The Past
In the year 4709 War came to Nirmathas. The hobgoblin horde that invaded the land was resisted by a group of brave heroes whose names have been lost to time. After all, who remembers heroes whose actions led to… this? And can they really be considered heroes after all? The Mana Wastes seem a quaint curiosity, the Worldwound a land of order compared to the disaster that befell what was once Nirmathas, Ustalav, Lastwall, and portions of the Hold of Belkzen. This blasted wasteland produces nothing, nothing natural anyway.
Perhaps the greatest fall-out from “the Apocalypse” as the Bards now call it, was the destruction of the Wards that held Tar-Baphon in his prison. The Whispering Tyrants greatest foes’ were all but wiped out from the face of Golarion by the blast. Still, the Lich was in no rush to confront those who remained. Instead he gained strength in secret – the Orcs, the Hobgoblins whose dreams of Kingdom came crashing down on them, and of course the living dead the number of whom proliferated astronomically due to the devastation wrought by the Invasion.
From tragedy though there is also opportunity, many from Nidal, the Riverlands and even Cheliax began to descend on the Wastelands also known as “the Waste” to pick the corpse of the Nations that were. It was a group of these interlopers in 4720 that discovered the return of the Whispering Tyrant forcing his hand in what would one day be known as “the Waste War”.
The strength of Lastwall by this time had been slowly whittled down by the Whispering Way agents who manipulated the creatures known as the “Mutants” to expend the strength of the Clerics on these foes. Thus, the Counties of Ustalav that remained fell under assault by the forces of the Tyrant with little effective resistance. By day the Orcs and their Hobgoblin generals fought the armies of man. By night Vampires with powers heretofore unseen struck behind enemy lines. The Tyrant though would not settle on Ustalav alone this time, now he sought to conquer east to the Lake of Mists and Veils if not beyond.
Thus, did the Tyrant make a significant tactical error. By 4730 Ustalav was once again conquered and renamed by the rest of the surrounding lands the Terror. Once the denizens of the Terror pushed east, the people’s of Numeria and the Riverlands pushed back.
The burgeoning Kingdom of Freedom recognized the danger before the Tyrant began his eastward push through their spymaster Ursula who made a most unusual contact within the Terror itself. The Council of Freedom approached the city of Torch now long known for its famous forge fires. With the strength of Lastwall spent they argued, if the devices known as firearms could be produced on a massive scale, it may well turn the tide against the forces of the Tyrant, which Freedom argued were coming. The Council of Torch agreed but informed the leaders of Freedom that it would take a significant investment to create such a large number of forges and hire and train enough blacksmiths and gunsmiths to run it, an investment that the Technic League would not finance.
Karl Medyved assured the Council of Torch that it could be done. Councilor Medyved approached old King Noleski Surtova of Brevoy whom he had known since childhood and convinced both the King and the Brevoy Royalty of the seriousness of the danger, by bringing a traitor from the midst of the Whispering Tyrant with him! At this time, the name of the mole was not yet known. Resources in hand, the people of Torch began to increase the size and number of forges to craft guns and ammunition as well as the craftsmen to create even more wondrous firearms.
When the Whispering Tyrant’s forces came east, the Free peoples were ready for them. Though not as effective as the powers of the divine, the firearms still proved the measure of the evil forces due to their increased destructive capacity. Their range allowed for less casualties than traditional melee weapons and therefore less corpses for the Necromancers of the Way to turn against the forces of Light, well forces of the Gray. Moreover, the Androids were able to guard at night against the night raids of the Vampires in a way human sentries never could, especially with the spy network of Freedom providing intelligence prior to nearly every strike.
By 4740 the forces of the Tyrant were pushed fully into the Terror and the ranks of the Hobgoblins and Orcs mostly broken. This did not of course come without great loss of life and resources. Much of the youth of Freedom, Brevoy, the northern River Lands, and the residents of Torch were lost to the War. The Technic League and Kevoth Kul abstained from the War thus the power of Starfall was not with the “League of Nations” which had developed out of necessity.
Fighting through the Terror was agreed upon by the League and encouraged by the remnants of Ustalav to put an end to the Tyrant once and for all. The remnants of Lastwall’s divine heroes rose once more and it was their arrival at the Moot that swayed the vote to take the fight to Gallowspire. By 4752 the seminal moment of the battle came when arrayed on the field of battle around the Gallowspire, the forces of the League along with the leader of Lastwall’s remaining clerics and Paladins looked into the sky and saw a massive meteor hurtling towards them all!
Suddenly the meteor stopped in mid-air and there it remained and has remained ever since. The undead of the Gallowspire held as the Vampires who could not fight by day surged onto the battlefield now that the meteor blocked the effects of the hated sunlight and the League’s forces were broken. Since that day, the Terror and much of the eastern Waste has been turned over to the Tyrant and his former allies, the Council of Eternal Night.
According to the spy who history has revealed as Ilnerik Sivanshin, a former Legendary Pathfinder member of the Council of Thieves’ and former holder of a seat on the Eternal Council, the Tyrant was forced from his body in an effort to stop the meteor that was sent by the Council to destroy him. It seemed that the Council was determined to destroy the Tyrant and his forces along with his foes in one fell swoop! Ironically, in order to save himself and his fiefdom, the Lich saved many of his enemies as well.
Once the Tyrant stopped the meteor, Ilnerik in a letter to the League, claims that he slew the wizard who had the knowledge of the magic of the Starfall and took that knowledge with him into wherever he is currently hiding as the Council of Eternal Night has placed a bounty of one million gold upon his head for his betrayal.
Thus, the War of the Waste ended in a stalemate. Tar-Baphon was once more trapped utilizing his magic to prevent yet another Armageddon and the League was forced to quit the Terror as the Land of Eternal Night was simply too dangerous for the living to enter on a sustained basis.
The Council of Eternal Night both won and lost. It gained a fiefdom that until the suspended starfall is dealt with cannot be invaded but it has also lost the advantage that it had for millennia, the secret of its existence. Of course, dealing with the Starfall will once more release the Whispering Tyrant from his self-imposed prison so none are in a rush to do so…
Present Day
As a result of the War, the proliferation of Firearms within the area of the Riverlands has increased exponentially. Duels are fought with pistols and even the poorest of families own a few antique firearms for home defense. Kingdoms such as Andoran, Taldor, Cheliax, and Osirian have turned their eyes toward increased trade and perhaps conquest considering the weakened state and the technological leaps that the area has made vis a vis the rest of Golarion. Of course, the existence of the Wastelands and the Terror give even Cheliax pause to commit to attempting to control such a dangerous place.
Despite the success of the League in the War, the failure by the Technic League and Kevoth Kul to ratify the League formally forced Torch to withdraw. Without Numeria, the realms of the Riverlands refused to be bound by the original League agreement. Torch has been ordered to shut down extra forges by the Technic League who seems reluctant to send their own representative there to oversee their closure. Thus they still fire new weapons but with a much smaller market to sell them to.
Brevoy now having lost direct access to the forges of Torch blamed the Council of Freedom and for the past seven years the two Kingdoms have had no diplomatic relations.
Freedom and Numeria are also at odds due to the “annexation” of sections of Numeria by Freedom during the Waste War. Freedom claims the land was granted to it while Numeria has threatened to invade countess times over the past half-decade.
Freedom’s Council has gotten old, it heroes of yesteryear now old men and women, advisors more than adventurers. Potentially besieged on all sides the Kingdom has pulled back in on itself and refuses to aid any other realms after the massive losses they sustained in the Waste War.
The River Kingdoms have seen an increase in the theft of goods that transit between Kingdoms, especially where it is believed the cargo is firearms, something that rarely happened in the past.
With the Waste War in the past, the remnants of Lastwall have now begun to address the threats of the Waste near Vellumis, the small strip of land of Lastwall that is still habitable by those who do not wish to live a harsh life in the Waste.
Miraculously, cities, especially the traditionally largest cities in the lands destroyed, have become inhabited by those who are desperate or somehow see opportunity in the Waste. New towns such as Desert’s End and the Last Stop cater to adventurers, treasure seekers and the mad providing supplies to those who brave the Wastelands, and making a fortune in the process.
Caliphas and Versex are all that remain of Ustalav. The people of these lands guard the border with firearms and are disappointed in the Leagues’ failure to defeat the Whispering Tyrant yet again. The people are even more dour and unwelcoming than they have been in the past.
Northern Ustalav has been absorbed by the Orcs of Belkzen on one side and the former Hobgoblins of the Fangwoods who inhabit the Shudderwood on the other. Skirmishes along these borders are common without the presence of the Whispering Tyrant to keep such bad blood in check. The only city under human control is Lepidstadt where the University is once more open. A Wizard who served Tar-Baphon has opened it to any who are willing to learn though the price of tuition may be steep indeed to study in a city where a Necromancer reigns supreme.
Then there is the Waste...
The Wastes
A desolate region full of buried secrets ready to be unearthed by the fearless or the reckless, the Waste is a region that stretches from the Mindspin Mountains in the west to the Hungry Mountains and Lake Encarthan in the east.
All of Nirmathas and the Fangwoods along with most of Lastwall and much of the Hold of Belkzen and Ustalav were consumed in the blast the cause of which is still not entirely known today. (1)
The effects of the blast in many areas annihilated all that it touched whereas in others it merely rotted or transformed what it touched.(2) Energy from the blast slew countless thousands of the living and metamorphed thousands of others into the restless dead or "mutants". Many Mutants inhabit the cities of the Wastes such as Urgir or No Man's Land. Few other than Mutants frequent these cities or at least few survive to speak of their experiences there.(3)
Zeroe is the place which is believed to be the blast radius of "the Apocalypse" and delving into its environs it is said can turn one into a mutant or trap you in the outer planes.(4)
Gallowspire at the edge of the eastern Waste is still the stronghold of the Whispering Tyrant trapped in stasis. The dead and those that revere the dead keep it.(5) Just south of the Tyrant's ancient stronghold is Sidstalav the Land of Eternal Night. Above this patch of land in the Waste the Captive Starfall is still held in stasis by powerful magic. The center of the Land daylight never touches and the Vampires of the Eternal Council rule here.(6)
A few civilized settlements have sprung up to cater to those that would travel to and through the Wastes. Desert's End caters to Humanoid adventurers while the Last Stop caters to Humans.(7)
Vellumis is an oasis in the desert that is the Wastes. The last of the strength of Lastwall resides there providing succor to travelers that are imperiled by the threats of the Wastes.(8)
Few venture to the far west of the Wastes as, rimmed in by the Mountains, the deadliest of the creatures of the Fangwoods have long since made these areas their home. The remaining Druids of the Mountains have become much more aggressive since the creation of the Waste and consider all intelligent life guilty of the Apocalypse and treat them accordingly.(9)
Still buried treasure, unearthed ruins, and more await those who would traverse the Wastes. There is even rumor of a Consortium that seeks to create a pathway through the Waste to allow quick travel overland through it.(10)
Welcome to the Wastes and Beware! Your first misstep may be your last...
Last Stand - Oasis Tavern
Pockets lined with coin, non-denominated of course the only coin available in a land that is no land, the new acquaintances sit dead center in the Oasis. The Oasis is unquestionably the fanciest watering hole in the Last Stand, literally the first place most travelers see when coming from the east and the last place travelers see when they leave, generally kissing the ground in the town that they survived where so many others did not...
These groups though, are made of sterner stuff. Each has a reputation in Last Stand and the Waste. Somehow, that last job was the first time any of the groups had crossed paths.
The room is buzzing with the news of another local group who pulled in a big Bounty on a Wizard who was slaying Waste settlers. Locals are calling them the Magnificent Seven...
Clad in a dust-covered traveling cloak, a jury-rigged rifle sitting next to him, Alsande is intent on sewing back a gash on his left arm and speaking with a hint of irritation.
"Yes, it technically went well. I am saying it could have gone better. I understand that the situation was frantic, but either "Take care, Hobgoblin incoming!" or "Hello there, mind helping us with our quarry?" would have been nicer ways to introduce yourself than wild shotgun blasts. And it's nice that they weren't aimed at us, but assume it's explosive is a good rule of thumb. Anyway, all things considered, you contained the damage effectively, and we got what we were looking for. Drinks to a job well done?"
The android cuts the thread with a small, intricate gizmo, and covers his arm with several layers of light fabric.
"We already decided to cut you in on the bounty for the trouble. You could at least try and be grateful."
"Aye to the drinks!"
Rob enters the place and removes his hat. Some grains of sand fall to the ground while he presses the hat against his chest and murmurs a prayer.
The sound of his boots stepping through the drinking hall is accompanied by the tingling of the spurs. He gets to the bar and asks for something to eat and drink.
"Bring sumthing tasty for me and me friends, will ya? We got coin and dry throats."
Then he takes a long look around the place and seeks for an empty table.
Mylon places himself between Alsande and Samuel, drinks in hand.
"Now, fellas, there's no need for bickering. Sure, there were a few hiccups, but that's what makes a good story! What matters is we're alive, we're victorious, and we're just a bit richer, too!"
He sits back in his chair and taps his chin.
"Now, what's a good rhyme for 'explosion'..."
"Erosion" says Rob, to no one in particular.
"What was 'is name again?" he asks, talking to Alsande and pointing to his rifle.
"Corrosion works too." Alsande lowers the scarf covering his head and takes a sip of the beverage through discolored lips. All of his skin seems to have an ashen tone, fingering him as not human.
"That's a custom-made caliber forty-five longarm, never seen another like that." he starts explaining, evidently proud of it. "The barrel's copper, and that layer around it is a solenoidal magnetophoric inductor I made myself. Pulsed current is channeled through spiriform conductors, inducing a magnetic field that can accelerate a projectile with no need for black powder. It's still pretty loud, but it travels a lot further without losing velocity. Heavy load on the metal, though, needs constant maintenance."
"Aye, and what's 'is name?" he goes again, putting his own, custom-made rifle in front of him. "This is Mary Anne."
"I... didn't give it a name. Didn't feel the need to. Right now it's just a prototype magnetophoric gun."
Mylon nods at the Reverend's rifle. "Named after a real lady, I'm guessing? Classic. I like it."
"Me, I went with something a little...unconventional." He holds up his revolver. "Maelstrom."
"Still, a gun with no name can often speak for itself. Especially a contraption like yours, Alsande."
Robs looks a bit surprised. "Real? Watcha mean? This is the only Mary Ann I know. She was introduced ta me by God and I made her."
He puts the rifle aside and sits.
"Maelstrom, uh? Gotta like the name."
Herman walks into the bar, he tips his hat and removes his dusty greatcoat revealing his white three-piece suit and a beautifully crafted double barreled sawed off shotgun strapped to his leg with a bayonet to easily match it. Making his way to the bar, positioning himself on either side of bounty hunters. He places his coat on his empty stool, removing his hat to fix his hat hair ready to order from the bartender/maid.
"I say, I say good day to you. Glad to finally have a little respite from the harshness of the oh so dreaded waste. Now if you don't mind, I'd like a stiff drink for me and my companions." letting out a small smile as he makes his order.
"I don't mean to pry into your life, wouldn't be very professional of me. If you don't mind me asking, what have you done to earn your weapon such names? It's mighty unlucky to name them without reason or just cause."
A tinny chuckling is heard from the rafters, as Kiana decides to drop down from the shadows onto the bartop with a loud *clunk*, seemingly unburdened by the miscellany festooning her person. She readjusts her leather cap around her horns, and bows to the surrounding... gentlemen, for want of a better word.
"You've got a real rat problem up there matey, aha," she offers to the bartender. I'll take one of those oh-so-lovely drinks though, a large if ya don't have quarrel. Put it on Sheriff's tab; I'm a "companion", apparently."
She then turns to the congratulatory five and asks, grinning toothily, "So! What job was this then?".
"what have you done to earn your weapon such names?"
"Oi! Mary Anne's name be not earned, twas told ta me by God!"
"Sorry for assuming, Rob. I've seen the 'named his gun after his murdered wife / kidnapped daughter' cliche too many times. And who am I to argue with, uh...God?"
"And Herman, I'm of the opinion that you can't make a good story before you come up with a good title."
The barkeep nods to Reverend Bob and soon enough food and drink appear. A few roasted chickens with lemon potatoes arrive on hotplates as well as dark mugs of ale. This place is the best the town has to offer and it shows in the quality of the food and drink.
A few moments later the Barkeep scowls at Kiana as she lands, "Little Missy, I don't allow feet on my bar I don't care how small they are. You head to yer table an I'll send a drink along with one of the servin' gals".
As the new companions settle in and discuss their weapons, a very attractive woman approaches the table wearing rather revealing clothing. "Afternoon folks. I hear you all just got a reward for some hard work bounties. My employer could use some folk like you. The pay is good but the work dangerous but I suppose danger ain't too relevant to folk who're looking for notoriety for themselves and their sidearms, am I right?"
Samual leans back in his chair and puts his boots up on the table. He rubs the rough stubble on his chin in feigned contemplation.
"Normally I'd scold you for butting in, but it sounds like you've got good reason. What sort of work are we talking about?"
Alsande crooks his head, watching the newcomer.
"Don't care much for notoriety myself. What is the pay?"
Herman will eye the woman up and down, pouring his glass of whiskey into his mouth.
He stands to his feet, brushing off what dust might of touched his suit, retrieving his pocket watch,eagerly checking the time.
"Well gentlemen, you know it's rude to refuse and I reckon we're on the clock. I say I say, what would this humble town do without us? Now if you you'd be so kind to excuse me, I need to get some fresh air."
He reaches for a small box of cigars in his inner breast pocket. He parts his suit to the side, displaying the inside of his suit is lined with shotgun slugs. He jingles as he makes his way to the exit.
The woman watches as Herman steps up and out and then turns back to the table, "The pay is earned based on ears collected. Ya'll know that there ain't no safe ways to git from here till the interior cities of the waste without some serious danger. Well my employer has a way but he needs there ta be a group o' lawmen that ain't exactly lawmen like yerselves to pave the way fer err... progress like". She bats her eyelashes at Samuel as she speaks.
Herman steps out to the front porch and watches the crowds go by. Wagons filled with goods or people, or goods and people. This town thrives at the edge of a dead part of the world, it speaks to the tenacity of the folk that choose to live here that there is any life at all.
Everyone and everything are covered in dust and grit, seems that's all there is out here on this frontier. Nothing and no one can keep clean. The wind brings new sand even to this end of the waste where green pastures of Razmiran are not far away.
You wonder for a moment what keeps you out here... the search...
Before you can dwell too far into your thoughts a few gentlemen out on the street bump into one another and begin an altercation screaming at each other in whatever their local dialects are. The streets begin to clear as both are packing and each seems to have a twitchy gun hand.
Foolish humans, they're so complacent running around like rats. Eat, breed and die. Unaware of what lingers beyond the starry veil of the night.
Herman looks towards group armed men.
Well, we all have our parts to perform in this play
He fixes his hat, removing his shotgun from, his hip holster and makes his way towards the men. Ensuring he has enough space to shoot at either of the men if needed.
"What in tarnation is going on here sirs? Now I hope you don't mind little old me taking a gander at your little reunion."
Herman cocks his shotgun,"I have enough allspice here to turn you fine men into some fancy meat pies. There will be law and there will be order, unless you want to feed the vultures?" He spits his half smoked cigarette. Eyeing both men with his finger dancing on the trigger.
"Ah, I was concerned it would be something nefarious" replies Samuel, with only a semi-feigned sigh of relief.
"Nothing wrong with bloodying a few unwholesome folk in the name of progress."
Rob watches as some of his fellows go out to stop the fight. He just shrugs and takes a long sip of ale while using his other hand to try to reach for a chicken drumstick.
"Chiken's gonna get cold an' we don't want that, right?"
While chewing some chicken, he's actually aware that no one else joins the situation and catches any of his companions by surprise.
|
"If your stools were tall enough, I wouldn't have to, mate. Thanking you for the drink though."
Kiana, sipping her drink, listens through the assignment, following silently after Herman as he leaves. Something seems to be occupying her mind... not that she can work out what it is.
---
As the altercation begins, she jumps into the shadows of a nearby building, waiting to see if anything escalates.
The woman smiles as a wide as the open countryside, "Wonderful. Well, after you are done with this little, eh, celebration get yourselves ready and I will have my employer send a carriage around the way to fetch you fine folks! Does that sound choice?"
"You the law round here?" one asks.
The second appears to recognize you and raises his hands away from his gun slowly.
"Real easy, that's the spirit.
Herman shifts his focus to man who questioned him.
"One of the last few in the wastelands, sir.So you'd best think about your approach. Just walk away and I will spare your lives."
Kiana silently draws her two pistols, loading them in one smooth, silent motion. She grins, making sure not to let the light glint off her all-too-many teeth.
"Sure, why not. Could use the money." Of course, assumed they aren't trying to dupe us. Might very well be hiring us as thugs, for all I know. Eyes open.
Alsande never was a good judge of character, and he compensates this weakness through full-fledged paranoia.
Mylon, refusing to be left out of the action, steps outside, standing next to Herman.
"I'd listen to him, if I were you. If things got violent...it wouldn't end well for ya."
Rob keeps watching. Nothing special seems to be happening - it doesn't really look like an ambush or something. The man just had a big mouth in the worst moment.
More of his friends are approaching, and this could be dangerous. The poor lad is going to be turned into a sieve, but too many guys together...
Rob picks another piece of chicken and stands up, walking a bit nearer to the door.
"Oi! Chicken's gonna be cold! Cut yer s++% and come eat or Imma eat all!"
Samuel casts a sideways glance at the evolving situation outside but elects to remain seated. Instead he turns back to the woman: "We may be getting out of here sooner than that, love, depending on how the afternoon plays out. I didn't catch your name, by the way.
The first one is a stubborn bastard, "Far as I unnerstannit the law don't go round here law dog!"
He draws on you!
The gunman is a damn quickdraw expert and gets the drop on you.
The shot catches Xocualtuatl square in the damn chest!
Bob at the doorway sees the Gunman draw, crazy bastard is one of those "cowboy" types thinks he can solve all his problems with a gun! Hell, the guy probably does not even see little Kiana standing in the shade to Herman's left. You could go back to the table and fetch you Mary Anne but this one seems like he'd be dead before you got back...
The rest of those seated at the table hear a gunshot outside, the distinctive sound of a revolver going off for sure!
The woman winces at the sound of the shot but does not duck, nearly half the place draws a sidearm the other half ducks.
She replies as if the place was not about to erupt, "I'm Naomi sugar".
Samuel casually takes another drink.
"Is that 'Naomi Sugar', or 'Naomi' and you've just taken to calling me 'sugar'?"
She laughs as patrons begin flipping tables for cover, "With someone as sweet as you, what do you think?"
Herman whinces as the bullet digs into his body. His eye widen as he notices the blood staining his suit.
"Shooting a lawmen is death sentence, I'm going to kill you twice over boy, staining my suit."
Hazy from the shock, he lifts his shotgun. The sun beaming in his eye and the chilly wind of death lingers over the empty street.
Unsure if the first shot made its mark, he smirks as his second slug shot tears through the gunmen's belly, little the huntman's knife in his prey.
the streets roar with the sound of thunder.
Samuel nods "Right, well it's been a pleasure Naomi, but it seems we'd best begin vacating this here establishment."
He stands up from his chair and dons his coat with a flourish. "What say you, gentlemen? Shall we get while the getting's good?"
Bang! goes the guy's pistol. Bang! Bang! goes Herman's shotgun. Rob foresees the butchery and goes to fetch Mary Anne - not to use her, but to prevent her from being 'borrowed'.
"Oi! Things escalate rather quickly 'round 'ere!"
Hoping things stay where they are - shot and counter-shot - he takes a long look around the bar.
Kiana, having been slightly distracted by a particularly interesting shadow, quickly darts out into range.
"Hah! Bad play, friend," she calls from the shadows before appearing behind the figure.
Assuming the attacker still stands after Herman's assault, she unloads two shots into his back.
"Don't join the table when you don't know the cards, human." Her voice has lost its sing-song quality.
She then spins around, aiming her weapons at the other who may want to join in. They are already loaded, though it'd be a real sharp who'd notice. She is grinning in a way that could charitably called "mischievous", though she does seem touched by concern, perhaps for her ally's wound.
With a groan, Alsande grabs his rifle, spinning and setting the coils in a complex pattern. A small spark moves through the copper barrel. "Is it always that loud around you folks? Or maybe it's a local custom, saying hi with a few shots?"
Twirling the gun over in his hands, he loads a small sphere in place of a bullet, sliding a small lever over the chamber. "Are we going?"
Samuel turns to the woman. "Well Naomi, care to take the lead?"
Last Stand - Oasis Tavern -
The Gunslinger appears genuinely socked when Herman does not go down. He takes the shot from Herman's weapon and is about to return fire when from nowhere Kiana's tiny weapons roar to life, her discharge shreds the man, sending hi to the street in a heap. His weapon skitters into the street.
Afterwards there is silence, the other gunman who was about to confront the trigger happy gunman tips his cap to Kiana and Herman, "Much obliged Lawman. I've heard o' you, you're all they say and more!"
The rest of the patrons on the street remain still, it seems this man was alone or at least any who were with him are not clamoring to die alongside him.
Last Stand - Oasis Tavern -
Naomi heads towards the back door, "Follow me then..."
---
Bob, you are the only person in the group who sees front and back, you'd say the business out front is done unless someone else decides to get cute.
Herman gives a respectful nod to Kiana.
"I say, thank you partner. Things were getting a little hairy, I might not of made it if you didn't join our little dance."
Herman walks up to the corpse of the would be gunslinger. He bends onto one knee, clutching his gunshot wound. He searches the man, removing his possessions and looking for clues to why he would of attack the other man.
The dead don't need gear.
He uses his shotgun to stand to his feet,"Don't worry about it my lucky friend, someone needs to be the Law around here. Now before you go I need to ask you a few questions. Who was that man and why was he itching for a fight?"
As trouble seems to have died down, Alsande walks out the front door and straps the rifle to his back. "Ah, being the Law. Sounds like quite the bother, to be honest, but I can appreciate a well-run society. Although I'm not sure this doesn't qualify as excessive violence. Oh well. Need a stitch as we wait?"
As a magician drawing trick dices, Alsande produces surgeon's tools and thread from one of his myriad hidden pockets.