Wanted, it said, Aug “Only Dead” Heart. Below the header and your name was a portrait, a rendering of a man from a decade past. It was a nice sketch, but the place where it was detracted from its artistry. Curiously, your physical descriptors were absent, their space annexed for a different purpose. $4000.05 was the reward, and with it, the missing puzzle piece fell into place in your memory. You recalled this poster, from your distant past when you ventured into Orderly town hunting a $4000 mark, a man named Moses ”Gadfly” Monroe. On arrival, the very same jest of a wanted poster was there, on the noticeboard, looking you in the eye. Only, the sum was less then, $3999.95. Ten cents less...

Below your sketch, where the supposed Dear Or Alive’ should have been, a macabre list sprawled …shot, hanged, stabbed, trampled, drowned, poisoned, dismembered, strangled, suffocated, crushed, burned, decapitated, dismembered, skewered, beaten, bludgeoned, gored, lynched, mauled, impaled, buried, arrowed, exploded, starved. The remaining further words were severed by the paper’s edge. You shuddered away a cold chill, the memory of a man's gun lodged in your throat coming back.

“That there be you,” the man you kept a lead's length away said.

You cleared your throat. No one had worth for the greenbacks in the Graveyard Frontier; no soul would hunt you for such.

“That bucks looks much spryer than me,” you countered. “Why is this poster here? How long's it been swaying? Why ain't no one peeled it off?”

“Maybe a year … no, it’s been more than that. It was here when I first set foot in Ruetown. Longer than that,” he shared. “And no soul dared to scrape it off, 'cause they couldn't”

“And why not?”

He cast a wary eye. “The reason this spot’s desolate is ‘cause the poster speaks to you. Try to scrape it off, and it fights back. No one's got the ropes to tangle with it, so they let it be.”

> Let the poster be. Sure, it's a vexing sight, and a reminder that the meanest outlaw you've sent to grave is here, but that's all it amounts to. Besides, they might start asking questions if you try and peel it off.
> Saunter up to the poster and try to scrape it off with your claw, you ain't overly concerned if it'll nip your chicken talons, and they're sharper than your digits.
> Hold your distance from the wanted poster, and draw a bead on it with your six-shooter. Let the lead fly, something you reckon no one else has tried to do.
> [Write In]

___________________________

> UPDATES?
Once a day.
> PREVIOUS THREADS?
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Wanted%20Dead:%20A%20Western%20Quest
> OTHER QUESTS?
https://pastebin.com/raw/4sBYKVqL

>> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.

___________________________

Possessions:
Pricey Revolver:
Custom-built, with pearl grip just for your hand, a hair-trigger suited to your style, all polished up, engraved, and maintained proper. Cost a fortune.

Pocketsfull of Feeble Iron:
Feeble as their namesake, your pockets are full up with feeble iron. Forged with desire they are made into bullets or whatnot. You scrounged up enough to keep the bullets flying for a good spell.

Feeble Iron Flask:
A flask fashioned from brittle iron, half-brimmed with black water from the accursed windmill. A swallow of it can turn your bones to ashen cinder, holding the ghostly flesh and bones twined together for a price.

Goldie’s Pocket Watch:
Manifested from Usher’s nail he gifted to the brat, it is a brass, gold and silver vest timepiece with a portrait of Goldie’s brother Henry inside. The hour pointer of it singles out Henry, while the minute pointer lays claim to Goldie.

Keepsake Shards [Currently in Goldie’s possession]:
Purple-blue gem bits from singing purple rock webbings. They whisper pretty things in your right ear and spin condemnations to your left ear.

Lucifer’s Lead [Currently in Goldie’s possession]:
Seed from wax fruit that grows on marrow cherry tree down El Dorado Warren. Goldie claimed it’d send the one who gets shot by it, or misses their shot, straight to the devil’s lap. She used a bullet just like it or the same one to send you to the Graveyard Frontier. When you’re holding it, it chatters away in your head in your own voice.

Watermill Bonded Chalk [Currently in Goldie’s possession]:
A piece of black scribbler on a plaited cord, meant to be worn as a necklace. It floats when left loose in the air, and jostles to one side, pointing towards some far-off spot. Likely as not, this scribbler's aiming for the watermill you'd been to before.

Lodestone Cube Chunk [Currently in Goldie’s possession]:
Hefty craggy fragments of a black floating cube smashed by Goldie’s mitts in the El Dorado Warren. Formerly, the cube had the potency to gulp the spirit of any soul close to it, but what other tricks it may hold when shattered is currently a mystery.

___________________________

Pains:
Right Shoulder Wound:
A mark left by Goldie’s shot, Lucifer’s Lead binds you to this here Graveyard Frontier. Your right arm doesn’t take kindly to any other Lucifer Lead bullet in reach of it.

Prickling Pain:
Induced from some devilish cactus, Prickly Niceties, they call ‘em. Their needles left a stinging ache from their bite in your ghostly flesh that don’t let up, even long after you shook ‘em off.

Thirst:
The thirst comes on quick and there ain’t much to drink, water or alcohol, to take the edge off. It’s parching pain that Prickly Niceties brought on you, grates your throat raw, and only eases up for a spell after you find a swig.

Gashed Palms:
Cut up by the rusty blades of some windmill you had to crank, both your palms burn like they’re fresh wound.

Shard Stabbing Pain:
The aftermath of that weak rock blowing up the entire chamber; worst pain yet. It’s like thousand tiny needles piercing your ghost flesh, a relentless, agonising hurt.

Chicken Arm:
El Dorado Warren’s beast bit you, turned your arm from elbow down into a chicken’s leg and claw. Supposed to be a dinner for the beast, but now it’s nothing but a nuisance instead. No, that was your firing hand; it’s much worse.

Left Shoulder Wound:
A lead bite left by “Charred Bone’s” shot buried deep in your left shoulder. The wound's sealed up, but the hurt blazes like a prairie fire.

Mauled Wrist:
A ragged hunk of your wrist that was torn off by the scorched charred spectre left in Cassidy's leftovers.

>>5722848
>> Hold your distance from the wanted poster, and draw a bead on it with your six-shooter. Let the lead fly, something you reckon no one else has tried to do.

>>5722848
> Saunter up to the poster and try to scrape it off with your claw, you ain't overly concerned if it'll nip your chicken talons, and they're sharper than your digits.

>>5722848
> Hold your distance from the wanted poster, and draw a bead on it with your six-shooter. Let the lead fly, something you reckon no one else has tried to do.

>>5722848
>Hold your distance from the wanted poster, and draw a bead on it with your six-shooter. Let the lead fly, something you reckon no one else has tried to do.

>>5722848
> Saunter up to the poster and try to scrape it off with your claw, you ain't overly concerned if it'll nip your chicken talons, and they're sharper than your digits.

>Hold your distance from the wanted poster, and draw a bead on it with your six-shooter. Let the lead fly, something you reckon no one else has tried to do

>>5722848
> Let the poster be. Sure, it's a vexing sight, and a reminder that the meanest outlaw you've sent to grave is here, but that's all it amounts to. Besides, they might start asking questions if you try and peel it off.

>Hold your distance from the wanted poster, and draw a bead on it with your six-shooter. Let the lead fly, something you reckon no one else has tried to do.

>>5722919
>>5722933
>>5722961
>>5722983
>>5722989
>>5723065
>>5723070
>>5723071

You slid the barrel off the man’s backside and aimed it at the wanted poster. You eased your fingers on the feather trigger, firing the feeble iron bullet into the poster. With the threat of being shot by you gone, the man withdrew a few steps from the scene. Scattering the hanging charred smoke with your hand and the gun in it, you squinted at your handiwork. Your bullet had left a ragged hole in the list of ways it wanted you dead; you'd chosen to spare your winsome face. The singed edges, reminiscent of a fresh wound, began to flicker with spectral teal embers, and then the hole closed, as if stitched together by a seamstress.

The portrait’s sketched eyes came to life, fixing their gaze on you. Like a living person, your likeness moved, opening its mouth to revealing burning magic within.

“I’m the greatest bounty hunter there ever was!” it spoke in your voice, each of its words etched to sound sharp and laced with arrogance. “Aug ‘Only Dead’ Heart! Did you savvy that the full name’s August? Why shorten it? Who knows!” Your portrait chuckled mockingly. “To not waste time? I’m always hoofing it, so I could use the time! Sure as me shooting them, there’s always someone with a price on their head, and I'm hell-bent on finding 'em.” Its word feel into a slow unhinged cadence. “To kill, to kill, to kill. I hunt for the kill, not for the dust. A thief? I’ll kill him! A grieving mother? Makes no difference to me! A man who is only wanted alive? No exceptions! I got a name to uphold, after all, I'm 'Only Dead' Aug!”

You looked sidelong glance at the man.He returned your look with an expression of shock, fear, and horror. His cheekbones rose and fell like storm-tossed waves.

> Fire a few more rounds at it, you reckon that even bewitched instruments ain't invincible, so this shouldn’t be neither.
> Hush it afore it nettles and ridicules you any further, sidle up and start ripping at it.
> Bide time utill it's mum, if it ain't, cut its chatter, and toss it queries to see if it'll respond. [What to ask?]
> [Write In]

File: Goldie 7 hours in MS PAIN(...).png (54 KB, 716x733)

54 KB PNG

Come on, cowboys, leave a comment with your prompt.

>>5723536
> Bide time utill it's mum, if it ain't, cut its chatter, and toss it queries to see if it'll respond. [What to ask?]
Who put you here and why? (Might be redundant, but I want to hear its own words)

>>5723538
Goldie must've seen better days.

>>5723547
+1

>>5723536
>>5723547
+1
>>5723538
Goldie after she hits the underworld heroin

>>5723536
> Bide time utill it's mum, if it ain't, cut its chatter, and toss it queries to see if it'll respond. [What to ask?]
What are you? Who put you here? What the fuck is your problem?
Did we really kill someone wanted speicfically alive? If not, demy that spurious allegation.

>>5723547
+1
>>5723538
Aug probably isn't a pretty sight either.

>>5723547
>>5723595
>>5723745
>>5723754
>>5724399

You waited a patient second for the sketch to finish its rant, but it kept going and going with its tirade. Waving your iron at it, you took a step forward.

“What in tarnation are you? Who put you here and why?” you demanded, though deep in your gut you suspected you knew the answer.

The wanted poster cackled, its animated form contorting the limits of the paper as if attempting to escape its confines.

“I’m the best! I am the greatest!” it crowed between fits of laughter. “So if you're a wanted man, you best skedaddle and hide up in Canada, but I'll sniff you out even there!”

“What the hell is your problem?” You leaned in. “If you're gonna play at being me, at least be honest! A grieving mother? That bitch drowned her own children! And that man? Nowhere on his poster did it say he was wanted 'only alive'! I took it for a blunder, a typo, figured they'd left out 'dead'!"

The sketch didn’t respond to your questions; it barely seemed to acknowledge your were there.

“I’ll kill them for a dollar. I’ll kill them for a dime! Pay me with a warm bed and I'll off the pests you got. I’ve downed the Gadfly, the greatest outlaw there was, splattered his dome like a blown train boiler! I’m ‘Only Dead’ Aug, and there ain’t no reins on me! Rights granted by law! I'll wander those lands and dust every black hat I see!”

There was no sign of coherency or reason, only a continuous stream of mockery.

You turned to address the man you had at gunpoint a moment ago. “Listen, partner, all that bullshit it just spouted is—"

But the man was gone, slipped away while your back was turned and you were distracted. You grimaced. Was that going to be a problem?

> Hightail it towards the poster and try and yank it off with your claw and mitts afore anyone else turns up here. Leave if you manage.
> Leave afore the gent might holler for the sheriff or some other troublemaker to the corner street. Darn it, you already got your hands full with problems.
> Step off from the poster far enough to hush it up. Patiently bide for the sheriff or whoever the fella's gonna call so you can explain your piece and enquire.
> [Write In]

>>5724456
> Leave afore the gent might holler for the sheriff or some other troublemaker to the corner street. Darn it, you already got your hands full with problems.
We’ve wasted enough breath and a bullet on this. Worse we got it talking.

>>5724456
>> Step off from the poster far enough to hush it up. Patiently bide for the sheriff or whoever the fella's gonna call so you can explain your piece and enquire.

>>5724456
>> Step off from the poster far enough to hush it up. Patiently bide for the sheriff or whoever the fella's gonna call so you can explain your piece and enquire.

>>5724456
>> Step off from the poster far enough to hush it up. Patiently bide for the sheriff or whoever the fella's gonna call so you can explain your piece and enquire.

>>5724456
> Leave afore the gent might holler for the sheriff or some other troublemaker to the corner street. Darn it, you already got your hands full with problems.

So Aug killed a guy over a typo?

>>5724461
>>5724463
>>5724561
>>5724602
>>5724863

You stepped away from the poster, retreating to where you had been standing. The sketched portrait continued to deride and jeer for a while longer, however, as you distanced yourself and ignored its taunts, it relented and returned to being silent and still. Scoffing, you looked at the alley’s entrance, where the glowing timbered walls cast dancing ghostly shadows from both sides. You bid your time, and before long, the man returned, this time with a stranger by his side.

The newcomer had a left eye socket empty of a burning flame, the cavity behind it marred and bubbled with molten lead filled with it. Atop his head was a black bowler hat, a hole torn through one side. In his hand, he held an iron—none of the feeble kind. He tucked at his collar with his other free hand, his single eye appraising you.

“Heard you’re causing a ruckus, son,” he said, shuffling his step and the white ground alongside it. “Leave this alley be, son, and that cursed dodger along with it.”

The familiar man behind him peeked out. “That’s him, Caleb, the man on the poster shares the same mug.”

Caleb spared a glance at the portrait, smirking. “I can quite see the resemblance. So you're not just a figment of some loony's imagination—you're real.”

“I’m real,” you said, pointing at the poster. “But whatever it's been spewing is a sack of lies. You savvy who strung it up?”

“Know is a tall word, son,” Caleb said, not lowering his gun. The man looked at least a decade younger than you. “Laid eyes on him once, though. Came to town, didn't linger long. We didn’t know the dodger was the cursed sort until after he vamoosed, Thought he was just touched in the head when he decided to string it up.”

“I hope you realise that’s not a genuine bounty, if it weren’t hanging down here.”

“Of course I realise … that price is too steep for a common man, he sure craves your death in a thousand nasty ways, son. But tell me regardless, are you an outlaw?”

“I’m a bounty hunter,” you said. “A retired one, mind you.”

“A bounty hunter?” he laughed. “Devil, you ain’t gonna find much peace here in the blue beyond. I'll take deeds over words, so spill, what did you come to this town for?” His gaze flicked to your talons but he made no comment about them.

> Tell the gent you stumbled on it by sheer happenstance, and you're merely taking a breather from the lonesomeness of the Graveyard Frontier.
> Tell the gent you're on the lookout for a miner named Perry as you struck a deal with him, and you're after something he owes you.
> Tell the gent you're in need of a guide to the Coffin Fields, is there anyone he can vouch for?
> Tell the gent you've been on the hunt for the fella who's been sticking up them posters, what was the last thing he recalls him doing?
> Inquire of the gent if there's a whippersnapper named Henry round these parts, best be one step 'head of Goldie in such a case.
> [Write In]

>>5725117
There was no typo, the man was wanted only alive, but it wasn't made very specific or obvious, so Aug assumed it was a typo, and just killed like he always did. He wasn't paid for it.

>>5725312
> Inquire of the gent if there's a whippersnapper named Henry round these parts, best be one step 'head of Goldie in such a case.

>>5725312
> Tell the gent you're in need of a guide to the Coffin Fields, is there anyone he can vouch for?
We can pray, maybe get ourselves a clue as to how to get out of here. Finding and re-killing Henry will only buy us time and, after this incident, rumour's going to get out to all those we killed that 'Only Dead' Heart is in town.

>>5725312
>> Inquire of the gent if there's a whippersnapper named Henry round these parts, best be one step 'head of Goldie in such a case.

>>5725312
> Tell the gent you're in need of a guide to the Coffin Fields, is there anyone he can vouch for?

No update today, vote still open.

>>5725339
>>5725360
>>5725483
>>5725694

“I’m looking for a guide to the Coffin Fields,” you said. “Are there any partners of the sort in this here town you can swear by?”

Caleb flinched, shrugging off the man hiding behind him. “You're in luck, son. We have a fella who does just that. Ain't always in town, but I reckon he's about now.”

“Good fortune, that,” you said. “What's his handle and where can I scare him up?”

Caleb’s fingers on his iron loosened as he mulled over your question—though it wasn’t your question he was pondering over. “You'll spot him in the saloon, he's a character that's tough to overlook.”

You nodded, then cast a wary glance at the deceivingly quiet poster. “You’re in the peacekeeping business, ain't ya? Can't you tear this thing down?”

He waved at it with dismiss. “I ain't going to hinder you, son, but trying to yank it off is more hassle than it's worth, at least for me. We just leave it be.”

You bit you ghostflesh lip and scoffed at his words.

“However” —he went on, brandishing his more-than-real six-smoke waggon at the wall— “don’t go blasting willy-nilly at it. There are souls on the other side of that wall.”
You glanced at the muzzle of your iron and with inching care you holstered it back. Better to heed the man's words if you wanted to keep your stay here peaceful.

"One last question from this bounty chaser," you said, releasing your grip on the handle. “You acquainted with anyone by the name Henry Kirkland? Or have you ever heard the name?”

His eyebrow arched. “Henry?” He echoed you, letting the name swirl in his marrow mouth. “Know a good many souls round here, son, but no Henrys. Pardon.”

"No matter," you lied, feigning indifference. If even a local 'Peacekeeper' didn't know of him, then Goldie’s brother wasn't going to be your immediate concern.

Caleb touched the brim of his bowler’s hat in farewell. “You seem to be the straight kind, Aug. Don’t go causing any trouble in this town.”

“You're just going to let him walk?" the man who was shielding himself from your gaze queried.

Caleb chuckled, a spectral edge present in his mirth. “Well I ain’t interested in the four thousand greenbacks while were are in here, and I doubt anyone would fork over, even if you did haul him in. What would you even use them for?”

You shot the man a look, causing him to avert his gaze. He shook his head, “No, of course not, Caleb. If you reckon he'll behave, then that's that!”

Caleb gave a nod, first to him, then to you. "Come on, let's leave him be. Looks like he’s in a terrible rush,” he said, taking his leave.

> Circle back to that blasted poster and do your damnedest to rip it off, even if, as the two gents said, it's bound to put up some resistance - one being that annoying mocking chatter.
> "Leave that poster be, if it's been there for a year or more, it's done stirred all the trouble it can, and been seen by plenty of eyes. No sense in ripping it off now. Instead, mosey on over to the saloon to meet the fella Caleb was jawing about.
> Leave that damn poster alone, instead, hoof it back to where the gallows stood, where Goldie and the crowd were. See if she managed to puzzle out what Abel might've done to you, and if that old coot made it back. Should you tell her about Henry or not, seeing as he's likely not here?
> [Write In]

>>5727091
>Leave that poster be, if it's been there for a year or more, it's done stirred all the trouble it can, and been seen by plenty of eyes. No sense in ripping it off now. Instead, mosey on over to the saloon to meet the fella Caleb was jawing about.
I can feel it in my bones, if we go into that saloon there will be the inevitable western shootout. I can’t resist.

>>5727091
> "Leave that poster be, if it's been there for a year or more, it's done stirred all the trouble it can, and been seen by plenty of eyes. No sense in ripping it off now. Instead, mosey on over to the saloon to meet the fella Caleb was jawing about.

>>5727091
>> "Leave that poster be, if it's been there for a year or more, it's done stirred all the trouble it can, and been seen by plenty of eyes. No sense in ripping it off now. Instead, mosey on over to the saloon to meet the fella Caleb was jawing about.

>>5727372
>>5727100
>>5727092

Your talons dug into your arm as you pondered on the wanted poster before. It had hung there for a year or more, stirring all the trouble it could. You haven’t been in the Graveyard Frontier for even a pinch of that time, yet it seemed Gadfly was waiting for you. The poster had been his in life, and for some godforsaken reason, he'd brought it with him to the afterlife. Your clawy grasp clenched, bruising your spectral flesh before you realised what you were doing. Your swallowed air nipped your abraded throat. You readied and spat in the direction of your sketched face, turning on your heel to leave it in your shadow.

You exited the narrow alley, hand hovering inches from the iron’s handle; you couldn't let your guard down now. Back on the main road, you made for the place where frontier towns usually housed their saloons. Many of the townsfolk you passed glanced at your claw, curiosity, suspicion, and bewilderment flashing in their eyes. After too many looks, you hid your hand in your vest pocket, out of sight. A hung sign creaked like a snapped bone above you, the haze of smoke enveloping the six glistening letters: ‘Saloon’. Just as promised, a drinking establishment stood not too far from it.

You stepped onto the porch, the wood soft beneath your boots. As you reached for the doors, they screeched and swung open, a man appearing behind it. He used his hip to hold the door open, then his elbow to push it wide. His hair was tousled, falling in strands across his face as if drenched.You leaned against the wall to give him some space. With a drunken grip, he clutched a thin as air glass tumbler, dark tendrils coiling around it. He walked off the porch, found his balance, looked at you, lifted the glass to his lips, and drank. The moment the rim touched his lips, the glass shattered, spilling some of its contents onto the white sand. The man looked down at the empty air where his drink had been. His body began to visibly pale.

“The drinks here are to die for,” he said, his gaze still nailed to the dirt. “I didn't... I don't reckon I've had my fill yet.”

The flesh around his bones rippled and swayed, with the bones themselves blending into the nightly fog. Little by little he was burned until his words rang hollow and false as he disappeared.

You watched the space where he'd stood, reminded of how Bill—that bastard—had faded in the same way doing the same thing: drinking.

You creaked the hinges and pushed the batwing doors open, stepping into the heart of the town’s drunken revelry while ensuring your claw remained veiled. The interior of the saloon, engulfed in the consuming otherworldly turquoise gleam of the wood’s grain, was as homely as you hoped it would be. Only the lukewarm swirling smoke seemed to acknowledge your entrance, the dozen of lively patrons inside paid you heed, as if you were just one soul replacing the last.

Above, a large tin ceiling spanned the room, adorned with patterns of swirling tumbleweeds and dust devils.They intertwined with each other to form an ever-shifting metal tapestry. The silver-white hues of the tin mingled with the seafoam greens of the patina in the ways they weren’t suppose to, not as a series of layers but mixed like paint. Specks of the faintly glowing timber reflected on the surface, like impossible daylight stars that shifted with each blink.

Many souls gathered ate the elongated bar, with a middle strip of silvering sand pushed between two curved gleaming planks of the bar table. Despite the sooty black fissure holding the thousands of pieces together, it reflected the saloon as if it were a doorway to an extension of the drinkery you were not permitted to enter.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0SIizvT5Bk8

Tucked in the corner of the saloon was a piano, its mahogany wood weathered from birth by its spectral origins. An unseen touch played blue melodies on the keys, echoing from lived memories. Perhaps it was another cursed object, but you'd seen self-playing pianos in your living life. It was a melancholic tune, but a good one.

Near the wall on the opposite end, a designated gambling area featured a large baize table as its centrepiece. The sounds of clinking ores and shuffling cards were as loud as the banter of the men using them to barter. Four of them had seats, ten more nestled close by. You recognised the tallest of them, the miner Perry who, even seated, could look the standing men in the eye. He hid his cards behind his broad shoulders, waited a moment in glee, then revealed them, whatever they were. Laughter boomed from him as he reached his long hands across the table to claim the various items and ores wagered.

Lost in his gambling euphoria, he didn't notice your presence.

> You can't bear the thirst any longer. If you don't wet your whistle now, might it become a pain that’ll hinder your focus, maybe even your speech? Approach the bar and order a swig, ready some of that feeble iron ore to pay for it. Can you bear the thought of parting with your ores for a drink?
> Holler at Perry from afar, loud enough for all in the saloon to take note. Tell him that you came here from El Dorado Warren, as promised, alive as his gamble wagered. See if he’ll be impressed or surprised, together with the rest of the souls in this saloon. Do you care what stir your announcement might cause?
> Stride up to the gambling table without grabbing a drink. Should your thirst turn torturous, wouldn't you still have that black water in your flask to quench it? No, don't squander your feeble iron. For the time being, keep a close eye on Perry and see how the game is playing out. Look for that conspicuous guide to the Coffin Fields. 'A character that's tough to overlook,' what in the world could that mean?
> [Write In]

>>5728623
>> You can't bear the thirst any longer. If you don't wet your whistle now, might it become a pain that’ll hinder your focus, maybe even your speech? Approach the bar and order a swig, ready some of that feeble iron ore to pay for it. Can you bear the thought of parting with your ores for a drink?

>>5728623
>Many souls gathered ate (at) the elongated bar, with a middle strip of silvering sand pushed between two curved gleaming planks of the bar table. Despite the sooty black fissure holding the thousands of pieces together, (the mirror) it reflected the saloon as if it were a doorway to an extension of the drinkery you were not permitted to enter.

Sorry, this one might be a bit confusing.
The second sentence references a giant mirror behind the bar. I overedited again, oh no.

>>5728623
> Stride up to the gambling table without grabbing a drink. Should your thirst turn torturous, wouldn't you still have that black water in your flask to quench it? No, don't squander your feeble iron. For the time being, keep a close eye on Perry and see how the game is playing out. Look for that conspicuous guide to the Coffin Fields. 'A character that's tough to overlook,' what in the world could that mean?

>>5728623
>> Stride up to the gambling table without grabbing a drink. Should your thirst turn torturous, wouldn't you still have that black water in your flask to quench it? No, don't squander your feeble iron. For the time being, keep a close eye on Perry and see how the game is playing out. Look for that conspicuous guide to the Coffin Fields. 'A character that's tough to overlook,' what in the world could that mean?

>>5728623
> Stride up to the gambling table without grabbing a drink. Should your thirst turn torturous, wouldn't you still have that black water in your flask to quench it? No, don't squander your feeble iron. For the time being, keep a close eye on Perry and see how the game is playing out. Look for that conspicuous guide to the Coffin Fields. 'A character that's tough to overlook,' what in the world could that mean?

>>5728623
> You can't bear the thirst any longer. If you don't wet your whistle now, might it become a pain that’ll hinder your focus, maybe even your speech? Approach the bar and order a swig, ready some of that feeble iron ore to pay for it. Can you bear the thought of parting with your ores for a drink?

File: 85a39bfea52e84ae94d5e7fb9(...).jpg (85 KB, 564x805)

85 KB JPG

Sorry, no update today.

>>5729358
Sweet undead gunslinger, though.

>>5729364
You have yet to meet someone with a big gun

>>5728657
>>5728839
>>5728857
>>5729053
>>5729177

You bit down on your molars and, with pained effort, turned away from the drinks the men at the bar seemed to be revealing in. You had your emergency drink at your hip, and you deemed that enough. The feeble iron you had was for making bullets for your Colt, not for squandering on games of chance.You had a lot, but much less than when you’d pocketed them… if only you held onto the larger piece.

You stepped away to the corner and leaned on a wall nearside the fogged window, your eyes fixed on the floor.

“Come on, Perry. Just trade us the ores!” one of the men sharing the table with the lank miner begged.

“You hankering the ores?” Perry answered with a reserved smile, his cards seeming to ghost through each other as he shuffled them in his hands. “Then gamble and win. A fair trade, that. You could have everything.”

“Or nothing,” the other man said, his words slurred by the drink soaking his ginger beard.

“We ain’t got much left to wager with,” the first man added.

“That is a shame,” Perry said, cocking his head back as if with genuine sympathy, tucking his forelocks under the striped blue-white-red bandana. “I will be here. With everything I mined. You was so close. All could be won.” He reached into his burlap sack, placing a shiny hunk, just like a nugget of gold, on the table, humming as he spun it. “Any interest in this?”

You looked away, your gaze sweeping the saloon. There were many men here, and you even spotted two cowgirls sitting away from the rest, but no one who you could deem 'tough to overlook’. The only exception was Perry, and he was attempting to coax anyone to sit down for a gamble. A few seemed on the verge of succumbing.

> Keep to the shadows and watch Perry and his gang gamble from a distance, all patient-like. Should you see if he’s cheating or not?
> Stride on up to Perry's table and make yourself known, even if it means butting in. Ask if he's the guide to them Coffin Fields, and don't forget to mention that reward he promised. Ain't it time to cash in?
> That thirst will get the best of you if you sidle up to the barkeep, so steer clear of the bar. Pick a random cowpoke from the crowd and ask if he knows anyone who's got the guts to guide you to the Coffin Fields. How spread out should you be about your intentions?
> [Write In]

>>5729691
> Keep to the shadows and watch Perry and his gang gamble from a distance, all patient-like. Should you see if he’s cheating or not?
Card cheater or not. Let’s see what the guide is like.

>>5729691
> Keep to the shadows and watch Perry and his gang gamble from a distance, all patient-like. Should you see if he’s cheating or not?

>>5729691
>> Keep to the shadows and watch Perry and his gang gamble from a distance, all patient-like. Should you see if he’s cheating or not?

>>5729691
>> Keep to the shadows and watch Perry and his gang gamble from a distance, all patient-like. Should you see if he’s cheating or not?

No update today.

>>5729691
> Stride on up to Perry's table and make yourself known, even if it means butting in. Ask if he's the guide to them Coffin Fields, and don't forget to mention that reward he promised. Ain't it time to cash in?

>>5729697
>>5729705
>>5730063
>>5730189
>>5730418

You leaned your elbow against the green-tinted window, patient as a desert snake, and watched the gang gamble from a distance. Eventually, a man crowned with a white Stetson—his top hovering amongst the standing crowd like a halo—circled around the table. With snow-white laced gloves he gripped and then pulled back the empty chair, sitting himself down to face Perry. His hand hovered over the heart of the table before he opened it, letting a nail fall on top. The flat-headed metal spike sparkled with an inner shine, rolling to a stop.

Some of the men recoiled, others gasped and edged closer.

“That’s a coffin nail!” one of them said. The others echoed his words much quieter.

The white-hatted man pulled back his hand and placed his thumb against the table’s edge. He fixed his eyes on Perry and waved a finger at the nail. “I’ll be wagering -that- for all you’ve just raked in, Perry.”

With a look as unimpressed as if he'd stumbled upon a dried-out riverbed, Perry returned his gaze, idly scratching the surface of one of his hands with the other.

“Ain’t no fair offer. That’s just a nail. Ain’t nothing more … but reckon I’ll agree.”

The white-hatted man pointed at the deck of ghostly cards. “Let someone else shuffle them up.”

Perry halted his shuffling and beckoned a bystander, handling over the deck.

“Scramble ‘em up good,” Perry said in emotionless voice, locking his jittery fingers together. “I lost a couple. Just this week. You reckon I cheat?”

The man across the table waved his laced hands. “No, Perry, I ain’t accusing you of cheating. But that deck's crafted from your nail, ain't it? Shuffle them cards as long as you have, who's to say they won't grow fond of you?” He smiled.

Perry pushed the gambled gains back to the centre of the felt table, his face unreadable. He waved to the white-hatted man once the other fellow had finished with the shuffling.

“You’ll have no outs,” Perry declared. Draw your hand first.”

The white-hatted man reached for the deck, rubbing the corner of the top card with his fingertips. He counted and picked four cards, laying them neatly in front of himself.

“For me too,” Perry said, eyes narrowing. “It will be square. For all to witness.”

The man slapped his knee and guffawed, happy with the way Perry was letting him do it. He took four more cards from the stack and placed them in front of the miner.

They began to play, laying down one card at a time. The higher rank bested the lower one, the ‘beaten’ cards set aside in their own separate pile, replaced in their hand from the first, dwindling deck. If a man's cards couldn't be rid of, either Perry or the white-hatted stranger had to take them into their hands. You watched it all, eyes as sharp as a hawk's flying above the harvesting grounds, vigilant for any sign of foul play from the miner. Through the game, his hands trembled, fingers tightening around the cards he held onto. His cheeks seemed to sink, lips wavering between a feeble frown and a weak smirk. Perry had his back against the wall, a tactic you knew well, one meant to avoid getting a surprise shot from the door, but it also meant that his cards eluded your sight.

The man he was gambling against, however, had his cards lifted just enough for you to see them. As your eyes flicked between Perry and his opponent, you noticed the stranger rubbing the edges of his cards. He held all his cards close, only an inch of each card visible, showing only half of the suit and number. The saloon, and their table, basked in the green glow of Evergreen lumber, a shine that cast an eerie gloom. In that dim light, it was hard to trust your eyes, but you could have sworn one of the man's left cards turned invisible, replaced by the appearing inching edge from the right side instead he was also fondling.

> Call out the man and approach the table to accuse him of cheating.
> Continue to watch them play and finish their gamble. You ain't completely certain that there’s cheating involved,
> Push your gun against your ribs and raise the muzzle at the man, wait for him to see it and that you know he’s cheating.
> [Write In]

>>5731002
>> Push your gun against your ribs and raise the muzzle at the man, wait for him to see it and that you know he’s cheating.

>>5731002
> Push your gun against your ribs and raise the muzzle at the man, wait for him to see it and that you know he’s cheating.

>>5731002
> Continue to watch them play and finish their gamble. You ain't completely certain that there’s cheating involved,

>>5731002
>> Push your gun against your ribs and raise the muzzle at the man, wait for him to see it and that you know he’s cheating.

>>5731002
> Continue to watch them play and finish their gamble. You ain't completely certain that there’s cheating involved,

>>5731012
>>5731430
>>5731474
>>5731486
>>5731521

Noticing what seemed to be foul play, you pushed your iron against your ribs, lifting the muzzle to discreetly aim it at the man. He had the cowboy’s keen sense to notice, his body immediately stiffening. He moved all of his cards to hold them in one hand, then reached for his waist, casting a covert glance your way. Upon realising you weren’t hurrying to pull on the trigger, he bit his lip and returned to the cardplay, playing the card he’d just grabbed from the void seconds beforehand. Perry's gaze flicked over his hands, and with a loud sigh, he accepted the deal, having nothing in his hand to beat it. The white-hatted man reached for the deck, rubbed the edge of another card, and then picked two, a visible and an invisible one, placing them under his thumbs; the cards in the deck were so tightly interlocked that discerning his trick was difficult.

Even though he’d seen you and your iron, he continued on with his wrongdoing, either unafraid to be shot or confident you wouldn't actually do it. Perry looked to be losing …

“You ain’t too shabby,” Perry told his opponent with a smirk, seemingly blind to the deceit. He placed a card in front of the white-hatted man, who answered by beating it.

The man glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and then leaned closer on the table, "Gotta be good if I aim to best you, partner. Got anything else up yer sleeve to surprise me with—”

A hand reached out from the encircling spectators and grasped the nail tight. Before anyone could react, a stranger leapt onto and rolled across the table, sending the ores and everything else scattering like a debris from an exploded minecart. The man who had previously shuffled the cards at Perry's request was on his feet and near you before anyone could even understand what had happened. There were screams and yells, demanding him to stop, but he was refused to slow down, hugging the nail to his chest.

> Stick your leg out and send the fella sprawling, giving enough time for the others to catch up and grab hold of him.
> Shoot the varmint somewheres it won't be enough to put him down for good, maybe in an arm, shoulder, or leg. Be a good Samaritan, now.
> Lean away from the cuss and let him scoot past you, likely high-tailing it outta the saloon with that nail in hand. Ain't really your problem, and that game weren't fair anyways.
> [Write In]

Are you happy with prompts so far?
Does the placement of the choices influence you in any way?

>>5731854
>> Stick your leg out and send the fella sprawling, giving enough time for the others to catch up and grab hold of him.
>>5731857
prompts are good, and as long as you dont speed read placement is good.

>>5731854
>> Stick your leg out and send the fella sprawling, giving enough time for the others to catch up and grab hold of him.

>>5731857
I like it, it's good.

>>5731854
> Stick your leg out and send the fella sprawling, giving enough time for the others to catch up and grab hold of him.

>>5731854
>Shoot him 'dead', or as dead as it gets in this hole
ONLY. DEAD.

>>5731857
You do a good job. Sometimes the default options surprise me a little, and you often cover all the bases so well that a write-in seems superfluous, but that's not a complaint by any means.

>>5731854
>> Shoot the varmint somewheres it won't be enough to put him down for good, maybe in an arm, shoulder, or leg. Be a good Samaritan, now.

>>5731918
>>5731931
>>5732086
>>5732273
>>5732276
>>5732836

You straightened your leg, extending your boot to trip the fleeing bandit. With a stumble, the robber fell, his skull cracking against the smoke-soaked lumber floor, the self-mending plank giving way and cracking. Blue dust scattered off his body as he clutched at his chest, then, narrowing his eyes, peering at you with a blighting glare. The revolver’s hammer clicked into place—the saloon’s guests growing quieter—as the white-hatted man steadied on the trigger and closed in on the fallen soul.

“Hand over that nail, right this darn instant!” he commanded, striding past you and angling his gun at the robber.

The fallen thief defied the white hat. Turning his gaze away from you in silence, he coiled his body like a perturbed hedgehog.

“What are— you lowdown snake, I said let go of it!” The white-hatted man pushed his gun's muzzle into the man's side, spittle frothing at his lips. “Making a heirloom, are you? You are, ain’t you?” He punctuated his words with a punch to the man’s ribs. “Don’t you dare!”

Perry, unusually slow for a man of his height, finally made his way over, his bare feet scuffing the luminous floor as he ceased his steps in front of you. He moved a finger from his chin to his forehead, sweeping a strand of hair away from his brows, his eyes unblinking as they fixed on you from above.

“You are the man,” he said. “From El Dorado Warren.” His lips parted just a sliver. “That was quick.”

You met his gaze squarely, allowing him to scrutinise your features so he would know you were the genuine article.

“Your bones ain’t black,” he noted, returning his attention to the two scuffling men at his feet.

He sounded a swift, brief whistle.

The moment you opened your mouth to clear the thirst and speak, shadows trashed their way into the saloon like a gaggled murder of crows from unseen roost. Half a dozen canaries, their bodies aglow with melting light, deafened the ambiance with their carrion aria. They descended upon the fallen man, their small claws perching and beaks tearing at his flesh as he cried out in pain, rolling and twisting, the tiny birds more akin to vultures than the delicate creatures they seemed to be. They clawed and pecked at his fingers, fragmenting his focus, weakening his grip.

Taking a cautious step away from the songbirds, the white-hatted man drew forward, lifting and then stamping his spurs and sole onto the other man’s hands. The thief's grip gave way, and the gleaming casket nail dropped from him. The man in the white hat snatched it from the air before it could touch the floor, then shoved the barrel of his six-shooter against the man’s chin and neck.

Without another tick of the cloak, he pulled the trigger, exploding the thief’s skull in a cloud of blue mist, painting the still air as if were fresh blood. The victim’s eyes went pale, his body convulsing as hist ghostly flesh began to smolder like burning wood, his marrow crumbling into fine dust, mingling with the vanishing azure haze until they the smoke touched the tin ceiling and became unseen. The white-hatted man huffed, glaring at the barkeeper and other men.

Perry's intense gaze weighted down on the table as if to warn the onlookers not to meddle with the things on it, less they wished to share the fate. He let out a controlled breath and turned to the man.

“You’ll be approached. Sheriff’s men will be here. We can’t continue now.”

The white-hatted figure twirled his gun and then tucked it between the belt and his waist. “We still got time, partner. Just enough for us to finish our game. Let’s get to it.”

Perry's shoulders lifted akin to creaking icebergs.

He looked you over and said, “What was your name? You won our gamble. Can’t lose another one.”

> Warn Perry that the feller in the white hat's playing a crooked game, and he oughtn't keep on with their card playing.
> Tip your hat to Perry in greeting. Set yourself down at the table by his side and watch the game unfold, keeping your trap shut.
> Affirm Perry's words with a nod. Tell him you can bide your time. Stand by his opponent's side, keeping a hand on your iron. Stand close enough to make the cheater cheating a mite uncomfortable.
> [Write In]

>>5731918
>>5731931
>>5732276

Thanks on the kind word.
I am currently preparing for a flight, so I'm not sure when the next update will be, but not too late.

>>5733500
> Warn Perry that the feller in the white hat's playing a crooked game, and he oughtn't keep on with their card playing.
Suave hat tipping is tempting too, but I feel like the charade has gone for long enough.

>>5733502
Wish you a safe flight.

>>5733500
> Warn Perry that the feller in the white hat's playing a crooked game, and he oughtn't keep on with their card playing.

>>5733502
Safe travels and a god trip to you!

>>5733500
> Warn Perry that the feller in the white hat's playing a crooked game, and he oughtn't keep on with their card playing.

>>5733500
>> Warn Perry that the feller in the white hat's playing a crooked game, and he oughtn't keep on with their card playing.

>>5733500
> Warn Perry that the feller in the white hat's playing a crooked game, and he oughtn't keep on with their card playing.

>>5733518
>>5733818
>>5733872
>>5733991
>>5733994

You tipped your hat upward with a light flick of the wrist. “I’ll remind you: the handle’s Aug.”

Perry’s expression waned as he nodded his head, “Aug. I recall your mug. Not your name. Ain’t an uncommon issue.”

“That’s just fine,” you said. You reckoned that the less people here recognized you, the better. Leaning on his shoulder, you lowered your voice, “I don’t know if you are blind or just ain’t paying mind, you digger, but that fella in the white hat’s playing a crooked game. You’d do well to leave it be.”

He frowned. “That’s a hefty claim. Why would you lie … ? Got something for proof?”

> Tell Perry to tally the cards 'fore the feller in the white hat takes a seat, check for disparities, if it pans out.
> Grab one of that feller's fine white gloves and give 'em a tug, might just uncover his hex sleight of hand.
> Get Perry to have the man hand over the white-hatted gent's cards, then give 'em a rub on the hidden edge, which might make the invisible card show itself.
> [Write In]

Thanks, I am back. No terrorists on this flight.
I have to write this on keyboard, though, damn uncomfortable!

>>5735877
> Get Perry to have the man hand over the white-hatted gent's cards, then give 'em a rub on the hidden edge, which might make the invisible card show itself.
Maybe get a pencil or coal to rub across the cards’ edges leaving behind a mark to show the invisible card when we try to file it out.

>>5735877
> Get Perry to have the man hand over the white-hatted gent's cards, then give 'em a rub on the hidden edge, which might make the invisible card show itself.

>>5735877
>> Grab one of that feller's fine white gloves and give 'em a tug, might just uncover his hex sleight of hand.

>>5735877
> Tell Perry to tally the cards 'fore the feller in the white hat takes a seat, check for disparities, if it pans out.
Believe us or don't, no skin off our back.

No update today, busy with the holiday please understand

>>5736677
Never fear, QM. Enjoy the vacay, and see you soon!

>>5735888
>>5735905
>>5736365
>>5736367

“Hand me them cards and I’ll show you,” you said. “Got a pencil or a bit of coal I could use?”

Perry angled his head to look at the white-hatted man, now settled behind the table with his elbows resting on the felt.

“Ain’t got neither,” Perry said, fingers grazing the cotton shirt below his throat. “Chalk’s no good. It will spoil. And pencils? Don’t carry ‘em.”

Frown marred your expression. With dismissive wave at your earlier appeal, you said. “Never mind then. Just let me see them cards of his.”

Perry rubbed his five o’clock shadow. “I don’t play cheaters. See if he is.”

Walking in the invisible shadow of the miner, you approached the side of the gambling table. Perry’s hand hovered close to the seated man.

“Ain’t sitting down?” the white-hatted man asked; the burnings sparks in his eyes locked onto you instead of the prospector. “You said it, the sheriff’s boys are on their way,” he added, his voice reaching Perry yet his eyes never shifting from you.

“Man claims you’re cheating. Pulling from the bottom. Care to show otherwise?”

The man whistled silently through his teeth before clearing his throat. Flashing his four cards at you, he told Perry, “Look away, partner.”

Perry averted his gaze and tilted his head to the lonely chair waiting for his return. The man flashed you a wolfish grin, “Well, what do you see?”

Your cracked your knuckles first before reaching for the air where the invisible card was suppose to be. The cold air passed through your digits. You felt nothing as you attempted to pinch it. The white-hatted man’s lips remained calm and thin as he watched you, in vain, search for what seemingly wasn’t there. Gathering warmth into your fist, you took another shot with a visible card, mimicking the motion you’d seen him make.

“Convinced now, pal?” he drawled, clutching the cards back to him. “Now, let’s wrap this up. Time’s ticking.”

You frowned, sensing a mocking smile on his curved jaw, even if it wasn't truly visible. You stepped aback—a reluctant surrendering.

“Might’ve been seeing things,” you said.

The man in the white hat twirled a card between his fingers, concealing its number and face. “Them cards might as well look like they come out and into existence, with how ghostly they are,” he said, resting it on the table after and leveling a gaze at the digger. Perry’s countenance remained emotionless when your attempts fell short of exposing the deceit you were more or less convinced in, and he was quick to become engrossed in the game once again. His hands trembled as if he had a sip of tarantula juice, the white flicker of the cards reflecting with the burning blue flames of his eyes. You watched as they tossed and then seized their cards.

Twice more, the stranger subtly rubber his card hand with his white gloves: quick and discreet.

“That’s my last card,” he announced, proving his words by placing the card Perry couldn’t top. The man leaned on the chair, resting his elbow on his knee and waiting for Perry to acknowledge his win. Perry, with his inscrutable expression, glanced at the stack of cards before him; then, he pressed them together, placing—almost tossing—them near him. He let out a near-silent sigh. He took a pause to wring his bandanna before speaking.
“Got a good hand,” he congratulated the man, his arms encompassing the spread of the winnings. “Loot’s all yours, stranger.”

Murmurs swirled amongst the beholders, the volume growing like cavernous echo as many seemed caught by Perry’s unfolded loss.

The man tipped his hat, the halo Stetson swaying in the verdant sheen like he was an angel in here. With a pace that was at leisure yet also in a hurry, he packed his winnings, including the coveted nail, into an ornate saddlebag with intricate white threadwork, and slung it over his shoulder.

“Better fortune next time, Perry,” he said, his eyes darting between you and the exit. “Sheriff shouldn’t know of my path, don’t you think?”

Perry leaned against the table, his voice even. “Didn’t ask. Don’t care to tell,” he assured the man.

He tipped his hat and treaded with a silence that belied the weight of his boots to leave the saloon, pausing but not giving you a glance.

Perry waved off the rowdy people he deemed too timid to gamble. He beckoned you to the recently vacated chair.

“Reckon I’m done here,” he said, eyeing the barren table. He hefted a rough burlap sack: its contents clinking like shattered glass.

You rested your left arm over your right shoulder. “You gambled away quite a load there,” you said, “Believe me or not, but he wasn’t playing square.”

Perry delved into the bag, his fingers moving as if stirring some witches’ potion. “Didn’t catch it. Seemed fair to me.”

You snorted. “That’s how it works?”

“It does for me,” he said. Folk need them ores. I find and bring. I claim my needs. Here for the gamble. Nothing more.”

You rested on the edge of the chair, your eyes looking down at his cards. “Is there anything you need? You didn't seem too keen even on that nail.”

He paused and then said, “Gambling over trading. Is what I prefer. You can’t always win. Takes the fun out.”

From the jute sack he pulled out an ornate case made out of nickel silver. Its surface bore an intricate design: a skeletal figure, half-buried, puffing on a pipe, with the smoke morphing into the shape of its own skull. Two small gemstones, a diamond and an emerald, were set as its eyes. Diamond dust also covered the engraved smoke. He snapped open the case, revealing cigarettes nestled in cotton interior, it glowing like some white embers without flame or smoke. A pair of five clips gripped slender cigarettes, each wrapped in a translucent gilded paper, the first and fourth being empty.

He lifted it to you. “Take one. Token from lost bet.”

You rubbed your fingers above the cigarettes, stopping an inch from taking the gilded smokes. “And what am I being rewarded with here?”

“They’re the ‘life’s gasps’. They let you peek. At the living world. After you had died. Any place you want. Perhaps, five minutes. Make use of it.”

> Grab it. While the gettin's good, have him light up that cigarette and see if he's speaking truth.
> Take that cigarette and find a safe nook for it. Don't want it breaking on you, being so delicate-like, though it might prove hard.
> Hold up on snatching that cigarette. Ask him if he's willing to swap for them other two smokes with what you had Goldie tote.
> Propose a gamble with Perry for them other two smokes. If he plays a fair hand and ain't sore about losing, reckon you got a shot.
> Ask Perry for some wisdom about them trinkets you brought from the El Dorado Warren, like that lodestone cube piece, them keepsake shards—maybe even that Lucifer's Lead—and what good they might be. Maybe show him your hand too, see if he's heard tell of a remedy for it that ain’t shooting yourself?
> [Write In]

>>5738424
> Take that cigarette and find a safe nook for it. Don't want it breaking on you, being so delicate-like, though it might prove hard.
Seems a valuable thing for those truly dead.

>>5738424
>> Ask Perry for some wisdom about them trinkets you brought from the El Dorado Warren, like that lodestone cube piece, them keepsake shards—maybe even that Lucifer's Lead—and what good they might be. Maybe show him your hand too, see if he's heard tell of a remedy for it that ain’t shooting yourself?

>>5738424
> Ask Perry for some wisdom about them trinkets you brought from the El Dorado Warren, like that lodestone cube piece, them keepsake shards—maybe even that Lucifer's Lead—and what good they might be. Maybe show him your hand too, see if he's heard tell of a remedy for it that ain’t shooting yourself?

>>5738424
> Take that cigarette and find a safe nook for it. Don't want it breaking on you, being so delicate-like, though it might prove hard.
> Ask Perry for some wisdom about them trinkets you brought from the El Dorado Warren, like that lodestone cube piece, them keepsake shards—maybe even that Lucifer's Lead—and what good they might be. Maybe show him your hand too, see if he's heard tell of a remedy for it that ain’t shooting yourself?

>>5738426
>>5738450
>>5738534
>>5739115

You extended your hand, palm facing upward, motioning for Perry to wait. He held the cigarette case open and raised as you reached into your pocket. You took out a handful of iron, the crude ore scratching at your skin, and shuffled it before his eyes from one pocket to another. Taking the cigarette, you carefully nestled it in the now empty pocket, hoping it would remain safe there.

Perry’s eyes followed the lead-to-be. The man snapped the silvered box shut and satcheled it back.

“You’ve hit pay dirt, manhunter. That’s a rich haul.”

You smirked, fingers brushing the ethereal felt. “That ain’t the only I dug up,” you said. “Mind sharing on their uses?”

Perry leaned in, bending his spine like a spindly pine. He trailed his fingertips along the edges of his bandanna, pulling the bow to tighten the patriotically patterned colours tightly around his skull. Cracking his shoulders with one twist, the miner turned towards you.

“What ya got there?” he inquired.

“Well, to start, we ran into a big floating cube,” you began. “Took a pull at my soul, and nearly took the girl with it. We broke it apart, and decided to keep a piece of it just in case. Perry, that's your name, ain't it? It’s quite a pain to carry. Got any use for it?”

“That’s lodestone cube,” he said, his words drawing into yours. “Most seek small ones. You are describing larger. You really broke it?”

You nodded. “Sucked the very life outta us as we did, but we got by.”

Perry narrowed his translucent eyes. “Yes, that’s what happens. Most give a birth. Yet you broke it?”

You shrugged. “Them black bones I used to have” —you laid weight on the ‘used to’— helped me out. Fought off that cube’s pull.”

Perry seemed lost in thought for a moment, lifting and then placing down a bag near his chair's leg. “Charred bones, you say?”

“Ayep, they've had my back more times than I can count in those mines. It’s no wonder that ‘Charred Bones’ blackens them the way he does,” you said, before adding. “I’ve killed the man, actually.”

Perry’s head slipped back an inch, his even stoic breath shivering. “You put ‘Charred Bones’? El Dorado’s renegade?”

Your gaze pointed to your shoulder and wrist, the freshest of your paining injuries. “Not that easily. He left his mark on me. Tried to rob me as soon as we left the mines.”

“That’s his manner. He’ll come back around. No doubt. That’s how it works,” he said. “You made an enemy. And those black bones? He won’t lose them.”

You smirked, opting not to share that you'd secured both the flask and the chalk tie pointing to the man's watermill.

You waved your hand to brush aside the topic. “What ‘bout what I asked?”

Perry’s fingers traced the table’s edge. “I’ll lay it out. It is handy, expensive. It can be used. To keep one bound. To avoid appearing yonder.”

“I have yet to ‘die’ in here,” you said, “but I've seen 'Charred Bones' and a few others just vanish, 'specially them that took one too many sips of that Prickly Niceties’s bleeding.”

He nodded. “Afterwards. Once your soul reemerges. Here in this Purgatory. You’re lost in wherewithal. Hunting the path back. It's a real headache; annoyance.”

“Sounds about as I expected,” you said. “So you're telling me I can use these cube bits to tie myself down somewhere? Mind spelling it out?”

“Here’s how it goes. Harder bits you’ve done. Do as I say. Take a piece. Snap it in two. Hold onto one. Or where you’ll reappear. Other half, crush it. Then down it. Cactus juice or none. It’ll work after that. Time frame's uncertain. Now. Anything else you’ve got?” Perry gathered the cards.

You let our a mirthful exhale. “Ease up in that chair of yours, Perry. I’ve got a few mo—”

The saloon’s swinging doors creaked ajar. A familiar figure with a molten eye scar and a bowler hat entered the drinkery.

“Where are they?” Caleb’s voice rang like a gunshot. He was missing a badge, but, perhaps, were he one, that wasn’t necessary to be a sheriff down here. While he tried to coax information out of the bartender, another individual rudely shoved past his legs.

“Heart!” Goldie hollered, her dainty frame gliding past the man. Everyone's attention, including the lawman's, turned at her.“ You damn fool, if you don’t act fast, that riddler Abel will have you swinging!” The malnourished girl continued her beeline for the gambling table. “It ain’t bother me, I can just lop off my head, but you, brother killer, will just end up swinging like a piñata! He's fixing to skip town, tell him to take off that cursed rope!”

She was the loudest in the saloon, but also the youngest, her booming voice echoing like it didn’t belong.

“Noose? Piñata? What in tarnation are you hawing about?”

“You answered the Wrangler’s?” Perry mused, scratched his chin. “In just a week. You’ve been busy.”

> Beg pardon from Perry and then hightail it to catch up with Abel afore he clears outta town, leaving you with that "noose" Goldie was yammering about. Perry'll likely stick around.
> Hold up a tick to press Perry with one more query afore you gotta bolt with Goldie.
> Urge Perry to tag along so he don't slip from your view, manners be damned. His game is done. Without dawdling, make tracks to square things with Abel.
> [Write In]

>Ha-ha, what if I gave character a speech quirk, surely that won't be a pain to write!

>>5740307
> Beg pardon from Perry and then hightail it to catch up with Abel afore he clears outta town, leaving you with that "noose" Goldie was yammering about. Perry'll likely stick around.
Hope it isn't a mistake not asking Perry to tag along.

>>5740307
> Beg pardon from Perry and then hightail it to catch up with Abel afore he clears outta town, leaving you with that "noose" Goldie was yammering about. Perry'll likely stick around.
If he skips town, it is what it is. We got what we really needed.

>>5740307
>> Beg pardon from Perry and then hightail it to catch up with Abel afore he clears outta town, leaving you with that "noose" Goldie was yammering about. Perry'll likely stick around.

>>5740345
>>5740361
>>5740383

“I reckon there’s some matters I need to see to,” you told Perry, nodding towards the viper leering at your flank. You rose form the table. “Pardon. But I’ll be needing you once that’s done.”

“Best be quick then,” Perry warned, rubbing at the crease in his brow under the colourful cloth, flicking the invisible sweat. “You’re walking into troubles.”

You let out a sharp breath, snatching the revolver from its leather bed and then hurrying it past Goldie, the bystanders, and making a beeline to the weathered saloon doors.

You ran into the town’s drag shimmered in greenish golden hues. The trail twisted with shifting shadows, the ghostly lights never staying stagnant. Shielding your marked hand beneath your duster, you made way for the wooden gateway, Goldie’s uneven steps echoing not far behind. ‘Hold on, you ornery whelp, that's my piece!’ hollered a voice, as a seizable figure lumbered out of the saloon, right in Goldie’s shadow; you sideeyed her, a fresh-snagged gun held tight in her greenhorn hands. You tsked your lips, not having the time for such petty trifles. You hurriedly reached the town’s threshold.

In the distance, the walking gallows ambled on. The scaffold hadn’t gathered much distance from the frontier town, but the bone-breaking creak of its timbered skeleton made it impossible for any voice you’d yell to reach him.

Damn it!

> Draw your piece, aiming straight for the feller's head. Take him down with a feeble iron bullet, hoping it'll undo that hex Goldie claims he set on you.
> Hoist your six-shooter, letting loose a shot at the gent's shoulder. Might get him to halt for ya, or might just spur him on quicker. Toss of a dime.
> Holster your shooter, reckoning it's too late to chase him down now. Just stand there, watching the ambling gallows vanish from view.
> [Write In]

>>5742129
>> Hoist your six-shooter, letting loose a shot at the gent's shoulder. Might get him to halt for ya, or might just spur him on quicker. Toss of a dime.

>>5742129
>Quickly! Do as Perry taught you to do with the cube, to secure a place here and ensure that, when you die, you'll reappear in this same location
Do we have time? Worth a go. hell, we'd get rid of our damn chicken-arm by the same token!

>>5742309
Maybe not before the current situation is dealt with, but if others agree, you can try and do that.

>>5742414
It sort of deals with the current situation, though, right? Noose kills us, but we pop up right where we're at with a good shooting-arm again!

>>5742426
Yes, but doing all that stuff Perry explained will take time. So option number 3, but instead of standing there, go through the motions of what Perry explained?

>>5742129
> Hoist your six-shooter, letting loose a shot at the gent's shoulder. Might get him to halt for ya, or might just spur him on quicker. Toss of a dime.

>>5742439
Essentially, yes.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5742291
>>5743476

>>5742309
>>5742426

>>5742291
>>5742309
>>5742426
>>5743476
>>5743700

You were sure of your aim; you could kill or wound the man even from this vantage, but would it lift the alleged curse Goldie claimed he put on you? That was the question. There wasn’t any way to be certain. At best, taking the shot might have just wasted both your bullets and time. An invisible tether puller at your neck, drawing your chin skyward an inch, much like a fresh bruise demanding care and stillness. You tried to scratch it, but your fingers found only air.

Goldie boot brushed against your heels as she moved past, her gaze fixed on the expanse. “Blasted tarnation damn it! Brother killer, we done lost him! It's on your head now!”

You rolled your eyes but decided not to retort the obvious. You noticed: Goldie’s neck bore a similar strain, needing to be corked unnaturally high—a sight and weight of Abel’s invisible noose.

Silent as the grave, you took back the fractured black piece of the cube stone from Goldie’s hold. She’d been cradling it in her arms, somewhat clutching the pilfered firearm at the same time. Blind to the onlookers and mute to Goldie’s bemusement, you acted on Perry’s advice, breaking the stone in half. One piece met the pale sand, its hastily buried place marking Ruetown, this place, for your fated reemergence. Holding the remaining fragment in hand, you exposed your clawed talons to the onlookers to begin whittling the piece down with your poultry limb. You turned the fragments in your palm, crumbling it into increasingly finer minute bits and pieces.

It wasn’t quite dust, far from it, but you reckoned, feared, that time was of the essence. You feared that Abel’s spectral noose would cinch around your throat the moment he, and his gallows, merged with the distant fog. You pushed the candy-sized pieces past your cracked lips—now much similar to the brat’s. You gullet was dry, arid, and unwelcoming, the saliva’s dearth making swallowing the speckled powder harder than riding a twister. Forcing your fingers down your throat to guide the pieces, you made the shards drop down your stomach like sand grains in an hourglass. The pain was visceral and intense, as if jagged needles were cutting your insides. You held your throat, tilting your head back beyond even the invisible noose’s pull, to help the bits go down. You hacked.

Goldie looked at you bedazzled, her eyes flitting as though someone were trying to snuff them out.

“You ain’t … You haven’t gone mad, have you?”

She was cut off mid-sentence as a hefty hand latched onto her neckerchief from behind.

“You thieving varmint,” the man said, pulling on her scarf further to steal her breath and words. “Thought you could pilfer from me and skedaddle? I'll beat you till you're naught but a bloody mess! Nothing more than mush!”

> Compared to her kin, the young brat’s all thumbs. Stay out of Goldie's bind, just bide your time to see if it's the end of the line for ya now that you ate the lodestone.
> Tell Goldie to hand back the iron. If she won't, snatch that measly revolver from her grasp, hand it to the big fella, and warn him to let bygones be bygones.
> Fix the beefy fella with a manhunter’s glare, and tell him to back off the young missy. If he don't catch your drift, flash him your wicked claw and the true firepower you're packing.
> [Write In]

Sorry for inconsistent updates.

On other note, have you noticed any inconsistencies in the story so far?

>>5744055
>> Compared to her kin, the young brat’s all thumbs. Stay out of Goldie's bind, just bide your time to see if it's the end of the line for ya now that you ate the lodestone.
>>5744056
none that i can tell.

>>5744055
> Compared to her kin, the young brat’s all thumbs. Stay out of Goldie's bind, just bide your time to see if it's the end of the line for ya now that you ate the lodestone.
Serves her right.

>>5744056
I'm enjoying it enough that I've felt no need to go nitpicking, and there's surely nothing glaring enough to catch my attention.

>>5744055
> Compared to her kin, the young brat’s all thumbs. Stay out of Goldie's bind, just bide your time to see if it's the end of the line for ya now that you ate the lodestone.
its her mess

>>5744114
>>5744171
>>5745134

Unlike her beloved brother, Goldie seemed all thumbs—devoid of thieving finesse. She wasn’t the talent of her family. Her capture by the man she just robbed served her right. You looked elsewhere, instead deciding to scratch at your neck -again-, dreading the inevitable pull of the mute noose.

“Let go of me, you bastard!” Goldie shouted through hacking breaths, struggling with the man’s firm grip.

“You brats ought to know your place!” the man bellowed, raising his voice above that of the girl.

He tugged her in, snatching at her wrist.

In that moment, Goldie’s knobby elbow rammed into his ribs. She wriggled her wrist free from the cowboy’s broken grip and leaned her head on him. Before you could spit, she pivoted the pilfered revolver into her own mouth, the brittle barrel lodged between her tinged teeth and against her tongue. Without a word, or a spittle, she squeezed the trigger. The curved metal gleamed over her cracked nails as Goldie clutched it without shuddering recoil. The woman, clad in riding garments, stood close by, as if her role was to grudgingly welcome the visitors; she screamed a strained, mangled cry of disbelief.

The gunshot boomed under the dark rumbling skies, echoing like a ship’s hull shattering in a storm tossed ocean. The back of Goldie’s head blew up in a cloud of marrow, her skull bursting like white glass. She stood together with the man behind her in shivering stillness, two grand plumes rising in succession like a an Indian smoke signal. Goldie had pulled the trigger not only on herself, but also on him—and only one of them was immortal. The man’s body crumbled into dust of swirling curls. Goldie coughed up the gun. The sunk to her knees, spitting at the sand inches from her lips. Her skull and effulgent skin reshaped in front of the onlookers, leaving many in sheer bewilderment. Goldie put her hands on the the back of her head and cried out as even the shadow of the man vanished into pale air.

“God damn it, that smarted!” Goldie yelled, clutching her once shattered cranium. “Ah! My head! It’s burning like three hells!”

Near you, murmurs broke out.

“What in tarnation did I just see?" one fella uttered, his gaze making circles around her.

“She ain’t vanishing!” said the other man.

You too were slightly curious by Goldie’s decided way to handle her problems. You didn’t cry for the man, but she sure was drawing needless attention.

Askance you spotted a deadman, a soul standing at the Colt’s guaranteed reach of 50 yards, with his gun drawn at neither Goldie or anyone else, but you.

> Snag Goldie by her shoulder, haul her up, and use her slight build as a shield against the far shot.
> There are not that many places to hide around the town’s entryway, but if cover is needed the gate might just do.
> Ain't a moment to waste on grabbing the brat or hunkering down for cover. Draw your iron, cock the hammer, and train it dead on his silhouette, doesn’t matter if you hit his head or heart.
> [Write In]

>>5745803
>> Snag Goldie by her shoulder, haul her up, and use her slight build as a shield against the far shot.

>>5745803
>> Snag Goldie by her shoulder, haul her up, and use her slight build as a shield against the far shot.

>>5745804
> Ain't a moment to waste on grabbing the brat or hunkering down for cover. Draw your iron, cock the hammer, and train it dead on his silhouette, doesn’t matter if you hit his head or heart.
ONLY. DEAD.

Update tomorrow, sorry. Y'all really hate the girl.

>>5747770
She killed us and banished us to Hell, in fairness.

>>5745804
> Snag Goldie by her shoulder, haul her up, and use her slight build as a shield against the far shot.

>>5747770
She's been a thorn on our side non stop since we came here.

>>5747770
I say we trap her down here with her brother.

>>5745831
>>5745845
>>5746081
>>5747772
>>5747820
>>5748031

Not wasting a moment, you reached out for Goldie’s felled body. Your talons sunk into her shoulder as you lifted her up. Not a blink after, as the brat was still weeping about blasting her own skull, another bullet sunk into her upper chest. Her bluish flesh sizzled much like a wet stone that’s been left to boil under a blazing sun. The brief moment her immortal body halted the bullet’s path afforded you to push you boot away and, when it exited out from the opposite side with a immediate burst, have it merely graze your jacket’s neck.

The billowing smoke spiraled from her collarbone, thinning out until it wafted around and encircled her, much like the hangman’s noose she was missing. Shaking awake, Goldie threw off your burying talons away and fell on the ground. The delicate feeble iron handgun crackled as she wrenched the handle and smashed its barrel’s end against your chin and neck.

“You piece of shit!” she seethed, standing on her tiptoes to press the cold metal to your throat. “I swear, I’ll put you down here, and then I'll just hunt you down again!”

But your mind was already elsewhere, your withdrawn piece drawn towards the origins of the gunshot.

“Not if he beats you to the draw,” you whispered, peeking at Goldie and then away. He wasn’t there anymore. “Fuck.”

> Hightail it outta Ruetown and make for the mist-covered plains. With luck, the fog'll be your ally against the gunman.
> Snatch at Goldie once more, intent on using her as a buffer, even if it means getting a mite rough as she foolishly resists.
> Bolt into the heart of Ruetown, using the bustling crowd and structures as cover. Once safe, keep your eyes peeled for that trigger-happy varmint.
> [Write In]

>>5747772
>She killed us and banished us to Hell, in fairness.
Details, details.
>>5747820
>She's been a thorn on our side non stop since we came here.
What's a little banter between frenemies?
>>5748031
>I say we trap her down here with her brother.
One way to trap her is to get killed by another :)

>>5748503
> Hightail it outta Ruetown and make for the mist-covered plains. With luck, the fog'll be your ally against the gunman.

>>5748504
Don't want to go to Ultrahell either, though. We can still make it back to the world of the living, maybe, but not if Goldie or any of our old bounties have their way!

>>5748503
>> Snatch at Goldie once more, intent on using her as a buffer, even if it means getting a mite rough as she foolishly resists.

>>5748503
>> Hightail it outta Ruetown and make for the mist-covered plains. With luck, the fog'll be your ally against the gunman.

Apologies, can't seem to find time. I'll return with an update on Friday and then try and update more often. Voting still open if anything.

>>5748693
>>5748731
>>5748971

"He?” Goldie queried, her lip quivering as if she had bitten into it, her head jerking to where you were looking. “One of your killed?”

You spat near her boots. “I ain’t sure,” you uttered, using your piece to knock her stolen gun away from your neck.

Not keen on finding out how deadly the next bullet will be, you made a quit retreat towards the town’s gate, it’s arch strained above you like a tortured’s leftover. You quickened your steps, your neck pushed into your shoulder to watch the muddled crowd dissolve into the fog. Goldie, always a burr, scurried after you, her revolver drawn with intent not to guard your back, but to threaten it. You didn’t show it any attention, instead slipping into the mist-covered plains.

Once Ruetown’s distinct structured became as a clear as a sickly mirage, you halted and looked around. You saw no sign of the Chindi, the remnants of native souls who roamed this purgatorial frontier. Suited you right; it’s what you were afraid of. Even so, you instead saw blood red eyes singeing the fog around them. Isolated silhouette watched you.

“Why did you stop?” Goldie said. As if was a wrong question to ask, two more pairs of ember eyes flanked the original on each side.

A chilling howl skewered the dry air; it was so close, so tangible, it felt as if the very beasts behind those eyes stood inches away.

A wild pack. Hadn't that lowlife Bill warned you about them?

> You’d rather squared off against a soul you had already killed than those hellspawn critters. Keep a wary eye and start sidestepping away from the pack to where the town is.
> They don’t seem to be moving. Might as well stand your ground. Tell Goldie to keep a bead on 'em while you scan the horizon of Ruetown.
> If that shootist lands a lucky shot, you'll be all over, who knows in what way. Faced with three or more? You'd rather dance with wolves.
> [Write In]

I’m not going to mention it in all the prompts, but you always have the black water in the flask if you want to drink it.

>>5751794
> If that shootist lands a lucky shot, you'll be all over, who knows in what way. Faced with three or more? You'd rather dance with wolves.
Let's save the water for when we've died and lost our chicken arm.

>>5751794
>> They don’t seem to be moving. Might as well stand your ground. Tell Goldie to keep a bead on 'em while you scan the horizon of Ruetown.

>>5751794
>> You’d rather squared off against a soul you had already killed than those hellspawn critters. Keep a wary eye and start sidestepping away from the pack to where the town is.

Rolled 1 (1d3)

>>5751915

>>5751932

>>5751950

>>5751915
>>5751932
>>5751950

Didn’t Bill warn you? Yet, facing these purgatorial wolves seemed a mite safer than letting that gunhawk land a single fortuitous shot. Clutching your iron, you moved through the thickening mist towards those fiery eyes. Their haunting howls grew silent. oldie shuffled her feet, lagging behind you. The closer you got to those still stares, the more she seemed to dawdle and widen the gap between you two. You pulled back the striker.

“The nose won’t do you in,” Goldie said, her sudden voice like a prick of a needle. Her gun's cocking sound echoed yours.

Your gaze swept back and forth among the three pairs of eyes. "What's it gonna do then?"

"It'll hoist you up bit by bit. Once your feet leave the dirt, you're stuck there hanging. Only way out is ending yourself.”

“You been asking around after I told you so, huh?”

With a spit, her voice grew louder. “Weren’t doing it for you!” she yelled. She took a deep breath before continuing. “To hell with you ... anyway … Chuck, he was up there for weeks. Abel likes to give 'em time to mull over his riddles, so they say.”

“I ain't planning on dangling for weeks over some damn riddle—”

You came to a sudden stop. Your boots marred the sand as you watched the previously still irises begin to morph, their copper tones turning into spiraling streaks. More creatures emerged from the soaked smog, bringing the total to a dozen. Their vampiric eyes burned through the fog like cotton, the unseen warmth drawing you towards them like a hypnotized prey. You knew better. The ground gave way beneath their massive paws like it was a soft moss. As one of the wolves edged closer, you noticed the mist ripple around its bristling sharp fur, the moon’s glisten trickling down its sharp velvet strands like rain water. For a wolf, its size was closer to that of a grizzly bear. Its nostrils flared, making you feel as if it could physically grasp your scent and pull it off you like scalped skin.

The beast let out a growl; your reflection, ripped and mangled, mirrored in each bubble of its drool.

> Looks like the odds ain't in your favor, and with them this close, hoofing it ain't an option. Resign to your fate and let the wolves close in.
> Draw iron on the closest wolf, fan the hammer and send lead. Sure as rain, you'll run dry before they die, but reckon you'll cross that bridge when you come to it.
> Facing the pain of being ripped apart by those beasts ain't a thought you can stomach. Ponder on findin' a swifter end on your own terms.
> [Write In]

>>5752393
> Draw iron on the closest wolf, fan the hammer and send lead. Sure as rain, you'll run dry before they die, but reckon you'll cross that bridge when you come to it.
Could discourage them from messing with us once we revivify down where we ate the cube. Our assassin could think the job is done or that we're lost to hin, having heard the sounds. The noose won't be a problem anymore. AND no more chicken arm!

>>5752393
>> Draw iron on the closest wolf, fan the hammer and send lead. Sure as rain, you'll run dry before they die, but reckon you'll cross that bridge when you come to it.

>>5752393
>> Draw iron on the closest wolf, fan the hammer and send lead. Sure as rain, you'll run dry before they die, but reckon you'll cross that bridge when you come to it.

>>5752514
>>5752882
>>5753025

You leveled your iron at the nearing beast. Your finger tensing around the trigger, you let loose when the creature seemed to miss your hint. The bullet tore through its jaw, shattering those rows of fangs like porcelain. The wolf’s saliva dripped like blood off its chipped teeth. The beast stumbled for a moment, the bullet lodged in its mouth not enough to lay it down. As you readied the next shot, it lunged with a ferocity that sent ripples of scalding air—hot enough to dry the wet mist. You fired again, aiming for its heart—or where you reckoned it to be. The wolf skewered itself on your lead, its massive form tilting before toppling over like a great boulder from a mesa cliff’s edge, its cranium twisting as it hit the ground.

The crimson light persisted smoldering within its eyes. Your attention shifted to the others of its pack, emerging one by one from the twilight to encircle you.

A sudden yank caught your neck—was it Abel’s noose? From the wolves, your gaze fell downwards.

Goldie had a firm grip on your placket, her fingers digging inside of it.

“Fixing on reappearing elsewhere, are ya?” she yelled, squeezing the chain of the ticker off your neck. She bared her teeth. “You ain’t slipping away with -my- watch!”

Before you could fend her off, you heard a growl behind you. Another beast plunged its claws deep into your back, each talon as thick and as lengthy as a knife. Cold coursed through you, your smoky flesh unraveling from the wound in tendrils of steel-blue vapor. Goldie deftly snatched the watch as if you were a scarecrow. When she stumbled back with a satisfied smirk, the felled wolf sprang up from the ground as swiftly as a jack rabbit. Its jaws, though mangled from your bullet, clamped shut on Goldie’s wrists. With a deafening crunch, the wolf twisted and pulled away its head, tearing away her hands like they didn’t belong there.

Handless and tripping in retreat, Goldie’s cry cut through the endless night as her tears drenched her neckerchief. Tuning her off, the beast spat out the watch, its baleful eyes settling on you once more.

> With that gash on your back, reckon you'll be meeting your end soon enough, but the thought of enduring more of their hellish bites don't sit right. Stand your ground against them wolves till your last breath.
> Make a grab for that timepiece 'fore Goldie can mend her claws. Clasp onto it tight, not giving her a sliver of chance. Die with the brat’s precious treasure in your hold.
> Snatch up that watch, but give Goldie a bone. Whisper in her ear that you aim to reappear in Ruetown, and if she's got any inkling to find Henry, best she stick 'round there if she wants to keep a bead on you.
> [Write In]

>>5753204
> Make a grab for that timepiece 'fore Goldie can mend her claws. Clasp onto it tight, not giving her a sliver of chance. Die with the brat’s precious treasure in your hold
We could be rid of the girl, the wolves, the noose, and our pursuer all at once! Grated, there are advantages to having Goldie around, but in that we can keep an eye on her AND use her 'undying' nature to our advantage...

>>5753204
>> Make a grab for that timepiece 'fore Goldie can mend her claws. Clasp onto it tight, not giving her a sliver of chance. Die with the brat’s precious treasure in your hold.

>>5753204
>> Make a grab for that timepiece 'fore Goldie can mend her claws. Clasp onto it tight, not giving her a sliver of chance. Die with the brat’s precious treasure in your hold.
go go undying bitch

>>5753294
>>5753495
>>5753741

You locked eyes with the beast, leaping to claim the timepiece before Goldie could. You grabbed it firm, your fingers coiling the gilded chain like a spilled lung. As you were about to savor the triumph, searing pain ached from your back: the beast had sunk its teeth deeper in your wound. Your ethereal form began to crumble around the bite, dissolving into a fine powder and opaque mist, drawing into the creature's greedy maw before melting away into the fade through its teeth. Goldie staggered back and fell. Though her hands started to resurface from her immortal flesh, the sheer pain, even unlingering, pushed her into shock. You lifted the shut tucker like a wall between you.

“I ain’t making it easy for you,” you said.

You gasped one last time as the other wolves descended upon you, joining in to tear away at your back. Your body had its limit, and, before long, entirely, it withered into ethereal mist. Similar to chugging a bottle of whiskey from the neck without pause, and only taking a second between the gulps to swallow each one, your lingering throes palliated in exchange for the intoxication.

Though your body was gone, you could still feel its form; like standing in a serene river, with no reason to breath or move, with only the smooth refreshing currents enveloping you in a comforting embrace. The clamorous thunder seemed distant now—deafened—replaced by a muted rumble of horizon wagon caravan, their wheels stuck in endless roll, with murmured conversations of lost pioneers still carried by the wind. Your vision was blinded by layers of white varying in intensity but unblemished in purity. Like with clouds, the patterns you discerned seemed like only a whimsy of your mind. It felt nice. Perhaps it wasn’t bad being dead; truly dead.

You couldn’t guess how long you’d been in that state—too fleeting, unsatisfying brief. A sudden oppressive weight bore down on you, every bone’s creak separate in your mind like a jumbled collection of birds trapped within a traveling menagerie. With each part of you that reformed, so did the dormant pains. Your right shoulder screamed its presence, the Lucifer’s Lead howling through your arm like an angered banshee. Each of the Prickly Niceties’ thorns rereminded of themselves separately, biting as if you fell, covered in molasses, into an anthill. The unseen gashes on your palms seared like you were grasping a white-hot iron.

Upon feeling the whitened sand beneath your boots, you collapsed, arms wrapping around yourself like a casket. The marks left by the “Charred Bone’s” Cassidy, the bullet wound, and the torn bit of your wrist, surged back with renewed agony. But they were mere flickers compared to rest. The echo of thousands of razor-sharp shards gored into your back all at once, piercing every square inch of flesh. This torment intertwined with another visceral one: the gnawing feasting of the wolves—the way they butchered you—their teeth sinking deep into your flesh and ripping it away.

Yet, while those pains threatened to pull you into darkness, the worse of torments was the thirst. Mere thought of relief had your gullet lining feeling like parched tree, each layer seemingly peeling away, causing you such pain you could only earn for a single droplet. You knew that wasn’t the case, but your right hand reached for the cold, feeble iron flask as if on its own, brushing it against your cracked lips and pouring the invigoration liquid of what felt like watered down coffee to quench your thirst. You drank more than necessary, but you couldn’t control yourself, and no one was around to halt your indulgence. You imbibed until the flask ran dry, clutching it with such desperation that the fragile container shattered in your grasp.

You tossed aside the broken fragment, exhaling a dampened breath. Rationing the black water would've been wise, but the piercing thirst had driven all rational thought from your mind. You knew you wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else with such maddening thirst. You pulled yourself to your knees and took in your surroundings. You were expecting to see a pestering crowd, but instead, before you laid the ghostly remains of it. You were in Ruetown, but Ruetown wasn’t there. Where shops and cabins once stood, there were only ruinous piles of splintered wood, faintly glowing with a chilled green glowing. What in tarnation had happened?

> Give that timepiece a gander, then follow on Goldie's trail.
> Glance at the watch, then hoof it in the other way from where Goldie's heading.
> Eye that watch a moment, then walk on over to where Henry's hand's pointing.
> Peer 'round the remnants of Ruetown, cautious-like, see if there's any soul about.
> Shake the dust of Ruetown off your boots, don't matter where to, just so long as you're leaving it.
> [Write In]

>>5754221
> Peer 'round the remnants of Ruetown, cautious-like, see if there's any soul about.
Just to figure out what happened here. Then...
>Onto Henry
Maybe we can beat Goldie there and come to some... Arrangement.

>>5754221
> Peer 'round the remnants of Ruetown, cautious-like, see if there's any soul about.

>>5754221
> Peer 'round the remnants of Ruetown, cautious-like, see if there's any soul about.

No update today.

>>5754225
>>5754631
>>5754744

Digging your heels into the ground, you rose with some effort, feeling the black heaviness seep into your bones. The weight of your hastily charring marrow urged you back to the sand that was quick to swallow your boots. With some effort, you straightened your back and cracked your shoulders in rhyme, making your way deeper into the town’s ruins. Your blackened bones grasped at your soul from within, pulling at it like a sky drawing the last rays of light from the dawn.

You threaded over and amidst the strewn wreckage, the Evergreen ghostwood no longer reflecting a memory of a homely town, but what one would remember of it after an eclipsing storm; although you knew there this was more to it than a tornado. Hadn't the ghostly wood been supposed to mend itself? Keeping a wary silence, you passed the upturned homes, revolver at the ready—not in your left, but in your run-of-the-mill right hand. Your death had remedied the Chupacabra’s cursed bitemark, your arm no longer resembling the main ingredient of a poultry broth. When you left it, the town was ghostly, but now it appeared completely desolate, barren streets and haunting silence replacing the modest vestige of life that were. With a sigh, you halted your pace, drawing out and opening the gilded pocket watch, the minute and the hour hands separate of each other. A smirk of relief tugged at your lips—Goldie wasn’t able to find him yet. You pondered the direction to where Henry’s hour hand pointed, deliberating on beating Goldie to the punch.

Just then, a shadow wove off the glinting debris, and a man wearing a shiny white hat stepped within your eyeshot. His eyes widened in apparent surprise.

“You be … ‘Charred Bones?’” he questioned, retreating a step. Upon stepping on the dusty street, he held in his white-laced hands a half-opened saddlebag. Inside, odd trinkets peeked out: an anvil-shaped belt buckle, a brass whistle, and a branding iron. After a moment’s pause he smirked at you, securing the bag with one hand while snatching out his six-shooter with the other. “Also a thief of fortune, are you?” Ahead of your reply he squinted first. “No, I know that mug of yours. You’re the bounty hunter from that nettlesome poster, ‘Only Dead’ Heart, correct? Though, your bones are all black now ... almost didn't recognise you.”

He aimed the barrel from your head to your chest. “Don’t know how you’re back, but lucky you are.”

You responded by levelling your own gun at him. “What makes it so lucky?”

“My wife’s been itching to see you” —a striker snapped from behind you, its tone much heavier and louder than any revolvers’— “But running into you here and now? That was unexpected.”

“Don’t move a single inch, ‘Only Dead’ Aug,” a woman spoke with a familiar, mellow voice .

You edged your head to confirm your suspicions. Annette “Lyrebird” Licorice. She who drowned her own daughters, and when that wasn’t enough for her, used her voice and allure to do the same with all the others.

“I said. Don’t. Move. An inch!” she fanned her words and then drew a sharp breath. “That really is you, ‘Only Dead’ Aug. Your luck never runs out, does it, Goodwin?”

“Nothing to do with luck, my sweet Anne,” the man said, placing two of his fingers to his lips and passing her a playful kiss. “I make it myself.”

> Don't ruffle any feathers. Lower your iron and gauge what she's after. She didn't let lead fly off the bat, so she's must got something on her mind.
> Keep your piece trained on the feller in the white hat, but hold your fire. If she's sweet on him as his wife, reckon she won't be hasty to squeeze the trigger.
> Jump to the side, spin 'round, and start sending what lead you got left from that cylinder her way.
> [Write In]

Oh no, we are on page 10 :(

>>5756525
>> Jump to the side, spin 'round, and start sending what lead you got left from that cylinder her way.
KILL WE MUST KILL

>>5756525
>> Keep your piece trained on the feller in the white hat, but hold your fire. If she's sweet on him as his wife, reckon she won't be hasty to squeeze the trigger.

>>5756525
> Keep your piece trained on the feller in the white hat, but hold your fire. If she's sweet on him as his wife, reckon she won't be hasty to squeeze the trigger.
Buy some time. Get a better position.

>>5756816
>>5756849
>>5757159

>>5758308
>>5758308
>>5758308

Oh no, we are on page 1!