Deadlands: The Last Sons

What happened to Wallace Blount?
The Tall Tales of Tomas Graven

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We left Denver before we got our hides too deep into the local politics fer our own good. What happened at Denver? Well, things got interestin’ is what happened. Look, I don’t think I’m the right man to tell you that story. Try Collins or Puma, maybe Chambers. You could try askin’ Doc, but I reckon he can’t tell you much while he’s busy with that… thingmating of his, whatever it is. What I can tell you about Denver, is that I was right about Collins and Puma. They’re trustworthy and reliable. Doc and Chambers? They’re either wise to prepare for future or are out to get me. Doc wanted some of my hair for some reason “I wouldn’t understand” and I’m pretty sure I saw Chambers buying some… heavy-caliber silverware back in Denver.

Anyway, we rode like wind back to Deadwood, the sweet home to our guide. Sweet wouldn’t be the way I’d put it, what with all the dirt and sand and shootin’. We found Bull All The Time, the fellow who works at the Indian Affairs. We told him about the attacked Paiute and the upcomin’ Ghost Dance. Since the Agency was a bust, I’m back to the square one with my illness, so I was glad to hear he agreed to let me take part in the dancin’.

That’s still a long time away, and Bull needed our help for something else entirely. A friend of his, Wallace Blount, had disappeared. He needed us to go check upon him on his claim for a small reward. We did, and found his… eccentric, that’s a word, right? Right. Eccentric neighbor who told us Ol’ Blount had vamoosed to east, to Dusky Jewel. It wasn’t too far out, so we rode immediately.

The road was far from hospitable, with narrow canyons, unfriendly natives and, believe it or not, dead men hangin’ from poles. Collins knew they were a warning sign from the natives, but that wasn’t what got under my skin. No, these dead men were very much alive, at least some of them. Not alive-alive, but dead-alive. I know it’s a bit much to bite on, but I’ve seen more unbelievable thangs out there. Some of these dead men on poles attacked us and tried to grab Collins and Chambers to their ranks. Thanks to my Winchester and Puma’s knife we got them. Why they didn’t rise from our attacks, I have no idea. Important thang is, they didn’t.

Eventually, we got to Dusky Jewel. The road wasn’t pleasant, but we were in for something far worse…

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At the Towers of Madness
The Tall Tales of Tomas Graven

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We woke up in a strange land. Instead of large, undisturbed plains there were mesas filled with fungi, connected to each other with ungodly bridges of color. In the light of two full moons we walked the mesas and saw menacin’ towers in the distance. Good thing the moons didn’t make the beast come forward. Puma wouldn’t have liked that.

We came upon an another visitor to this world – a German soldier in black leather. He was trapped in this place as well, and short on food. Together we decided to make it to the towers, hopin’ we would make it back home. On the way it became clear that the German, Corporal Heinrich, had hit his head, if not worse, for he thought he had lived in the future, sometime in the 20th century.

Nearin’ the towers, we saw more of the things, Mi-Gos, patrollin’ the area. Outnumbered and outgunned, we decided to become whispers in the darkness, not cattle in rampage. That meant takin’ the silent approach.

Our element of surprise was almost used before we even had it – a beast like a dog or a wolf with gapin’ hole filled with sharp teeth for a mouth and some kind of scrapper junk for legs, the terrifyin’ abomination immediately rushed upon me and took a bite out of my leg. Then it happened. It lasted only a second, if even that, but I felt it as clearly as I feel my Winchester in my hand. I changed. I became the beast that’s livin’ inside of me.

As I came to, I saw the abomination runnin’ scared, and I saw that Puma and Heinrich almost followed it. Yet they didn’t say anythin’, and I wasn’t feelin’ like talkin’. Hopefully it happened because the moons there were all screwed up, not because… anythin’ else.

We got to a tower, and entered it. Inside the never-ending tower, there was stairs upwards. As we climbed, we heard an alarm and a bunch of mi-gos followed. We shot, punched and clawed our way up, and Puma almost got dragged down.

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We got in a room with a hole in the air, like there was in the cave. We had no time to sit down and ponder where it’d take us. We jumped in, but not before one of the bastards got its tentacled around Heinrich’s throat. Puma shot an arrow, but missed. I had one bullet in my Peacemaker left. I cocked the shootin’ iron, took aim and fired the shot. The bullet soared through the air like a leaf in the wind. A very fast and very deadly leaf. The mi-go took the bullet into its head, splicin’ its tentacle along the way. The creature fell and Heinrich jumped with us to the unknown.

Hang me high if I wasn’t pleased from what I saw. We all came through, back into the cave we left from. I saw Elena throwin’ the worm book into the rift, and the damned thing closed behind us. Adios a-mi-gos!

I would’ve been more pleased if i hadn’t been a beaten mess though. I got up and headed towards the hotel at the break of dawn. The townsfolk gathered to cheer, but I didn’t really care. I just wanted to get some sleep before it’d be impossible to get any. Tomorrow we’d be in Denver and would have whole new problems.

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The Agent, the townsfolk and the fungi monsters
The Tall Tales of Tomas Graven

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We didn’t get far before we had our first encounter with the harsh planes of Sioux Nations. We had set up camp for the night, when we heard someone riding towards us – catchin’ us. Seeing as we hadn’t left Deadwood with the lowest of profiles, I prepared myself for yet another conflict. Fortunately, the horseman proved to be an ally. Richard Speakman, he said his name was. A store owner specializin’ in miners’ needs in Deadwood. Also, an Agent for the Agency of United States. He was pleased to see us deliverin’ the case files to Denver, for he’s bein’ mighty busy with the tensions rising back at Deadwood. He promised to send a telegraph to the agents of Denver, so they’ll know we are coming, and disappeared into the night.

We got to Laramie without any trouble, and passed the town in a matter of hours. We restocked and found the town to a be as typical as a town stuck in the middle of nowhere can be. They had some mechanical animals on display, which Doc Morris got interested in, though. Me? I just wanted to continue our travel as soon as possible. The days were flying past us and full moon was already near. I didn’t need no starry skies and unlit campfires to tell me that. I felt it in my gut.

Only a couple nights before the full moon, on a rainy evenin’, we arrived to New Jerusalem. A small town like any other, but this one had a secret. Speakin’ of secrets, it was harder and harder to keep mine, as it always is this time of the month. Anyway, it all began with a scream.

The scream came from a house on the end of the street. It pierced into my ear through my nightly ritual, and I had barely the time to grab my Winchester, let alone button up my shirt. As I rushed to the street, I noticed I wasn’t the only one who had heard the scream. As disorientated as I was, the townsfolk and my travellin’ companions were heading towards the house. Nothin’ was to be found. Only an open door, burn marks on the wall and draggin’ marks in the mud, towards the mine. Then I heard an another scream.

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This time it came from the stables. I ran like the wind to get there in time. I peeked through a window, and what I saw, I didn’t believe at first. To be honest, a couple of years ago I wouldn’t have. I’ve found my mind bein’ a hella lot more open to the weirdness since I was made the weirdness. These creatures were like livin’ ‘shrooms, but with tentacles for grabbin’ stuff. Their skin was a mixture between minced meat and the goo Chambers puts to his meals. Several kinds of unpleasant.

With a little help from my companions, I managed to shoot all three of them down, and save the farmhand they were harassin’, but not without takin’ a hit myself. They used some kind of flamers, but without the flame. Only the round and burnin’ marks. I don’t know what they were, but those burners really hurt.

We got geared up and hurried towards the mines to see if the kidnapped family at the end of the street could be saved. It wasn’t long when we encountered three of the… the… ‘shroom-men… no… fungi-things… not right… ungh, screw it. They were a mix of minced meat and goo. They’re mi-go. You come up with a better name.

Fortunately, we got the drop on them and drop they did. Then we came upon it. An altar with a mysterious book, a knocked-out barber and the… rift. It was as if the air itself had a hole in it, and the hole was filled with all colors and lights, which had a strange pull towards itself. I’m not a doubtin’ Thomas by any means, but this, I’m not sure I believe it even now. I got my noggin’ mixed up and made a huge mistake. Me and Puma, we walked under it to get to next section of the mine. Then the rift sucked us in. What happened then, that’s where the weird shit starts.

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A town called Deadwood
The Tall Tales of Tomas Graven

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I’d heard of Deadwood’s violent nature, but nothin’ could’ve prepared me for the harsh reality we encountered. Every single soul in the town was carryin’ iron, and the mud on the streets was more often than not mixed with human blood. Not a place where I want to be.

We delivered the outlaws to the town marshal, Seth Bullock, for trial. He didn’t even have an office of his own. The tension only grew when Colonel Custer and his renegade bluebellies took the town under his control. This town isn’t a place where I want to be.

I’m not sure what I should make of my companions. On one hand they did help the Paiuteans get away from the deadly Ravenites on the road, but on the other hand, they have their… quirks.

As soon as we arrived to the town, it was clear to me that Robert Chambers is too interested in money and fame to pay attention to things around him. Deadwood is slowly killing itself from inside, yet he spend a whole afternoon standin’ in the mud and snakeoilin’ the townsfolk into buying shit they don’t need.

Doc Morris rented a shack in town and planned to offer medical services for the town. While noble, I can’t help but think he has an ulterior motive of some kind. His experiments made the horses nervous and, frankly, I agree with ‘em. Him wantin’ to check some Pinkerton files for his name didn’t help.

Elena Collins and Crouching Puma seem trustworthy enough, though the lady is gettin’ a bit nosy. She invited us to stay in her family’s house while in Deadwood, and even let the tinhorn snakeoil salesman take their firewood for nothing, while he got us some boar to eat. If they’re around when the moon hits, they’ll deserve to know. Hell, maybe they’ll even make sure no one gets hurt.

We had to hoof it pretty fast when we got into a conflict with some chinese men, who were working for warlord Kang’s underling, Huang Li. One of them was shot carrying some old Pinkerton files on outlaws, and his friends wanted them back when we had decided they should be given to the Pinkerton’s successor, the Agency in Denver. During the conflict the fistfighters were scared off easily enough, not by us, but by the bluebellies. We got away before they got too interested in our business.

Now we’re on the road again, this time going to Denver. Elena tells me the trip should be uneventful, as long as we make it to the Oregon Trail without problems. I hope she’s right. Once in Denver, we’ll find the Agency and give them their files. If I’m lucky, they might even help me with my condition.

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Smith and Robards saves the day!

This epic tale starts with a fellowship of six brave men and women of the west. I am Robert Chambers, a humble Smith & Robards traveling salesman. I am accompanied by five not yet significant people who are either my temporary employees or customers, depending on the situation.

We were traveling on my trademarked S&R stagecoach. Our destination was Deadwood, because I heard that place had a need for the inventions and products of the great Smith and Robards company.

But alas, the west is full of dangers. On our way to Deadwood, our journey was halted by a ragtag bunch of bandits, trying to rob us. After their leader made a forceful suggestion of removing ala of our valuable goods, I promptly told them, that we were a registered Smith and Robards reseller and their attempts to continue with this robbing would be met with the full force of S&R technology can provide.

They laughed and were joyful, for even robbers know, that S&R technology is a valuable resource. They still wanted to continue with their plan to remove the goods. That was their first and last mistake.

While my companions were surrendering, I sneaked to the back of the stagecoach and equipped myself with the patented Vapor Mask™ (VM100, S&R catalog pg. 49) and grabbed a bottle of Slumber gas™ (SU100, catalog pg. 73). Because it was a dark night, I used my Ghost Rock Watch™ (GW100, catalog pg. 53) as a temporary light source. I was ready to nonlethally eliminate a half dozen bandits alone in a matter of seconds thanks to Smith And Robards!

Then, from the cover of the S&R stagecoach, I shined the light against the bandits and threw the slumber gas to the middle of the bunch. A moment later most of the big bad bandits fell to sleep like babies. The leader was fast enough to react and left the gaseous cloud of slumber. Maybe he had taken a Greased Lightning pill™(GL100, catalog pg. 70)? Then my companions gathered their courage like they had taken a dose of Liquid Courage™(LC100, catalog pg. 71) and captured the escaping bandit leader.

After that endeavor, we chained the bandits, so we could take them to the proper authority. A few moments later an indian man wanted our help to free his brothers from some other indians. Because S&R does not discriminate, of course we had to help them. My companions did the heavy lifting while I stayed as support with my Air-Gun Rifle™(SP111, catalog pg. 88). Long story short, good indians were rescued and evacuated from the bad indian camp.

What followed from that, is a tale for an another time…

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