Alright hombres, y'all are riding the Denver-Pacific Railroad, courtesy of Smith & Robards over the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The train left Denver a while back and you're well into the mountains by now. The cold winter weather has covered the ground in a light layer of snow and the air in the train cars is cool. What are all of you doing along the way?
Looking around you may see a man sitting in the back booth of the train car, the man is wearing a fancy looking dark red shirt, dark leather vest, slacks, a light duster, and standard Stetson. The man has a mixed complexion that strongly suggests that he is of mixed black and white decent, shoulder length mildly curled dark brown hair, and sharp eyes.
As he's sitting there the mans hands seem to be constantly moving, cutting and shuffling a deck of cards that he's holding. His eyes are constantly scanning the room, seemingly searching for someone to challenge him to game.
Sitting in another booth is a man who seems to be nearing middle age. His face is worn with time, sun, and work, and he sports a full beard and shoulder-length hair more gray than brown. He wears the common clothing one expects of a Westerner or frontiersman--simple shirt and vest, worn trousers, boots, and a thick leather duster, with a Stetson hat on the table in front of him. He even sports a shooting iron on his hip and a rifle leaned against the wall of the car. More curious, though, are the bright silver cross around his neck and the open Bible he looks to be reading--especially coupled with the bottle that probably doesn't have water in it.
Leon taps the passage he's just reread, closes his eyes, and leans back in the booth. You know, I'm trying, Father, truly I am. I resist as many temptations as I can, and you and I both know there's plenty of those to go around in the world today. Sinners the world over, and I'm as much one as anybody. And there was plenty work to do back in Kansas. So why in the hell am I heading to California? What's the plan? The man cracks an eye open to look upwards and snorts. Or are You even paying attention?
At that moment, a bump in the track stirs Leon to one side, and his head smacks hard on the wall. Frowning and replacing his hat, he looks up again. Alright, You ornery old bastard. I'll quit asking questions and get to work. Thy will be done and all that. Still don't know why You chose me. With a sigh, he looks over to the others in the car. Guess I was the nicest piece of sh*t You could find at the time.
After a moment and a swig from the bottle, Leon gives a sidelong glance to the well-dressed gentleman of mixed ancestry. "You a gambling, man, son?"
The young man sitting at the booth does a quick scan of his first potential mark of the trip. Hm, older; survivor, casual handeling a dat gun, dis man be a fighter more like den not, dat a mighty shiny piece on 'is neck, doe dat bible mean trouble. Max safe take be about twenty dollars, train, no fast exits fifteen.
The man stands and bows with a small flourish. Eloi Baptiste Desormeaux, an yes in fact I was born an raised on dis game. Would you care to help me alleviate de boredom o' dis long ride.
Leon gives a small smile and waves his hand. Cajun fella, AND the foppish sort? This really is a test, isn't it? He slides the Bible into a pocket, puts his hat on, and grabs the bottle, leaving the rifle where it rests as he moves to sit across from Eloi. "Leon Hatcher. I'll pass the time if I can, but I'm no gambler, Eloi, for lack of skill as much as choice. Lying eyes, you know." He raises an eyebrow, and remarkably enough his eyes aren't revealing much.
After a moment, he taps the table and opens the bottle to take another drink. "Deal me a hand, friend, and tell me what brings you California way."
Tch so much for dat take, don't wanna get called out on dis train. Me best hope now i' to make enough at de next town to be able to continue south.
After shuffling one last time Eloi starts dealing out cards. Me story be a bit o' a cliched one an i won't bore you wit de details mon'ami, but de short version be dat I be looking for my gal, Lia. She be somewhere in de sout o' California, an if I run into dat no good weasel of a fader o' hers den I might end up doin' some'n stupid.
When Eloi finishes dealing there are three hands of cards layer out on the table, Eloi goes to pick up his hand.
In the booth across the aisle, you see a man in a gray suit, with black shoes, a white duster, and a white bowler hat. His face looks very similar to the image, expect that he also has a monocle over his right eye. Most notable is a steel briefcase handcuffed to this man's right wrist, which makes it the side closer to the window of the booth. The man notices the extra hand of cards dealt and believes it is an invitation from the dealer to join the game. It appears the man might be talking to someone, most likely himself as he pulls his briefcase to his chest and crosses it with both arms. The man is now convinced that the dealer had been watching him for the whole train ride and wants to try to gamble the man out of his suitcase. Whether this is true or not doesn't matter, the man is now convinced that this is fact. What're you thinking of doing there? says the man with a little bit of an Irish accent.
Eloi glances over at the man who spoke and notices his defensiveness. No need ta get all defensive mon'ami I just be playan' a hand a poker. If you be talkin about te tird hand, it be an old abit a mine, an invitation if you will, to any man who wan to play. Any man who have a pair a cards in 'is hand as a fair an equal chance ta win de pot, tats ta great ting about gamblin.
"Ah. Trouble with a woman." Leon looks up with a dry smile that seems more like a smirk. "And here I expected something about a man with a horse. Well," he shifts his seat and clears his throat, and the other well-dressed gentleman speaks up. Leon pauses to regard him and waits for Eloi to finish talking. "Well, equal chance unless his fellows are luckier, or cheating," he says with a chuckle.
"Well, mister Eloi, I sincerely hope you don't end up doing anything, eh, regrettable, when you find your man," the Virginian continues, thumbing the pages of the Bible in his pocket. "To take another's life is a mortal sin, and pretty damned rude, besides. I'd hate to hear I was riding with a killer--and frankly, I don't take you for one." He raises his eyebrows and taps his hand of cards, still face-down on the table. He then turns back to the Irishman. "Why don't you come over and sit a spell with us, son? We're not about to steal a man's luggage in plain sight."
Not having had any reason to doubt a religious man, which Leon appears to be, the Irishman appears to relax a bit, but still holds his briefcase to his chest. However, he is still uneasy about the man he thinks was staring at his briefcase. The Irishman stares intently at Eloi, even when he responds to Leon. No. No thank you. I think I'd rather watch right now.
Sitting across the car, a Native American man seems to be passing the train ride by whittling away something into a stake of some sort. He wears a white shirt stained beige with dirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with an open black vest over top. His trousers and boots are made for riding, as are his black leather gloves. On one bicep he wears some sort of Native armband, tooled leather studded with beads, and around his neck he wears a red bandanna with several Native talismans. Across his chest, a bandoleer is filled with shotgun shells, likely for the finely crafted revolving shotgun sitting beside him atop his duster.
At his hip, he wears a canvas messenger bag along with a length of rope and other tools, as well as a Native-made tomahawk carved from bison horn. On the other hip, a holster with a shooting iron is clearly looped through his belt. Evidently finished with his carving, he sticks the stake and the knife into his bag, brushing the wood shavings from his lap. He grins when he hears the Christian man across the car mention he'd hate to learn he was riding with a killer. 'Hate to learn you're riding with a killer, hmm? Looks like there's some bad news for you.' Still grinning, he stands up and strides across the car."Couldn't help but hear that hand there is free game," he says, tapping the unclaimed hand on the table, "any complaints if I were to take you two up on that?"
Eloi looked up at the newest edition to the growing number around the table and could think of only one thing. Trouble trouble trouble. But the only reaction he gave was a welcoming one. A course mon'ami, like ah said any man be welcome to play, especially in ah friendly game like tis one. Now dat we all sedled ow bout we get tis game started. Eloi continues dealing out the first few cards with a well practiced hand as he continues to talk. It accurs t me dat while I have filled in a bit as to mah reasonin for headin to California ah haven't returned da question to you yet mon'ami. Eloi looks back over to Leon.
Leon nods to the briefcase bearer and turns to take in the native as he approaches. He gives a small smile and nods, deferring to Eloi to actually welcome the other man, but he pauses as he takes stock of Drake's weaponry. Shotgun, revolver, tomahawk. Plenty of ammo. Someone's ready for a fight. Better not be with me today, Father. I already dislike these metal death traps.
After the game continues a little while, Eloi asks Leon his question, and the older man gives a chuckle and looks up at him. "Oh, you know. Heading Westward to spread the Word, bring new followers into the fold, convert the 'heathens' and all that." He chuckles again, making it clear what he thinks of the idea of heathens. "To be honest, it was this or put up with the sh*t Back East, and I wasn't thrilled at that prospect." He finally glances down at his hand and trades in a couple cards.
"Well look at that. Two pair, nines and sevens." He glances up at the others. "Surely someone can beat that."
Not bad mon'ami. An I don't suppose I can convince you fellas to share a story or two
Eloi gives a small sigh and flips his cards on to the table. Well you got me mon'ami, pair o' tens.
Drake narrows his eyes as Leon begins to mention his reasons for heading out West, his face hardening into a scowl as Leon mentions the conversion of "heathens". He forces out a chuckle at Leon's own, and trades out several cards, then slap his hand down on the table. "I've got Queen high. Not my round, it seems." He begins to roll the talismans around his neck between his fingers as he looks towards Eloi.
"I'm looking to see a man about a horse. An... associate of mine saw fit to liberate Juno, my horse, of one of her legs with a shot in the knee. I returned the favor, but I had to put her down. Friend out in California gave her to me as a gift, long time ago. Looking to find myself another horse." Drake smirks, then continues. "The rest of my story isn't much for... polite company. He looks over to the man with the case, still rolling the talismans between his fingers. "What about you? Have something fancy in that case you'd like to share?"
The man with the briefcase does not like the last question the Native American man asked. As he says this, he crawls closer to the window, but now intently looking and the Native American. I'm not really the sharing type. You think that there's something in here worth.. "sharing"? He then mumbles, More like 'is there something worth stealing in that case'.
"I'm not sure I'd go so far as to call pleasant company 'polite,'" Leon says with a smirk. [b]"But a man shot your horse? That's low." He shakes his head and uncorks the bottle. "Hope your errand goes well." He raises the bottle in a brief toast and takes a swig.
At Briefcase Man's sudden start, Leon raises an eyebrow and sets the bottle down on the seat next to him. "Calm down over there, Irish," he says with a raised eyebrow. He gives the man another once-over, taking in his clothing and body language. "Nobody's gonna steal anything. We're all honest fellows here, aren't we, gentlemen?"
The train rattles, like the ground is shaking, then another tremor makes the entire car rock. A moment later, a conductor walks down the aisle checking each of the passengers seats. "Nothing to worry about folks," he says with an overly cheerful smile. "Probably just a rock slide somewhere in the hills."
Leon gives a smile to the conductor and nods. "Of course." As soon as the man passes, he calmly removes his revolver from its holster and checks to see the cylinder is fully loaded, then replaces it and pats his thigh. He gives a second smile to the others at the table. "Excuse me, gentlemen." The preacher-man then collects his rifle before retaking his seat at the table. Laying it against his seat to lean on his leg, he looks at Eloi and Drake expectantly. "Shall we play another hand?"
Just as Leon finishes his question, the door to the car slides open. Standing in the doorway is a middle-aged white woman of average height. She is wearing a long-sleeved white blouse, a tan vest, and a brown floor-length skirt. Her straight, blonde hair, which is tied back in a low ponytail, ends just above her waist. She glances around the car and begins to take a step back, as if to go back the way she came. Geez! Why are there so many passengers in each car? I just want some peace and quiet for a change. Haltingly, she decides to walk into the car and seats herself as far from the other passengers as is possible.
The train shakes again, more violently than before and there is an ear grating screeching sound as the wheels nearly slide off the tracks. A moment later, a whistle sounds and armored shudders roll down over the windows of the car. The conductor hurries back into the car, looking a bit more harried. "Alright folk," he says. "Just stay calm. We've got a bit of a welcoming party coming our way. Just stay down and we'll handle this just fine." He glances at the group playing poker, noticing they're clearly armed and chuckles. "Though it never hurts to be prepared." He runs to an empty seat near the front of the car and flips it up, revealing a secret compartment. He pulls out a Gatling Rifle and braces himself against a gun port at the front of the car.
Now more concerned about the fact that the train nearly came off the tracks rather than the "suspicious" characters at the table across from him, the Irishman pulls out a Colt Army pistol to be ready for whatever happens next, though still keeps the card players within his peripheral vision. He mutters, They can't have followed me all the way out here, can they? They couldn't. Of course they did. Why couldn't they? He keeps muttering a bit more, though mostly it is unintelligible gibberish.
Eloi glances around the now heavily armored car and chuckles. Looks like we gettin a show wit dis game gentlemen. from lookin at you I guess o'l Eloi's not gonna need to do much eh? Eloi simply continues to shuffle out cards for the next hand.
Leon continues to move calmly despite the imminent violence, setting himself up at the back door, seeing that the conductor has the other one covered. "Faith and a .44 will see you through," he comments dryly, setting his rifle against the wall and drawing his revolver in one hand and a long, straight-bladed knife in the other. "And knives don't need reloading."
Letting out a breath, he flips the lever on his LeMat's hammer, setting it to fire the shotgun barrel, and braces his shooting wrist on his other forearm, ready to put a hefty hole in the first unfortunate hombre to walk through the door to the car.
In the moments that follow, he glances to the others, but mainly keeps his attention on the door. "Irish, Mister Eloi, ma'am you may want to take cover if you don't plan on shooting first. Shotgun," this directed toward the native, "if you're any good with that thing I suggest you assist the conductor with guarding our car." He cracks his neck and taps one boot heel on the floor. And here I thought I might get a peaceful day for once. Praise the Almighty and pass the ammo.
"Cover be damned," states Veronica curtly as she pulls out her Winchester, cocks the handle, and takes aim at the door at the back of the car along with Leon. "Whoever's comin' better be ready for a storm." Though I sure as hell hope they won't be comin' for me.
I'm afraid I must agree wit te good lady Leon. I may not look it but Eloi here can hold is own. Well so much for da pleasant ride, ah swear dere must be sometin out to make mah life run dis way. dares no way I have dis much bad juju on me. Eloi casually positions himself facing the back door as well while leisurely leaning on his staff, but the only thing in his hand is his deck of cards.
"It'd be my pleasure." Drake grins as he picks up the shotgun from his lap, and shrugs his bag off his shoulder onto his duster. He moves to the front of the car along with the conductor, and takes a position several seats back to find some cover from enemy fire. Placing a knee against the back of the seat, Drake aims the barrel of his shotgun neatly between the seats, waiting for whatever unlucky bastard decides to head through into the car. "These wannabe outlaws picked the wrong train to rob today,"he mutters under his breath. "They'll be hearing the Wendigo howl today."
"I don't think they're on board yet," the conductor calls out as he watches the side of the car. "Ready. Here they come!" The car jerks again and through the slats of the shudders, the attackers finally come into view. Indians! Half a dozen braves riding war horses gallop alongside the car, brandishing clubs and longbows. Their leader raised his war club over his head and lets out a cry before suddenly pulling his horse away from the train.
There's barely an instant to react as the wheels of the train screech again. The car suddenly slows to a near halt, throwing everyone forward with violent force. The brakes grind against the rails in a desperate attempt to stop the train, but to no avail. With a mighty heave, you can feel the train leap into the air. The entire world seems to tumble around you. Then everything goes dark.
You awake on the cold ground, with a sound like the screams of the damned in your ears.
The Irishman opens his eyes slowly, and flinches when he hears the screams. Damn. Ghost rock. He then immediately checks to see if his briefcase is attached to his wrist, grabs his Colt Army, and attempts to hide behind some of the train wreckage until or if an opportunity presents itself to take a shot at one of the attackers, or run away.
Drake's eyes snap open as he heaves himself onto his hands and knees. He quickly grabs his shotgun, as well as his discarded bag and duster, and scrambles to the closest piece of cover he can find. An Apache war cry? This far north? We're days from the Confederation, even on horseback. Drake releases the cylinder of his shotgun, making sure he hadn't misfired during the blast. Satisfied with his loaded weapon, he pops his head over the rubble to take a look around. "Ghost rock, too?" he mutters, as the wailing hits his ears. "Since when are we using Ghost Rock weapons? What in Gaagé's name is going on?"
Leon comes to quickly after the crash, blinking his eyes and grabbing the revolver and knife that lie next to him. Thank you, Lord, for being so gracious as to not let me stab myself when Apaches crashed the train I was on. You are truly gracious. He slides the knife back into its scabbard and flicks the LeMat back to firing normal rounds as he snatches his rifle and slides it into the boot on his back. A small groan escapes his lips as he sees shattered glass sparkling on a nearby rock--all that's left of his bourbon. And You taketh away.
"Cantankerous old bastard," he grumbles, pulling up his revolver to eye level and sweeping the surrounding area. Seeing some of the others from the car, he calls out. "Y'all alright over there? Eloi? Ma'am?" He moves to cover and keeps an eye out for trouble. "Everybody alive?"
The Irishman finds some good rubble to hide behind. He hears the preacher asking if their is anybody around. He whispers, I'm fine, preacher, hoping to let this man he actually has some trust in for now, but not the attackers.
Eloi finally comes to a fair bit away from the wreck after having rolled a fair bit and finally stopped after hitting a rock. Aw man dis is not mah, day aft dis I am defiantly checking meh bag for ah hex bag. As Eloi sits up he grabs another pack of cards from his coat and looks around to see exactly whats happening.
Veronica rubs her head as she comes to, realizing that there is a small bump forming on the back of her skull. "I'm alright, sir," she says answering Leon. But what the hell happened back there? What are those screams? In any case, I could really use a good beer right now. Veronica takes cover behind nearby rubble and focuses on getting a bearing on her surroundings. She makes sure that her Winchester is ready to fire if need be.
Through the smoke and fire, it is clear that the tracks ahead are broken and twisted, damaged by something well before the train or the natives arrived. The scream of burning ghost rock emerges from white hot piles of flaming rubble. The posse can feel the heat from the flames even where they stand, and several scorched corpses lie among the flames.
Over the loud noises, you can see several other survivors crawling from the wreckage, only for a familiar war cry to rise again. Arrows pepper the survivors, striking them down. The Indians are picking off the survivors! Their leader sees your movement through the smoke and points, shouting for his comrades to attack.
The leader shouts another war cry and aims his bow at Drake. "Befouled one," he shouts in Apache. "Traitor to the spirits!"
Drake ducks his head as he hears the Apache leader shout towards him, but not quite quick enough to avoid an arrow catching his shoulder. "Damn!"Drake curses, snapping the arrow shaft off with his free hand. "You'll pay for that!" he growls as he slides over the patch of rubble, moving for a piece of cover closer to the Apache leader. He slides neatly over the scraps of train, then rolls in close to another piece of smoking rubble, and flips the barrel of his shotgun over the top as he takes aim for the War Leader's chest.
The shot strikes the native leader right in the chest. His eyes go wide as he flies back off his feet, his chest shredded by the shell.
The shot goes a bit low, utterly ruining right hip and leaving him on the ground unconscious with his leg crippled. The other Indians all begin shouting as they see their leader fall and dive for the nearest cover . They raise their bows, raining arrows down on the posse.
In their rage, most of the arrows go wide, but another strikes Drake's side before he can properly get back into cover.
The arrow barely hits him, leaving a painful, but harmless graze along his side.
Leon starts to call out to Drake that charging is foolish, but then the native blasts a hole the size of Kansas in the Apache leader's chest. Well, thanks for giving us the shotgun, I suppose. He vaults his own cover and dashes to slide down behind a rock that offers a decent shot at the attackers , firing as he does so.
In the midst of his run, Leon's boot catches on a stray rock, and he trips just as he fires. Tumbling head over heels into the cover, the bullet fires at a remarkable time and angle, and blows a hole straight through Veronica's skirt, barely missing her legs. Leon finishes rolling into cover and shakes his head. Damn it all, why now?
Leon feels a momentary chill and a ghostly chuckle whispers in his ears. "Fine shooting." It seems to say.
Sh!t, Eloi was not meant for dis kinda ting! Luckily, I always have an Ace up mah sleeve, or in dis case, two. Eloi starts running for cover by his fellow riders as he seems to throw two cards from the deck he's holding before diving behind cover.
Apache 1
Apache 2
The Irishman has realized open combat is what the situation has become and decides to join the others that are shooting those that he thinks blew up the train for what he did and/or his research. Once he gets behind cover, he shouts YOU'LL NEVER GET MY RESEARCH YOU SONS OF B+%*!ES!!! and then fires with his Colt Army pistol.
"Jesus Christ, Son of a mother fu*ker!" Veronica gives Leon a death glare. "You ruined my skirt, you piece of sh!t," she snarls. Veronica looks down at the hole in her skirt, but decides to take her frustration out on the attackers instead of Leon. Damn it. I'll have to mend this, but I have more important things to deal with right now. I'll rip that bastard a new one later. Seeing the Irishman take aim, she runs up to the solitary Indian brave, leaps over his cover, and aims a punch right at his jaw.
The Indians cry out as the posse returns fire. The solo brave stumbles backward as Veronica's fist collides with his face, then falls as Henry's shot strikes his exposed chest . A pair hiding behind a rock shout as one's throat is cut open by an impossibly precise playing card and the other is cut across the arm .
Leon grimaces as some of his allies begin firing and gunpowder fills the air. At Veronica's cursing, he grins momentarily--She said what we're all thinking, Lord--and calls back. "We're all sons of motherf*ckers, ma'am, it's in our nature. Jesus would be the one of us who isn't!" He punctuates the statement with another shot, aimed down at the brave who was cut by something the Creole threw.
As if one soul was saved from a horrible fate only for that fate to be thrown on another, Leon's aim is true. He pulls his wrist up at the last moment, and the bullet flies just over the rocks and strikes the Brave in the throat. It seems this bullet had more powder in it than was standard, for it hits with incredible force--a massive explosion of blood and gore blasts from the brave's throat as his lower head and neck are instantly pulped. The top half of his skull flies off yonder as Leon blinks and looks down at the smoking barrel of his revolver. And that was without even a prayer. The hell's going on today?
The remaining two braves take one look at Leon's victim and shout in Apache again. Drake can make out the word "Sorcerer" as they both turn and flee, firing one last volley of arrows back at the posse.
In his panic, the one shooting at Leon misses wildly, but the other manages to aim true at Eloi.
Leon can hear the raspy voice whisper in his ear again. "Lucky shot son. Lucky girl too."
As Eloi's arm is hit by an arrow he looses his balance and falls against a rock. Damn Hex Bag! *%$ &*%$*&% %&$*%$&* Hex Bag!