gutted by the Wendigo, which swiped at her abdomen. She pointed at the Wendigo asking, "You um... DO see that thing right? Holy bejeezus! Did that come with me? Or did YOU bring it?" The Wendigo began to advance with its hands clenching and unclenching in murderous rage. The woman squealed and dug inside her lab coat. "GAH!!! It's going to get us!" She pulled an odd looking contraption from within her lab coat. It was a short pole with tubes, wires, and a rubber hand grip. On top of the pole was a plain looking metal sphere set in four copper prongs with wires connecting the sphere to the ends. The copper prongs coiled together and wrapped down the top of the pole to two copper flanges resembling wings.

She set the pole against her leg as she lowered her goggles over her eyes with her other hand and warned, "Here we go you nasty, beasty thing you!" She tapped Alexander's shoulder as she warned, "Look out now neighbor. Tesla rod to the rescue!" She rubbed the pole vigorously up and down against her pants leg causing her unkempt hair to begin to stand on end, as Alexander could sense a palpable buzzing in the air. She leapt forward with a shouted, "Heeeya!", and pointed the balled end at the monster. As it closed to about ten feet from her, a tremendous green arc of electricity shot forth from her strange device and struck the Wendigo in the torso. The beast howled as its hair shot up straight, and all of its limbs straightened outward, before it toppled over backward and lay motionless with smoke rising from the large burn mark across its chest.

M lowered her device and looked at the beast while raising her goggles onto her forehead. "Whew! Stinks like ozone and a burnt dog." She blinked her dazzling green eyes at Alexander and smiled lopsidedly again. She looked back and studied the creature for a few moments and clicked her tongue several times. "Pity to have had to do that. Oh..." she hesitated, studied the monster a few seconds, and then said in surprise, "OH!... wait... it's still breathing. Wow... that's fascinating. I've never seen THAT before." She looked at her device, then at Alexander, then at the Wendigo as its hand twitched spasmodically, then back at Alexander with wide, fear-filled eyes.

"Um..." she paused and looked back at the Wendigo, nodded once as if deciding something, and looked back at Alexander as she announced, "Bye!" She hurried away from the Wendigo and Alexander, as she tucked the device back inside her coat. She called out while she scurried away just as fast as her legs could carry her. "Um... that... that thing's likely to be extremely put out when it wakes up! Might wanna make some distance while you still can."


Name: M

Age: Appears to be early 20's

Class: Mad Scientist

Appearance: M stands at 5'4" and weighs 100 pounds. She wears heavy work boots, canvas pants, a linen shirt, a white lab coat, and wraps a bulky red scarf around her throat no matter how cold or hot it is. Her brown hair is wild and unkempt, and held out of her eyes by a pair of green rubber goggles with dark lenses strapped around her head and resting on her forehead. Scar tissue, looking to have been caused by burning, mars her left cheek halfway up, travels down her neck and disappears below the scarf she wears. It appears whatever she suffered was extensive, as her left wrist and hand is also covered by similar scarring to the extent of her hand being so stiff she can barely use her fingers.

Bio: Not much is known of M's past, including by M herself. Those having the pleasure, or displeasure perhaps, of knowing the woman immediately recognize she is quite mad. She takes to talking to herself often, and usually loses track during these conversations. She also loses her personal belongings quite often. Usually, losing things would not worry people too much, but she's arguably a genius when it comes to her inventions. She's taken the powers of ghost rock to new levels as she creates machines and contraptions. More often than not while these inventions are very useful, they're often very dangerous, especially when she's not controlling them. She maintains her laboratory in San Francisco, much to the dismay of her neighbors.

Equipment: Lab Coat, Protective Goggles, Laboratory, Devices of Varying Types.


"Everybody off! Tombstone, Arizona! May God rest your souls, ye who decide to get off here." Ian stood up at the conductor's ominous call. He believed bad things were here, Ian would have laughed it off a few years ago, but now, he knew there was something up, and that was what he was here for. "Just you then?" The conductor asked. "Be careful now. There's strange things going on. You might want to go on to Phoenix." Ian laughed at the suggestion. "I came here to stop the wrong in this city. I can't run off like that. Take care now." Ian gave the conductor a $20 bill and walked onto the platform. As the train left, Ian waved at it, beaming smile on his face.

A bit later, Ian was at the hotel, checking in and unpacking. After making sure everything was where he left it, Ian prepared for his first day of investigation. He was wearing his western wear, along with the ride was his badge, knife, a notebook, pencil, and M1861. He wouldn't want to bring a rifle with him, so he also brought his Volcanic along, just in case more firepower was needed, but he hoped that wouldn't be necessary.

Ian's first stop was to the saloon nearby, a great place to learn about the going abouts of the town. As suspected, nearly all of the talk was about the strange happenings going about, two nuns robbed right outside the place last night, and a name. A man named Alexander Cain, a ghost rock worker who met a woman who appeared out of nowhere last night. Ian decided to follow that first.

When he arrived, he was greeted by a Chinese housemaid, named Liu Han. "Zhusi Han, is Mr. Cain at home?" Ian asked. Surprised by his politeness, her voice was gone for a second, but it quickly came back. "No, sir. And why are you looking for him?" Ian replied. "I need to talk to him, Zhusi. Something happened last night, nothing bad," Ian added at the sight of her eyes widening. "Just a curious little thing. Do you mind if I wait inside?" Liu shook her head. "No sir, come right in, make yourself at home." Ian nodded, and entered, sitting down in a chair near the door. She brought in a plate of finger sandwiches for him. "Thank you, zhusi," Ian spoke, while grabbing one, and putting it in his mouth. "Very good,{ he said after chewing.


Alexander stared wide eyed at the smoking creature on the floor not sure whether to believe his eyes or not, he'd seen things before, strange things working with ghost rock did that to you the fact that Alexander wasn't the most ...stable...of people meant that it happened with startling regularity.
Drawing his revolver Alexander cautiously prodded the creature with his toe, the creature grunted causing him to jump back alarmed Its real! I am not seeing things?
He was pondering whether or not the creatures reality was a good thing or not when he remembered the long eviscerating talons and the strange womans advice. Levelling his revolver at the creatures still prone form Alexander slowly backed away from it, once he was a few feet away and it was clear it wasn't going to rise he turned and ran as fast as his legs would take him to Tombstone.

Jack Carson sat fidgetting outside the low wooden outhouse where he'd arranged to meet Mr Cain, he didn't like this, what he was doing for the man was wrong and he knew it, this would have to be the last time.
Out of the dark came Alexander Cain somewhat out of breath and just a little pale as if he'd been running away from something "You alright mister? you look like you've seen a ghost" straightening his waistcoat Alexander fought to compose himself "Yes...Something like that, have you got what I require?" Jack's eyes darted nervously around surrounding area before returning to the ghost worker "Yes I've got it all set up in here" he said motioning to the small wooden outhouse.
Opening the door Alexander stepped into the room and examined what lay on the table before him, the single parrafin lamp made the ghost worker appear somewhat older and more insane like a true mad scientist causing Jack to shiver involuntarily "Very good Mr Carson here is your payment, I trust you can continue to provide me with what I require?" Jack examined the ghost bullets he'd received as payment, although he wouldn't use them himself he knew of people who'd pay handsomley for them "I am sorry mister Cain I...I can't do this no more" Alexander shrugged slightly as Jack stammered and shook before him "That is a shame because the rewards would have been quite substantial...Well goodnight Mr Carson I have some rather important work to complete" and with that he closed the door leaving Jack Carson in the dark. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief he left quickly in search of a drink and then a train ticket out of here.

Voices, why can I hear voices coming from out of my house? who is she talking to? and what is she telling them? Those were the thoughts that ran through Alexanders mind as he entered his home lunchtime the following day. He had spent nearly the entire night working in the little outhouse on the outskirts of Tombstone, he was making significant headway soon he'd be able to start implementing his designs. The rest of the night and indeed the morning had been spent in the saloon drinking too much and telling those who would listen of his bizarre encounter that night before he finally went to sleep in one of the saloons backrooms.
Entering his sitting room he found his maid Liu Han talking with a seated man who judging by his attire was some form of sherrif.
"Mr Cain you are home Mr Smith wishes to talk with you is that alright?" no it was not alright Alexander liked his privacy and he didn't want nosey sherrifs finding out about his work they wouldn't understand, he'd have to have words with Liu Han of that he was certain.
"No not all Liu Han...Mr Smith a pleasure to meet you My names Alexander Cain" he said his face composed into the perfect smile an outstretched hand held towards Mr Smith "Now to what do I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance?"


Name: (yet again) Ben Andrews
Age: (always somewhere near the same) 30
Gender: (no offence but duh!) Male
Class: (same as it is in the game) Soldier
Appearance: Tall, blonde, Scar above his left eye from knife fight (all my characters have scars, I just like them)
Biography: Raised in a town frequented by bandits, Ben grew up learning how to defend himself. When he came of age he took a pistol and shot every bandit in one of their raiding parties. Taking there weapons he travelled to their fort and with the help of two gun slingers ,James Travis West and Jim-bob Sherwood (if that is someone's name I apologise, It was the first thing to pop into my head), he killed every bandit in the fort. Taking weapons from it he then began travelling the West killing bandits and the supernatural as he went. He has worked with a lot of people including Sheriff Parson. Upon hearing of the disturbances he travelled there to try and find the root and put some shotgun rounds into whatever it was.
Equipment: (my favourite) Winchester Repeater, Schofield Revolver, Semi-Automatic Shotgun, Springfield Rifle and Climbing kit (grappling hook, ropes etc.), Survival Kit (put up tent, Matches etc.) and an ammo bag.

As Ben stepped of the train he sighed. "So this was were it had all started" he thought "some dingy little town in the middle of nowhere. Good place to start a revolution, it would be in full swing and the police could not notice". He suddenly felt a strange urge to pull out his Schofield and shoot someone. "D--- influences" he swore. Having fought demons before he knew that getting angry for no reason was one of them and had to be careful. First of all he wanted to find sheriff Parson. He had heard he was in the area and so asked of his whereabouts at the nearby police station. He was told to head to the house of a certain Alexander Cain and ask Pinkerton Smith, Ben had never heard of him but got directions and set off. Maybe Cain knew something about the demons. Ben didn't like this place. He wanted to find the cause of it and blast it into pieces and be off again. He knocked on Alexander Cain's door and a maid answered "I'm looking for Pinkerton Smith. Is he here at the moment?" the maid told him he was and so Ben asked to come in and see him. She let him in and Ben walked off to the room she pointed too. As he walked in he spotted two men talking. One was armed "must be Mr. Smith" he thought "Excuse me, I would like a word please with Mr. Smith, Do you know the whereabouts of sheriff Parson and" he said turning to Cain "do you know anything about how to stop the demons coming from the ghost rock?"


"Hé cǎoméi shì zuì měiwèi de cǎoméi, tā chī guò." Ian and Liu broke out into laughter. "Zhè shì yīgè hǎo xiàohuà," Ian said. "Suīrán wǒ shì zài běijīng, zhè míng nánzǐ..." Ian was interrupted by the door opening. Liu Han wished Ian a farewell, and went to see who it was. He could hear talking, and a minute later Liu entered with a man, a very tired looking man. He greeted himself as Alexander Cain, the owner of the house. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cain," Ian replied, and shook the man's hand. "Really, it's just bit of a fact finding mission. You aren't in trouble, I'm just looking for somebody.

"Last night, you encountered a woman who came from nowhere, according to eyewitnesses. They couldn't tell much at all, only that she had a red scarf. I was wondering if you could give me any more details, name, distinctive identifiers like scars, hair colour, attire, name. I also want to know everything that happened a bit before her arrive and after her arrival. I think she's going to be a big help in solving this." There was another knock on the door, and Liu went to answer it. "You know," Ian quickly said. "Liu is a very good woman, lots of stories and jokes. Have you heard any of them?" Liu arrived again with another man. A very rude man, not even saying hello. Ian responded with annoyance. "How would I know the location of a local sheriff?" Then he said something that really got on Ian's nerves. "Demons from ghost rock? That is absurd! Nothing comes from the Huànyǐng dàlǐshí. It's just plain old rock to them! Get out before I arrest you for interfering in a government investigation!"

(Note on the funny words: They are phonetic spellings of Chinese characters. They say And the strawberry was the most delicious strawberry he had ever eaten, that is a funny joke, during my visit to Peking [Beijing], a man..., and phantom marble.)


Alexander was a little suprised that word of his attack last night had spread so fast though he was also relieved that his meeting that night had gone unobserved.
"You put too much creedence in saloon gossip Mr Smith, but yes I did happened to have a run in with a rather... strange... woman" he paused as he tried to recall the womans appearance and also how much of the story he should recount, he wasn't quite sure what he had told people in the saloon that night.
"Well it was rather dark but i'd say she was fairly short... dark curly hair...scar tissue down the side of her face...I am sorry but that is all that I can remember about her at the moment" Ian nodded as he pulled a notebook from out of his coat "You know, Liu is a very good woman, lots of stories and jokes. Have you heard any of them?" the agent remarked quite casually as he wrote down the description "But of course she is full of stories, theres no telling what she will say next" Alexander cast a quick glance in the maid's direction casuing her to blanche slightly under his gaze, all the while Alexander kept up the image of the obliging host.

There was a knock on the door, quickly followed by a man entering the room demanding imformation about sherrifs and demons, Alexander fought hard to keep his temper under control, to murder a man in the presence of a detecticve was bad form to say the least regardless of what the voices were telling you, though from Mr Smiths reaction it appeared he was equally annoyed at the intrusion "I must agree with Mr Smith on the matter there is nothing unusual about ghost rock let alone Demons now may I sugest you vacate my property and take your foolishness elsewhere" he snapped his patience for these visitors was wearing ever more thin.


Little Rain Cloud sat upright as she heard the Wendigo first howl out at Alexander. She frowned, and climbed to her feet from where she lay in the shadows of a group of boulders. She narrowed her eyes speculatively as she crept out from her concealment, and looked out across the darkening plains. The harrowed she had dealt with was nothing in comparison to a Wendigo. She shrunk back into the shadows, and sat cross legged as she considered the next best steps.

Her eyes lifted as the Wendigo bellowed out in rage. It sounded like it was being denied its prey, and she was intrigued. She crawled out of the boulders once more, and sneaked quietly forward. The Wendigo bellowed again, and she flattened herself out on her belly and crawled forward, until she saw it. The thing was advancing on a white man and woman. The woman produced some object, and Little Rain Cloud blinked as the object flattened the Wendigo with a great bolt of lightning. She nodded as she saw the woman run off, followed quickly by the man.

Her eyes returned to the Wendigo, which eventually got back to its feet. It looked more furious than before, and Little Rain Cloud slowly backed away, while staying low and out of sight of it. She knew no weapons she carried would kill the beast. She also figured if stories were spread about it, white men would come out to hunt it and die. She would have to gather ingredients, before she tackled the problem. It would be easier if she had braves to stand with, and she distrusted the white people. She might have to make an exception in this case, as she was aware of several solitary homesteads out in the plains, which the Wendigo would probably head toward very soon. She might have to put aside her prejudices to help.


M wandered into the town shortly after dawn. She'd run from the monster for as long as she could stand it, and then holed up in a grove of dead trees until dawn. She figured any spawn of hell like the one she'd seen, probably would avoid the natural sunlight. She ignored the curious stares she drew from the town's people, as she walked down the boarded sidewalk. She wandered into the first saloon she came upon, and climbed onto a stool at the bar. The barkeep stared at her for a few moments, and then stepped up and asked what she would have.

M blinked her dazzling green eyes at the man, and smiled her lop-sided smile at him as she said, "Mmm... I think something with a kick would do." The bartender snorted at her, and muttered quietly to himself as he gathered a shot glass and an unmarked bottle with brown liquid within. He poured her a shot, and she lifted the glass. She stared at it tentatively, sniffed it, and then downed it in one swallow. She squinted one eye closed and coughed, elliciting a grin from the bartender. She tapped her chest a couple of times, and then set the glass down while saying, "One more my good man. Yes, only one if you please. Two should suffice."

The bartender looked at her, frowned and tilted his head suspiciously as he demanded, "Hey, how you planning on paying for this anyways? You look like a nut." M blinked, lifted her eyebrows and pointed at herself, causing the bartender to nod as he pulled the empty shot glass away from her. M sighed, and dug into her lab coat pocket. She pulled out a small silver contraption, looked critically at it, and set it on the bar top. She stuck the tip of her tongue out thoughtfully as she dug deeper into her pocket. As she did so, the contraption snapped open, causing the bartender to jump and look down at it. Eight spindly legs slowly unfolded, and the mechanism slowly righted itself. The "body" was only a single small cylinder with a glowing red lens on top. Small puffs of green smoke raised from the top of the cylinder, as the mechanism suddenly scrambled across the bar top.

M shouted excitedly, startling the bartender who looked frantically at her. She produced a gold $20 coin triumphantly, and didn't even seem to care that the mechanism had skittered across the bar top, and was now actively climbing the wall by imbedding its legs into the woodwork to scale the vertical surface. M said, "How about that second drink now?" The bartender looked wildly at M, and then back at the mechanism, and then at M. He poured her a drink with a visibly shaking hand, spilling more of the alcohol than actually getting it in the glass. She flipped the gold piece to him, and frowned as it thudded against his chest and clattered to the floor, as he was again staring at her toy. She looked up at the mechanism, lifted her right fingers to her mouth, and whistled shrilly at it. The mechanism whirred, and twisted around. It scuttled across the ceiling until it perched above M, and released its grip. She held her right hand out, which it plopped down onto. It folded in on itself, and she tucked it back into her lab coat pocket. She raised her shot glass and said, "Cheers!", before downing it in one gulp and hiccuping.

James the Hunter

"Bartender, get up and pour me another shot. I'm not paying good money to watch you sit on your ass when I can perfectly kill you and take your whiskey," a man in a black hat said. He stood next to the strange woman, his hat making the top half of his face dark.

He looked dangerous, as most people in the saloon knew. They knew his reputation. After all, he was James West. The crescant scar, the old uniform under his duster, the quick draw he had shown the other night in a duel over the last bottle of whiskey. Yep, this was no doubt Mr. West.

The bartender shot up, not wanting to find out how quick James was going to pull out his revolver this time. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and quickly poured the man a shot. James had already pre-payed, so money was of no importance. James grabbed the shot glass, downing it within five seconds of it being poured. He did not cough, sputter, stutter, or shudder. He put the glass back down on the counter. "Another," James quickly retorted to the bartender. As the barkeep did so, he turned to the woman.

"Nice contraption you got there miss," he said with a smirk, the lower half of his face the only thing able to be seen. He pulled out a cigarette from his jacket and a set of matches. He brought the cigarette to his mouth, lit it up, then took a haul. As the cherry burned, the upper part of his face could be seen. His eyes were deeply staring at the woman, as if he staring her soul down to see what kind of person she was.

"Mechanic or something? Lots of 'em round these parts. I don't need no fancy gadgets though. Got my trusty six-piece here to handle all of my problems," he said with another smirk. He took another haul, and after pulling the cigarette away, he breathed the smoke straight in the woman's face.

"Former Confederate Colonel James Travis West at your service. What is someone like you doing in a bar, drinking a drink they can barely stand, and also scaring bartenders that should be pouring me drinks?"


As they told Ben to leave he pulled out a picture. I wasn't a great one as it was in a rush. "look at that. That is a demon. I've been hunting them. They come from or are attracted to ghost rock. The reason I want the sheriff is so I can destroy the demons. Thanks for your time anyway" he tossed the photograph onto the table top and headed to a bar to drown his sorrows. He walked in and was cheered up. West was standing there talking to someone. "West!" he shouted "My old friend how are you?" and West turned to look at him.


"Oh Mary, mother of god!" Silas had clutched the chair he sat in and clenched his teeth together in horror, as the big metal thing crawled across the bar towards him. For a moment, he was horrified that God was punishing him for robbing his two servants, before the metal thing began to stab it's way up a supporting pillar on the saloon's interior. With shaking hands, the crazy Irishman pulled the pair of coin purses from his pocket and undid the strings that held them closed, all at once, he dumped them onto the green felt cloth of the poker table he sat at.

Falling onto the poker table, like Silas' stomach through his rear end, was a gargantuan pile of Cross bearing prayer beads. Silas looked around at the faces of the, now furious poker players. Smiling, Silas looked them all in the face, and lied "Well, gentlemen, it seems I took the wrong coin purses from the dresser in me room, I'll run along and get them." Standing before any of them could make a move to stop him, Silas slunk out of the saloon, being followed by the words of one of the angry poker contestants "You better, you already owe us fifty dollars, you son o-" Silas was out of earshot before the final words came to him.

Silas turned the corner of the saloon and went into the alley beside it. Dropping to his knees where he had robbed the women the night before, Silas furiously dug through the dirt where they'd been standing. On his hands and knees, he crawled around the alleyway, mud and dirt and human filth stuck to his hands and trousers as he desperately dug around, looking for the money he thought he'd stolen. Silas upended rain barrels, spilling them across the alley, he silently bawled and beat his fists into the ground, as his search became more and more desperate. If a man had walked to the mouth of the alley and looked in, Silas would have resembled a bronc who was trying to throw a particularly skillful rider off his back, hurling himself back and forth.

Finally, Silas had to admit defeat and curl into a ball, deep in the human filth, as he tried to think of an explanation. He sat there for a few moments, before his worst fears were realized and one of the rough looking poker players peeked out the window and saw Silas laying there. He bolted to his feet and pointed at the crazy Irishman, uttering curses that Silas could not hear, before the whole table jumped up and ran outside.

In his hurry, Silas slipped in the filth and excrement of the alley and rolled, trying to gain his feet. He heard the group of four men pelting up behind him and he began to crawl away on all fours, upsetting old piles of newspapers, wooden crates and other such debris in his path. In the end, he could not escape the four angry gamblers and they seized him under each arm. Silas was lifted bodily from the ground, as an argument ensued. One man wanted to lynch Silas right then and there, the others wanted to beat him senseless and then take him to the sheriff. "No, fellas, I promise, I was robbed, I was just on my way to tell ye." Silas yelled, as he was thrown back to the ground. He could feel the madness set deep into his skull, as the filth soaked boots and fists began to rain down about him.


Alexander looked at the bleary photo the man had left, it could have been of anything and yet...after last nights attack it did look vaguely familiar.
"I must apologise for the intrusion Mr Smith was there..." Alexander stopped mid sentence and stared...the walls were bleeding.
He watched horrified as great rivulets of bright arterial blood flowed from out of the walls and across the floor soaking his shoes this is going to ruin the rug he thought absently to himself. Looking back up at Mr Smith he noticed that he too was drenched in the stuff, his eyes staring out from beneath the bloody mask that he wore and yet completley oblivious to its presence. Closing his eyes tightly Alexander slowly counted to three in his head before opening his eyes again...the blood was gone...all of it.
"I am sorry I... had a rather late night, unless you have any further quetions for me I should be getting some rest, Liu will show you the way out" they were getting worse and more frequent my God am I actually losing my mind?


Dark times.... That was the only way to describe the condition of the small town Jean reached just outside of Tombstone. As he rode in on top of his horse he felt something, the horse could feel it even stronger and momentarily shied away from the direction they were going. Jean spurred on the animal. It was a small town, there were five buildings from the looks of it. A general store, a blacksmith's, a church, and two little shanties. Presumably the town had been constructed so the good folk didn't have to go into the sinful city of Tombstone. Jean had already heard tell of men of science "harnessing" the power of a material that sounded like a creation of Satan himself. Then there were the stories of the native unrest- GUURRR What was that? Jean looked around the town, something was wrong. He slowed his horse to a trot, it wildly glanced about. Then he noticed it, doors and windows all over the set of buildings had been smashed. In the darkness of the blacksmith shop he thought he something move. No it wasn't anything he thought. An evil wind started to blow, and the sky above darkened. He looked at the church, the door was still intact. He dismounted and approached the door. "GRRRRRR" Something was growling he turned around.

A hundred feet away something emerged from the shadows of the blacksmith shop. At first Jean thought it was a dog. Yet it was naked and then he noted it had bristles on its back. He moved towards his horse and as he opened up his saddlebag his horse whinnied. The beast turned towards him. "GRRRRRR!" Looking it in the face he realized what it was, "The Goat-Sucker", the Chupacabra. He felt the familiar feel of the steel of his gun. He pulled it out as the beast gave another low growl and charged for him. As Jean fumbled to fire the weapon he noticed his crucifix was entangled on the barrel. Fortunately it didn't block the end. "Halt, ye Satan's spawn for you assault a man of god!" He yelled and fired the weapon at the beast. The bullet hit the creature square in the forhead, it shooked then gave another growl. The bullet had done nothing to stop it. Suddenly a blinding flash of light struck the beast. There was a sickening screech that came out above the crash of thunder as the Chupacabra was engulfed in a bolt of lightning. When Jean could finally see again he could see nothing but a pile of ash where the beast had stood.

Jean thanked god for this act of divine providence, but as he did so he heard a door open behind him and he turned to face two nuns. "Greetings sisters." The older of the two, a woman in her sixties spoke, "Thank you father for liberating the planet of that foul beast," they clearly saw hus collar," It is unfortunate you could not come sooner as six good souls perished in this town beacause of that thing." "How long has it been here?" "Two days, we it refused to enter the house of the lord and it was trying to starve us out." "Why was it here, do you think?" "The sins of Tombstone have become far too excessive and god has given his punishment." Jean was sure there were towns that warranted god's punishment more than Tombstone, but... "What shall we do" "Other than putting those six good souls to rest we should go to Tombstone and preach the lord's word." "It shall be done." They buried all six of the horribly mangled bodies and held services. Then Jean and the two nuns rode for Tombstone...

The younger of the two nuns burst, crying into the small hotel room that the servants of the lord had chosen to stay in. "Horrible, just horrible!" Jean had retired earlier that day from preaching as he had felt tired, he was now regretting that choice. "What happened?" "While we were attempting to beg for salvation for the people of this sinful town and trying to get them to unite with us an awful man forced us into an alley with a gun." "What did he do." The elder of the two burst in, "That awful creature, clearly the lord's word was never hammered into him! He took all we had our rosaries." "I will see what I can do to recover them.

When Jean entered the saloon his eyes immediately spotted the rosaries laid out on a gambling table. He spotted those who had previously been sitting at the table leaving through a side door. He followed them into alley where they were beating an unfortunate man. "Stop," he cried out, "What has this man done to deserve such cruel justice. And which of you left those rosaries on the table?"
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