Bad Moon over California

[Bobitron]

October 1877, California

Dakota Turnbow

After long-term employment with a cattle baron out in Nebraska, you heard of an open call for linemen out in the mild climate of California. On the trail, a rider wearing the uniform of the US Cavalry, riding hard from the east, catches you. Pulling his horse up beside you, he catches his breath, and says “Dakota Turnbow? Thank God I found you. Marshal Colburn requests your help. I’m to escort you back to San Francisco, if yer of a mind to accept.” He pulls a letter from a worn saddlebag. Reading the letter, you make your decision, nodding to the soldier. “Times a’ wastin.”

Jeb Williams

The fur trade has slowed down in the Sierras, what with all the expansion. More and more often, you’ve been forced to travel deeper and higher into the wilderness to set your traps. Headed down into the small town of Forest Hill to trade your small collection of furs, you are met by another trapper. “I was hopin’ I’d pass ya on the way out.” he says. “I told that post rider he’d never find you hisself.” He holds a letter that bears the name of Marshal Dusty Colburn, a well-educated lawman you have heard about. Looks like he could use an experienced guide and woodsman like yourself. Selling what goods you can, you turn south towards San Francisco, where the Marshal awaits.

Jean D'Artois

You sit heels up at your private table at the Red Dog saloon in San Francisco. This has been the longest you’ve stayed put in quite a while. Maybe time to move on, you muse. Slim pickins’ round here now that the locals know I can beat ‘em however they want to play without breaking a sweat. Letting out a deep sigh, you are just about ready to go settle up with the bar when you hear the clink of spurs behind you. “Mr. D’Artoris?” a youthful voice asks, mangling the pronunciation of your name in a manner that was almost criminal. You turn to meet the man, an excuse for whatever comes up already on your lips. You recognize a young deputy who has been hanging around the saloon lately. He extends his hand, holding an unmarked envelope. Handing you the paper, he tips his hat and walks from the saloon. You had heard of Marshal Colburn; he was new to the area, but rumor was he was tossing around a bunch of money trying to find some people. Looks like you might be one of ‘em.

Michael Sun-Hand-High

After a long week riding the borders of the Chumash lands, you head back to town to pick up some provisions. Once you arrive, you find a message waiting you to check in with the liaison assigned to the tribe by the US Army. Approaching the man’s desk, your light steps do nothing to announce your presence, and the officer looks up in shock. “Ha, you snuck up on me there, Michael.” He takes out a kerchief and wipes the beading sweat from his forehead. “Look, I’ve talked to the chief, and he’s with me on this. There’s a Marshal up in San Francisco that needs your help. Asked for you specifically. I guess you’re getting a reputation. Saddle up, son.” He hands you a letter with a smile.

Riley McClean

A couple months riding shotgun for a startup stage company got you nowhere. Collecting your pay after each week, the stingy boss found reason to withhold enough that some weeks you barely had enough to feed your horse. Leaving the San Francisco office after a particularly bad week, you kick the dusty road in frustration. A uniformed deliveryman approaches you carefully, almost timid. “M-m-Mr. McClean?”, he stammers. Relieved at your affirmative answer, he smiles and breathes a sigh of relief. “Fine, fine. I have a post for you, sir. Straight from the hands of a US Marshal!” He gives a nervous smile, then backs away. Reading over the letter, a smile comes to your face. Hell, this is more money than you could make in a year riding on coaches. Things are finally looking up…

The letter is posted below.

Rogue's Gallery Thread: http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=2029735#post2029735

OOC Thread: http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=1994291#post1994291

 

[Bobitron]

Welcome to California, gents! Let me lay down a few ground rules about posting and general housekeeping before we get started.

1)Please keep track of your own Grit and ammo. I don’t want to be stuck doing housekeeping for six characters. At the top of each post, please put your character’s first name in bold, along with your Grit total (if you have taken any damage).

2)All spoken word should be in a color. Pick what you like, but please be consistent and make it something legible. Example: “Godammit, mule! Get back here!”

3)Any internal thoughts should be in italics. Example: I wonder how much gold that stage really is carrying?

4)Please put all out-of-character comments in the color Dim Gray. Example: Shoot the lawman in the foot, I don’t want to kill him.

5)How you roll dice is up to ya’ll. I don’t care to see your rolls, so just be honest about the numbers. Please display the basic math used to get each roll, though. Place the total for each roll in bold. Remember, die rolls are OOC info, so they should also be in Dim Gray. Example: Drake clocks the gambler with his meaty fist (attack roll 12+8= 20, damage 5+3 for strength= 8)

6)When in doubt, post. I don’t want anyone stuck waiting around for me or another player when they have something to say. Don’t worry too much about the sequence of things, just post if you want to.

7)Finally, I will make mistakes in this game. I’m new to D20 Modern and Sidewinder. Anything you all can do to help things along will be greatly appreciated.

 

[Bobitron]

The 25th of October has come, and you have all gathered at the Rosewood Saloon in San Francisco. The mild California weather is a welcome change to those of you more accustomed to life in the region’s tougher climates. The warm sun is just starting to dip below the buildings on the street, casting long shadows away from the Pacific. The Rosewood is near the docks, and the smell of the sea is faint in the air. Work still continues all around, with merchants anxious to get in one last sale before the day’s end, a fishmonger’s cart dealing out fresh catches to housewives, and a group of stevedores working hard to balance a large load of cotton passing deeper into the city, stacked high on a wagon. The Rosewood Saloon looks like one of the nicer establishments in this neighborhood, and a young boy sweeps the entrance frantically to keep up with the dust rising from the road after the passing wagon.

Entering the Rosewood, you find it mostly empty, with only a few old men sitting about playing cards and talking about old times. It’s obvious this is a successful saloon, but most of its business must come after the dock supervisors and merchants shut down for the night. At 4:00 pm, it seems to be the perfect place for a quiet meeting. Looking about, there doesn’t seem to be anyone who might be the lawman you were sent to meet. Another young boy carries glasses back and forth from what must be the kitchen, and a burly man stands behind the bar, polishing pint glasses with a well-used rag.

 

[synecdoche]

John D'Artois

A slim, dapper gentleman enters and slowly takes stock of the situation the room. He is wearing a suit in the latest style, black, and silver-rimmed spectacles. After a moment, the man heads produces a silver flask from inside his coat, takes a swig, and replaces it. He then heads to the most convenient gaming table and produces some money.

"Good day, gentlemen," he says in an accent that is unmistakably from Louisiana. "My name is John D'Artois. Could I trouble you for a hand or two? It appears as though my meeting may occur a might later than expected."

 

[hobbit_killer]

Jebidiah "Bear Trap" Williams

A large man enters the Rosewood and strolls up to the bar. He is dressed in buckskins and has a big bore rifle thrown over his shoulder and looks completley out of place here. This fact is hammered home when he spits a wad of tobacco into a spitoon in the corner, at least he attempts too, most of it goes on the floor and wall. He sits down at the bar leaning the rifle next to him. "Whiskey, bar man. I'ma lookn' for a Marshal Colburn. No where I can find him?"

 

[Bobitron]

John D'Artois

"Good day, gentlemen," he says in an accent that is unmistakably from Louisiana. "My name is John D'Artois. Could I trouble you for a hand or two? It appears as though my meeting may occur a might later than expected."

"Well, slide up a chair, young man! Always happy to part a fool and his money. The game is Poker, and I'll happily deal you in next hand." The man speaking give a wide smile, showing perfect teeth. He is in his late 60's, and is dressed like a banker or barrister. "I'm Jake, and these fine gentlemen are David and Frank." The other two display nowhere near the same confidence and glee that Jake does.

Jake mops up his hand quite nicely, and it's easy to see you have met a fellow professional.

"What do you say, John? Let's start with... say... $15 a hand?" He rapidly shuffles the cards. "I'll start the deal. Five card Draw, nothin' wild but the dealer."

The ante is a purchase DC of 15, unless you want to try to talk him into changing it.

 

[Bobitron]

A large man enters the Rosewood and strolls up to the bar. He is dressed in buckskins and has a big bore rifle thrown over his shoulder and looks completley out of place here. This fact is hammered home when he spits a wad of tobacco into a spitoon in the corner, at least he attempts too, most of it goes on the floor and wall. He sits down at the bar leaning the rifle next to him. "Whiskey, bar man. I'ma lookn' for a Marshal Colburn. No where I can find him?"

The barkeep pours from a large bottle into a newly cleaned glass. "Colburn has a room rented out for y'all to meet in. Had us bring in a big table and such. He asks for you all to make yerselves comfy, and he will arrive shortly."

 

[Committed Hero]

Michael Sun-Hand-High

Michael observes the exterior of the saloon for a few minutes. These may be a civilized city, but sometimes the simple presence of a brave among palefaces is enough to incite tensions. As a knot of rough-looking patrons exit, he enters before the door closes shut. He relaxes a bit, seeing quite a few strangers already in the bar. He orders a glass of beer and waits in the wings for the marshall to arrive.

 

[synecdoche]

"Well, slide up a chair, young man! Always happy to part a fool and his money. The game is Poker, and I'll happily deal you in next hand." The man speaking give a wide smile, showing perfect teeth. He is in his late 60's, and is dressed like a banker or barrister. "I'm Jake, and these fine gentlemen are David and Frank." The other two display nowhere near the same confidence and glee that Jake does.

Jake mops up his hand quite nicely, and it's easy to see you have met a fellow professional.

"What do you say, John? Let's start with... say... $15 a hand?" He rapidly shuffles the cards. "I'll start the deal. Five card Draw, nothin' wild but the dealer."

The ante is a purchase DC of 15, unless you want to try to talk him into changing it.

John D'Artois smiles. "Salut, gentlemen. A pleasure. Fifteen dollars? Well that sounds just ideal." He pulls up a seat and produces fifteen dollars.

(Wealth check = 7 + 14 = 21)

 

[Max]

Riley McClean carefully threads his horse through the San Francisco crowds, looking for the Rosewood Saloon. "Should be around here somewhere," he mutters to himself. After narrowly avoiding a freight wagon and waiting for a couple drunken sailors to weave their way in front of him, Riley finally spots the saloon.

Tying his horse at the railing, Riley looks relieved to leave the crowds behind. "Damn big city traffic." He unconsciously checks his guns to be sure they are in place and easy to hand before entering the saloon.

The barkeep pours from a large bottle into a newly cleaned glass. "Colburn has a room rented out for y'all to meet in. Had us bring in a big table and such. He asks for you all to make yerselves comfy, and he will arrive shortly."

Riley enters the saloon, just in time to hear the bartender tell a very large man just what he needed to know. Finding an empty spot at the bar, Riley will order a beer and wait for the Marshal. He will lean back against the bar, so he is facing the room and can keep an eye on the patrons as well as the door.