Here was a man (A WBD Play-test)
A Whiskey, Blood and Dust generated story
here was a man, badge on his chest
sun, red and piercing, hitting the horizon
tree limb creaks in the wind, boots dangle off the ground
gurgle, like that of a small brook. growing fainter.
burst of movement, reaching grasping kicking howling touches nothing
Stillness, a hush, sun dips
SNAP
falls, crumples to the ground gasping gasping gasping
hands grasping grasping grasping at the rope tearing it away
reds oranges last gasp before dark shoot across the sky
here was a man. sheriff, law-keeper, law-man, enforcer of peace and keeper of justice
no more
here was a home, smell of ash and fire lingers
horse comes out of the darkness, finds him, wet nose
been let go and ran off before it all, soft
he brushes her, pats her gently, holds her for a minute. good girl
he finds them, whats left of them, buries them
scorched plank tacked to another plank atop a mound to mark it
moonlight glints off the badge on the mound
here was a home, where a family lived, laughed and loved, woke up and went to sleep, farmed and fought
no more
town’s quiet, streets empty, bad night to be out
hitches her to the post
door’s locked, key back in the ashes,
smashes glass with his elbow, sound sharp in the hush of the night
moon bright enough to move by, but he doesn’t need it
belt and revolver hanging, straps it on. box of bullets, opens the chamber of the gun, loads it, more bullets. more supplies
hey-y sheriff, that you
shriveled old man in one of the cells, haggard and hoarse
key off the wall, tosses it at the cell
th-thank you, sheriff
i’m not a sheriff anymore
his voice barely more than a rasp, coughing, hat off the desk,
knows where he’s headed
West.
that’s where the killers went, into the chihuahuan desert
day of riding over scrubby parched shrubs and hardpack, sun blazing in the sky and traveling in circles
takes his hat off, wipes his forehead, spits on the ground, puts his hat back on
vultures flap their wings nearby
fuck you birds
night come on, quick and cold. he sleeps or doesn’t
memories, dreams, visions, all mixed together
family, fire burning, skeletons, ashes, choking, choking
woke up, throat burning, hands clutching, gasping, gasping
cool water from a canteen soothes
dark clouds in the distance, dark omen
water pours down as if it were the end of days, gulches filling up quick
finds high ground as best he can, shelf of rock and ledge
camped, getting soaked, still lost
a meager road, a wagon, wheels smashed, several folk around looking scared or wounded. In the wagon lay a man, dead, shot in the head, a woman holding his hand, eyes red
sir
a man waving at him
he stopped the horse
help us
what happened here
outlaws attacked us, you see what all they did
you need a law man
can you take one of us into town? it ain’t far
far enough and in the wrong direction
please, sir, have a heart
you got feet
a confused look, indignation, tight lips
we need justice
he shook his head
wrong place
he rode on
he kept west, finding his way, following the meager road upon which he’d found the wagon
the sun rises and sets and he keeps on
a day of lightning flashing into the sky, though no rain fell, boomclaps erupting
Some days he’s lost and some days he isn’t, following trails that were there at times which faded into nothing or takes him in a circle until he found himself right back where he’d already been
In the distance, figures riding, riding well and riding fast
natives, for sure
he sees them and they see him
Apaches, rough bunch, black marks across their faces, hard eyes, harder hides, tough motherfuckers
he has a hand on the butt of his revolver and keeps riding
half a dozen of them, glaring, suspicious, but riding by without incident
he lets out a breath, eases his hand off the gun
didn’t want no trouble with them
next day, more lightning, no rain
was it a sign, which way from which god
that he was doin’ right or wrong
only a holy man could say and they’d be lyin
finding his way west again but the land remained unchanged and unchanging.
that night, he hears the group coming long before they find him at his campsite
familiar faces
hey sheriff
you see a badge
No
what the hell ya doin out ‘ere
you weren’t the only one that lost folk
you should go back home ‘for you get yourselves killed
not until we get justice
this ain’t about justice, stay if you want but know this may cost you yer life, you reckon with that cuz it won’t be on me
the next day, the group moved on, the man and seven townsfolk
as the sun sat high in the sky, a group could be seen on the road, six riders and a jail wagon, one man with the reins, one riding shotgun.
he recognizes the prisoner and slows down
he was part of a band that attacked our town a few days ago, where you find him
the saloon in town just west of here, day and a half’s ride, he was alone
he looked at the prisoner, met his eyes
where the rest of you at
the prisoner looked down, didn’t answer
make sure he hangs
Oh he will
night coming on and the town’s quiet, couple hundred folks live here, a criss-cross of streets with standing buildings, an inn, a saloon, a brothel, a bank, a blacksmith, list goes on
if you were lookin’ for it, you could probably find it here
what now
one of the group, a young-ish man or an old-ish boy, depending who you asked
whatever the fuck you want, I’m getting a drink
the saloon doors revealed a dim setting, few loners at different tables, a meandering card game in the corner, a frowning bartender behind the bar, smell of ale and piss
whiskey
bartender pours in a glass, sets in front of him
he places some bills on the counter, describe the killers
bartender knows ‘em, camped out nearby
easy enough
he drinks the whiskey
thankee kindly
night fully on, full moon out, streets still quiet
he heads out of town, alone
group of tents, campfire going, one man sitting, keeping watch
knife blade glints in the moonlight
almost too easy, from the shadows, from behind, throat slit, blood pouring, lower him to the ground
find the bigger tent, enter, the leader, name of Elroy, asleep
boots crunch over rocks, loud, neat trick
Elroy wakes, yells, grabs his revolver
he draws his own and fires
dark tent illuminated by sudden explosions of light
the man grunts, holsters his gun and charges, grabbing the man and throwing him down onto the ground, hard
he’s on top of Elroy, trying to hold on but Elroy goes wild, rolling away
gunfire outside
the man kept close,
the revolvers fired, over and over, sometimes missing, sometimes hitting
grunts and gasps of pain, hands slick with blood, nostrils thick with the smell
finally, Elroy fell and didn’t move
the man, injured but alive, stumbled out of the tent
the scene outside, muzzle flashes in the moonlight,
the posse had followed him here
gunfire given and returned, over and over, folk falling like dominoes
until only he was left, two outlaws firing at him
he hits one in the gut, doubles over, starts running
hit the other in the arm, good hit, cries out in pain, runs
he doesn’t let that one get far, bullet in the back
he misses the other one, gets away
he looks over the campsite, the battleground, the bodies,
he spits
told them not to come
told them what would happen
it was over
he reloads and looks in the direction the last outlaw ran.
it wasn’t over
Hope you enjoyed! I used
’s playtest rules for his Wild West ttrpg to generate the story you read above. He’s got a ton of cool tables to generate all kinds of places and encounters. He has a very intriguing system using d6 dice pools and has clearly done a ton of research on wild west history.Thanks to Andrew Wylde, BuddhaRandom, and Eric, for being paid subscribers. Paid subscribers will receive the final version of Niv Lova, free of charge, when it’s available.
Thanks for reading!
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Check out the Table of Contents for previous games I’ve played as well as other stuff I’ve written. It hasn’t been updated in awhile but does have some previous actual plays that I’m pretty proud of.
That was really, really good.
I didn't think such a sparse writing style could be so engrossing. That was such a fun little read, thanks for sharing!