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The Farmer throws the lantern over the cusp of the hole and they take the final heave on the rope to drag themselves up. A little oil spills out and some dry grass catches aflame, but the boot that hits it a moment later puts it out. Empty gun in hand, the Farmer spies Lucky getting dragged off by Dog, the lasso tightening on her muscular neck.
A tumble weed rolls by. The heat haze makes his home feel far off, immaterial. Something must be done.
His heart racing, he follows his instincts:
A. Threaten to shoot whoever is trespassing.
B. Try to mediate this volatile situation.
C. Head south, circle around to the north, then sneak up to the back of the cabin.
X. _________________. Surprise me.
With a wicked crack Lucky’s eyes widened. Then he fell to the dust, his good hand soon crushed by Dog’s frantic dance.
The Farmer: Easy.
He calmed the mare, then set her loose. She put fine distance between herself and the coming battle, but turned, panting, ragged, to watch. A shot rang out. The Farmer rolled, crawled, sidled against the cabin.
The Sheriff: God damn fucking In’jun!
The Farmer repositioned the gun in his hand, the barrel becoming slick with his sweat. He went low, and stalked into his home. What happened next was quick and final. Another shot rang out, missed, and so the Farmer made good on his enemy’s mistake. Teeth, shattered, hit the wall, shrapnel bone. The Sheriff screamed through a damn broken of blood, a gurgling wail like a banshee had come. But not for he.
The Farmer brutally tackle the Sheriff to the floor and slammed his head down, ripping his beard near clean off as he slammed down, again, and again. A third shot rang out, and for the Farmer perhaps it would always ring. Somewhere far away Dog neighed.
So the Farmer kept on roving the Sheriff’s head up and slamming it back down, until all light and life left him. The Farmer fell heavily to the side, breathing his last in a pool of the Sheriff’s blood. He clutched his gut, felt the hole, boiling hot and freezing cold. It was done.
Also, the sheriff probably has some ammunition on him, he only fired 3 rounds.
Maybe it's time to start up a murder mulch. That's got to be good for wheat, right?
Chance, dressed in off-black, sleeves rolled up and very recently having dropped a jar of formaldehyde, stumbles back over a rocking chair.
It was a breezy day, mild, much cooler than the day before. A herd of clouds rolled by outside the window. The town wasn’t busy, which seemed regular.
The Farmer had finally sat up. He felt... uncomfortable. This wasn’t a fancy coffin, but in some small way he was grateful someone had thought to bury him proper like. The triangle burnt into his palm was noticeable to him. Perhaps it had woken him up.
What will the Farmer say?
A. I’m the fella you and yours are always harping on about. Jesus Christ.
B. I am one of the elite soldiers used during the Machine War.
C. I’m Clatsop mostly; what’s it to you?
D. Cursed, for I ain’t had a drink in over a day.
While the Farmer has been away the acre of wheat has grown, though they’re not ready to be harvested.
Dog has fully healed, and is still on the farm. She could do with a proper place to sleep mind you.
The Farmer’s home is splattered with dried blood.
That hole has a strange, small skeleton in it. It could be rebuilt as a well with a bit of work.
The Sheriff is set to be buried tomorrow. No one has the badge right now. What will happen to the town without a standing lawman? Will Chance take over the role?
Oh, Chance, the deputy, survived the blow to the head. He’s just... rather unique now.
The Farmer’s got the seeds he found in the hole on his person, but not the gun.
Overall everything is going pretty well for the Farmer’s first week in town.
Last thing, finding some barley to grow is on his to-do list.
Liquor cabinet. Bottle. One bite and cork spat later, relief. The Farmer steps across Chance, then turns and pulls him to his feet.
The Farmer: Miss me?
Chance bolts out the door.
The Farmer: Guess not.
The Farmer elects not to try one-liners going forward. He steps out into the street (after taking another bottle) so as to take a breath of fresh air. It’s only the second time he’s been in town. Saloon, bank, a big house—for the mayor probably—and a mill. The rest are just housing all in a line, thrown up in a day looks like. A real frontier shithole.
The Farmer has a calling to plant barley and get back into their routine, such as it is... but there’s also a lot that needs answering, and the possibility to make a difference. Might even be a good difference.
A. Question the mayor about who lived on the farm before him.
B. Go for a friendly drink at the saloon, maybe run into Lucky for a game of cards.
C. Git to farming!
X. _________________. Surprise me...
———
The Farmer isn’t wearing a hat!
What kind of hat would they truly like to wear?
C: Winter is coming... maybe. But if we don't start producing, everyone's going to be hungry.
We want to wear a special issue Mechtronic X-38b neuro-interface helmet with Command Oversight interface, just like we did in the Machine War, fat chance of finding a sweet piece of kit like that around here though. Can't even find bullets for this revolver...
Posts
———
His heart racing, he follows his instincts:
A. Threaten to shoot whoever is trespassing.
B. Try to mediate this volatile situation.
C. Head south, circle around to the north, then sneak up to the back of the cabin.
X. _________________. Surprise me.
If there is a problem pistol whipping can't solve I don't want to hear about it
Crooked pigs aint for reasoning with
3DS: 0473-8507-2652
Switch: SW-5185-4991-5118
PSN: AbEntropy
Why did so many people agree with me?
I give terrible advice! It's my truest joy in life!
———
Continue?
Yes.
No.
3DS: 0473-8507-2652
Switch: SW-5185-4991-5118
PSN: AbEntropy
Looks like we didn't need the wheat after all.
Let's slip another quarter into this machine.
Continue? Yes
Maybe it's time to start up a murder mulch. That's got to be good for wheat, right?
Continue, of course!
There's never a hole so deep you can't keep digging.
PSN: Wstfgl | GamerTag: An Evil Plan | Battle.net: FallenIdle#1970
Hit me up on BoardGameArena! User: Loaded D1
Guess we're going B
Oh me either. I'm terrible at reading
———
What will the Farmer say?
A. I’m the fella you and yours are always harping on about. Jesus Christ.
B. I am one of the elite soldiers used during the Machine War.
C. I’m Clatsop mostly; what’s it to you?
D. Cursed, for I ain’t had a drink in over a day.
While the Farmer has been away the acre of wheat has grown, though they’re not ready to be harvested.
Dog has fully healed, and is still on the farm. She could do with a proper place to sleep mind you.
The Farmer’s home is splattered with dried blood.
That hole has a strange, small skeleton in it. It could be rebuilt as a well with a bit of work.
The Sheriff is set to be buried tomorrow. No one has the badge right now. What will happen to the town without a standing lawman? Will Chance take over the role?
Oh, Chance, the deputy, survived the blow to the head. He’s just... rather unique now.
The Farmer’s got the seeds he found in the hole on his person, but not the gun.
Overall everything is going pretty well for the Farmer’s first week in town.
Last thing, finding some barley to grow is on his to-do list.
I think we oughta show up at the Sheriff's funeral, just to show there's no hard feelin's about the whole him killin' us thing.
PSN: Wstfgl | GamerTag: An Evil Plan | Battle.net: FallenIdle#1970
Hit me up on BoardGameArena! User: Loaded D1
———
The Farmer has a calling to plant barley and get back into their routine, such as it is... but there’s also a lot that needs answering, and the possibility to make a difference. Might even be a good difference.
A. Question the mayor about who lived on the farm before him.
B. Go for a friendly drink at the saloon, maybe run into Lucky for a game of cards.
C. Git to farming!
X. _________________. Surprise me...
———
The Farmer isn’t wearing a hat!
What kind of hat would they truly like to wear?
we want to wear a nice stocking cap
We want to wear a special issue Mechtronic X-38b neuro-interface helmet with Command Oversight interface, just like we did in the Machine War, fat chance of finding a sweet piece of kit like that around here though. Can't even find bullets for this revolver...