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> UPDATES?
Once a day.
> PREVIOUS THREADS?
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Wanted%20Dead:%20A%20Western%20Quest
> OTHER QUESTS?
https://pastebin.com/raw/4sBYKVqL

>> I welcome any additional comments or thoughts along with a selected prompt if you have any.

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Possessions:
Pricey Revolver:
Custom-built, with pearl grip just for your hand, a hair-trigger suites to your style, all polished up, engraved, and maintained proper. Cost a fortune.

Rusty Revolver:
Rusty old iron. Worn out and beat up. Only a hard-bitten gunslinger with your years can handle it, though that didn’t stop Goldie from making her point-blank shot.

Pocketsfull of Feeble Iron:
Feeble as their namesake, your pockets are full up with feeble iron. Forged with desire they are made into bullets or whatnot. You scrounged up enough to keep the bullets flying for a good spell.

Keepsake Shards:
Purple-blue gem bits from singing purple rock webbings. They whisper pretty things in your right ear and spin condemnations to your left ear.

Lucifer’s Lead [Currently in Goldie’s possession]:
Seed from wax fruit that grows on marrow cherry tree down El Dorado Warren. Goldie claimed it’d send the one who gets shot by it, or misses their shot, straight to the devil’s lap. She used a bullet just like it or the same one to send you to the Graveyard Frontier. When you’re holding it, it chatters away in your head in your own voice.

Ashen Skeleton:
Marrow turned as black as the ace of spades after you had a drink from some watermill. It clings to your soul, keeping the ghostly flesh and bones knit together even when they’d normally split. You figure there’s a limit to the hurt it can bear, ashen bones or no, but you ain’t found it yet.
___________________________

Pains:
Shoulder Wound:
A mark left by Goldie’s shot, Lucifer’s Lead binds you to this here Graveyard Frontier. Your right arm doesn’t take kindly to any other Lucifer Lead bullet in reach of it.

Prickling Pain:
Induced from some devilish cactus, Prickly Niceties, they call ‘em. Their needles left a stinging ache from their bite in your ghostly flesh that don’t let up, even long after you shook ‘em off.

Thirst:
The thirst comes on quick and there ain’t much to drink, water or alcohol, to take the edge off. It’s parching pain that Prickly Niceties brought on you, grates your throat raw, and only eases up for a spell after you find a swig.

Gashed Palms:
Cut up by the rusty blades of some windmill you had to crank, both your palms burn like they’re fresh wound.

Shard Stabbing Pain:
The aftermath of that weak rock blowing up the entire chamber; worst pain yet. It’s like thousand tiny needles piercing your ghost flesh, a relentless, agonising hurt.

Chicken Arm:
El Dorado Warren’s beast bit you, turned your arm from elbow down into a chicken’s leg and claw. Supposed to be a dinner for the beast, but now it’s nothing but a nuisance instead. No, that was your firing hand; it’s much worse.

>>5684431
> It’ll only worsen the situation if you step inside. Urge her to give it another go. If she don’t, tell her, it’ll keep hurting. She needs to grapple with it like one would with a festering tooth.

>>5684431
> It’ll only worsen the situation if you step inside. Urge her to give it another go. If she don’t, tell her, it’ll keep hurting. She needs to grapple with it like one would with a festering tooth.

>>5684484
>>5684515

You reckoned intervening would likely make it worse.

“If you stand there and let it, it’ll keep chewing at you” you said. “Ever had a rotten tooth?” —you reckoned she didn’t, not at her age— “A loose baby tooth? Handle it like that.”

“S-Shut up!” Goldie retorted, clutching her ethereal skull and squeezing the marrow lines of it. “You’re not the one going through the pain!” she said. “What would you know?”

You sighed, your mouth falling open but without having the correct words to say. Whatever you said, she would twist into an insult, an oil to the flame, even if your words were honest.

Whether spurred by your words or not, she gave it another go. Her screams filled the cavern, her form flickering in and out of existence several times as she wrestled with the invisible force. The once deafening hum was drowned out by the echoes of her shouts, cries, and frustrations. She grappled with the floating monolith, ramming it between her stomach and chest so close it ate at her soul as quickly as it could be replenished. Empty of glowing flesh, reduced to a skeleton, she let out a yell and shattered it. The reverberating hum, her agonised screams, and the shattering snap coalesced into a cacophony like starved gunfire against a herd of desperate buffalo. Then, all felt silent.

Goldie’s wavering form sat hunched on the ground, the shattered cube clasped in her arms. She took deep, heaving breaths, each swallowing a muttered cursed.


“I swear on my life, you're gonna taste every speck of the torment I just endured once we're outta those mines,” she said, raising her gaze to meet yours.

With a shrug she couldn’t see, you stepped forward. The smaller cubes hovered in the air like fish in a pond, although causing no seen problems.

> Send a couple of warning shots at them floating dice to see if they’re truly harmless.
> Don’t squander your lead. Walk over to Goldie and, whether she takes kindly to it or not, pocket a piece of that shattered lodestone cube. Might be it’ll probe useful.
> Stride up to Goldie and offer the gal a word or two of commendation, no more. If she’s amenable, give her a hand to her feet and tell her to rid of that broken square.
> [Write In]

>>5685408
> Don’t squander your lead. Walk over to Goldie and, whether she takes kindly to it or not, pocket a piece of that shattered lodestone cube. Might be it’ll probe useful.
Tempting to choose the third option, just for the sake of getting her to get rid of the broken square.

>>5685408

> Stride up to Goldie and offer the gal a word or two of commendation, no more. If she’s amenable, give her a hand to her feet and tell her to rid of that broken square.

>>5685408
> Don’t squander your lead. Walk over to Goldie and, whether she takes kindly to it or not, pocket a piece of that shattered lodestone cube. Might be it’ll probe useful.

>>5685413
>>5685449
>>5685567

Hastening your pace, you ducked and tilted to avoid contact with the smaller die. Though they were active, their pull was soft, a bare whisper compared to the ferocious tug at the large one had exerted on Goldie. You stopped in front of the girl, her hands clutching the ore remains as she watched you.

You reached out with your working hand to claim the piece, only to find her grip tight and unyielding.

“Hey!” she shouted, yanking the chunk of lodestone back. “Are you some kind of hoarder? Always trying to take what’s mine?”

> You reckon it’s unwise to haul this thing with you, least it stirs back to life or something. Best you snatch it and chuck it at the wall till it’s nothing but unrecoverable bits.
> Tell the gal it might come in handy, but you ain’t gonna tussle her over it. She can keep it, long as she promises to lug it around.
> Tell her that nothing is secure in them hands of hers, and this might be useful down the line for using or peddling. nd it might be of use in the future, for use or trade. Put some muscle in and take it from her.
> [Write In]

>>5686050
> You reckon it’s unwise to haul this thing with you, least it stirs back to life or something. Best you snatch it and chuck it at the wall till it’s nothing but unrecoverable bits.

>>5686050
> Tell the gal it might come in handy, but you ain’t gonna tussle her over it. She can keep it, long as she promises to lug it around.

>>5686050
>> Tell her that nothing is secure in them hands of hers, and this might be useful down the line for using or peddling. nd it might be of use in the future, for use or trade. Put some muscle in and take it from her.

>>5686050
>> Tell the gal it might come in handy, but you ain’t gonna tussle her over it. She can keep it, long as she promises to lug it around.

Apologies, I know you guys are sitting on the edge of your seat reloading the page but there'll be no update today. Vote is still open.

>>5686875
Until next time. Same old west time, same old west channel. Yeehaw!

>>5686050
> Tell the gal it might come in handy, but you ain’t gonna tussle her over it. She can keep it, long as she promises to lug it around.
Just you wait, we'll shape a bone into a bullet.

>>5686179
>>5686216
>>5686306
>>5686682
>>5687322

You yanked your hand higher and then, after a moment’s thought, you let go of the piece, making Goldie fall onto the ground.

“-You- can lug it around if that’s to your liking” you said.

Goldie’s gaze fixated on the fractured cube. “Carry it? I hadn’t reckoned that.”

“Then what? You don’t want me to have it ‘cause you just don’t?”

There was a hollow scratch as Goldie tightened her grip on the chunks, running her nails against the crack.

“Well you ain’t the one who suffered for it like I did.”

You shook your head. “No, I ain’t. Reckon you’ll be keeping your new prize after al—”

“I’ll hand it over,” she cut in. “If you give my back my compass watch, you can have this whatever-it-is”

“Reckon you’ll be keeping your new prize after all.” You took a few steps back and then opened and lifted the timepiece. “Let’s take a gander then …”

Fuming, her breaths sharp and quick, the girl slammed the destroyed piece on the ground with little further damage. You felt her icy stare on the back of your neck.

Ignoring Goldie, you focused on not getting entrapped in any other otherworldly ore and their purgatorial powers. You moved forward, leaning once more to avoid smacking your forehead against the drifting black cubes. Behind you, Goldie stood up. You heard the shuffle of her footsteps as she followed you. You knew you couldn’t let yourself relax around her, neither should you.

Eventually, the wide cavern led into another, and that one opened up into the next expansive hollow. Without the pickaxe’s light, Goldie made sure she was boot-treading on your heels, fearing of being led astray by the shifting walls. Devoid of any deposits or lights, you found yourself in granite hollow that, at a quick count, appeared to contained twelve different tunnels, burrows, and passages. A labyrinth that wasn’t going to confused or stop you.

You waved the watch again. Henry’s blurred and faded face stared back at you from behind the mineral lens of the opened lid. You kept your eyes on the boy’s portrait for a moment, struggling to even remember how he looked dead. You shifted your focus on the hour hand, the one guiding to his whereabouts in the Graveyard Frontier. More importantly, in the midst of alternatives, it pointed to a single passage. You dipped your head for Goldie to notice and then walked down the indicated tunnel.

Before long, the accuracy of the watch proved right. You passed under a roughly hewn arch of stone. The tunnel then narrowed until it was barely tall enough for your passing, leading to a set of natural stairs. Looking up, you noticed a faint light illuminating the dust falling from above. You let out a sigh of relief, but then hastily gathered your composure by tugging on your collar. You weren’t going to get fooled by those tunnels again. Goldie, spotting the steps and following your gaze, also let out a sigh, her lips briefly curling into a smile.

“Well ain’t we lucky,” you said, starting your ascent.

You leaned your shoulder against the crevassed walls embedded with white amber, each step you took drawing you closer to the surface, with no ill will or trickery thus far. And then, the moonlight touched you, washing you in its cold pale light. Your shadow, born anew, rippled across the shining granite. Approaching the precipice, the whole sky appeared in your view. It was as you recalled, like vestiges of a battlefield shrouded in dull and grey cloud sheets of soot and ash. Of course, save for the barren featureless moon, pendulous and alone by its own decree. The moon bathed the slate-shaded plateau in its light, the shimmering light revealing each granite flat of the long expanse.

With all this sudden brilliance, another fainter light escaped your notice. A phantom steed, its hooves leaving the ground covered in white dust untouched, stopped near the edge where you were standing, still within the mouth of the passage. Atop the mount sat a ghostly figure, one hand brandishing a gleaming revolver aimed at you, the other clutching a coiled lasso.

“Well, well, well,” he said, his his lips twisting to match his horseshoe moustache. “Found you, rustler.” He cocked the hammer with a chilling click. “And I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve stole from me.”

It was the man from the watermill, you recognised, who, like you, had drawn waters from its pipes, the water which turned bones heavy and black as coal.

> Easy. Don’t raise a ruckus just yet. Step on out from the mineshaft, into the moonlight. Parley with the varmint, what’s he got to demand? Give Goldie the signal to lay low for the time being.
> Hitch up your iron, and shoot. Make your aim deadly.
> Bolt back to the shaft before he can pull the trigger. Use the stone as your shield. Let him come to you, if he’s lacking a brain but got the call.
> [Write In]

>>5686919
Here on Stetson Hat FM we got UFOs, critters and women, sometimes all three.

>>5687742
>> Hitch up your iron, and shoot. Make your aim deadly.

>>5687742
> Easy. Don’t raise a ruckus just yet. Step on out from the mineshaft, into the moonlight. Parley with the varmint, what’s he got to demand? Give Goldie the signal to lay low for the time being.

>>5687747
Kek.

>>5687742
> Bolt back to the shaft before he can pull the trigger. Use the stone as your shield. Let him come to you, if he’s lacking a brain but got the call.

>>5687747
Heh.

>>5687742
> Bolt back to the shaft before he can pull the trigger. Use the stone as your shield. Let him come to you, if he’s lacking a brain but got the call.

>>5688032
supporting

>>5687882
>>5687899
>>5687926
>>5688032
>>5688062

You barrelled, rushing back into the mineshaft before the outlander could pull his trigger. The granite cut his silhouette as you plunged down the steps, smacking onto Goldie on your descent. She barely managed to muffle a gasp as you pulled her along, rushing deeper into the tunnel. Underneath the covering of stone steps, you pulled back the iron’s striker and leaned on the wall.

“What’s happening?” Goldie demanded.

You hissed at the girl to lower her voice, or better yet, be silent.

She glared. “Don’t shush me,” she said.

A light dusting fell onto your hat from the man’s boots above. “Running away, are we?” The man’s voice echoed from above. “I see, I see, I see, won’t be your first time for you, will it?” He sounded almost amused. “Don’t think I’m a fool, you snake, I know you won’t dare to return to the Warren after your lucky break. Looks like you’re boxed in, like a rat. How ‘bout you lay your down your irons and your spoils.”

Would that be enough to win his “forgivingness”? You reckoned no.

Goldie chortled. “Hah, someone else branding you a snake like you did me.”

You held out an annoyed sigh and kept your silence.

> Chew the fat. Question what’s going to take for him to get over you “stealing” his mill’s water.
> Stay quiet and bide your time. Ain’t no telling for how long, how obliging or patient Goldie might be, or if this cuss is speaking true about having time to kill.
> Load up the rusty six-shooter with feeble iron and hand it over to Goldie. Then you’ve got the upper hand. Give her the nod to burst out of the shaft and, together, pepper the man full of lead.
> Tell Goldie to stroll up to the strange and take him by surprise. Tell her to get rough, let him blast away and waste his ammo on her undying hide, the more she can drain, the better.
> Let Goldie sit this one out. Tell the girl to lay low in the belly of the mine while you ready your peacemaker. Shuffle up the step till that feller’s in your sights, then fire clean and straight.
> [Write In]

Thursday might be hard for me to update due to some work schedule stuff, I'll try to compensate by updating the rest of the days.

Have you found this quest by catalog or by it being mentioned in the /qtg/?

>>5689052
> Tell Goldie to stroll up to the strange and take him by surprise. Tell her to get rough, let him blast away and waste his ammo on her undying hide, the more she can drain, the better.

>>5689053
Catalogue, but I think I heard it mentioned in /qtg/. Not entirely sure on the last one, since I don't go there often.

>>5689053
been here since the beginning.
>>5689052
> Tell Goldie to stroll up to the strange and take him by surprise. Tell her to get rough, let him blast away and waste his ammo on her undying hide, the more she can drain, the better.

>>5689052
> Let Goldie sit this one out. Tell the girl to lay low in the belly of the mine while you ready your peacemaker. Shuffle up the step till that feller’s in your sights...
Then
> Chew the fat. Question what’s going to take for him to get over you “stealing” his mill’s water.
Keep the gun on him. Keep that brat out of this. Try and explain our situation when we drank the water, and request clemency.

>>5689053
/qtg/, and I follow your quests in general.

>>5689066
>>5689307
>>5689432

“I’m going to need you to be useful again,” you said, tipping your hat towards the steps. “Head up there and catch him off guard.”

“Me and what gun?”

“You ain’t gonna need a piece for this, just get your hands dirty. I need you to use that immortal hide of yours to waste his ammo.”

Goldie crossed her arms and scoffed. “Sounds like a ‘go and get shot at’ to me.”

“That’s what I’m telling you to do. You don’t need to fuss about firing and missing, just go and get his attention.”

“I don’t want to get shot! I’ve had my fill of pain for one day.”

You drummed your fingers on the gun barrel. “Well, do you want -me- to catch lead? It could happen, and you know what that’ll do.”

She flicked a flock of her hair with her fingertips. “No, I don’t want that either, having to go hunting for you again. Just give me a gun.”

“You’ll just burn through our lead, and put him on edge straight away,” you said. You clacked your talons towards her. “Keep him busy, let him shoot at you, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

The girl pursed her broken lips and scowled. “I don’t want to do it,” she said, “but if you ain’t confident that you can take him on your own, and this is your brilliant plan … fine.”

You didn’t like the way she worded it, but arguing was pointless. “My shooting hand is chicken’s,” you reminded her, waving your crippled arm in the air.

“Excuses,” Goldie said. She slapped her hands on her thighs and stood, squinting at the steps above. “You better not just stand there and hawk while I get the tar beat out of me, again.”

“I’m being practical. Come on, let’s stop beating around the bush. I’ll be right behind you.”

She nodded begrudgingly and, squeezing her fists by her belt, took a deep breath, and then started climbing the steps. You leaned against the wall, matching with her pace as you followed.

“I see you decided to have some sense, you varlet. Good, good, good, drop your valuables and—”

“Get lost,” Goldie cut in, her voice brined in annoyance and insolence. “I’ve got nothing of worth to give you but this.” She spat in his direction.

“What the? A child?” the man stammered. A pause hovered in the air before he spoke again. “Stay where you are! Where’s the other man?!”

“Other man? There ain’t a soul here but me, and I’ve got nothing for you. So vamoose.” She moved closer, causing the spectral horse to neigh as she approached.

“I told you to stay where you are,” he bellowed, firing a deafening round.

You held your breath and waited, but Goldie didn’t acknowledge the shot. It must have been a warning one, hitting the stone inches near from where she walked.

“Wasn’t expecting a sprout to come out of the Warren, but I ain’t gonna handle you any different. One more step and I'll drop you right here and now.”

“You’ll shoot me …” she echoed, raising her hands in the air. “Well, give it your best try, whoever you are.”

He hesitated, cocking back the hammer of his gun. “What’s wrong with you, kiddo? You think I won’t?” His narrowed his eyes. “I won’t miss the next one. Where is he?”

She let out a dismissive sigh. “Who’s he?” she asked.

Another shot rang out, and this time, Goldie yelled in pain. You stood up slightly from the mine. A piece of the girl’s spectral flesh seemed to ripple from the gunshot, a vivid blue flame encircling a void beneath her collarbone. She covered the bloodless wound with her hands.

“I don’t give second warnings,” the man said, his eyes lingering on the girl. With a knock of his boot against the spectral white steed side, the horse began to trot past her. “Now then—”

Abruptly, Goldie snatched the reins and yanked at them. Though she lacked the strength to halt the steed, its heard jerked around from this to meet her face.

Taken by surprise, the stranger fought to maintain balance. He glanced down at the girl, then at his glowing, faltering revolver, and then took aim at her once more.

“This here where you were suppose to vanish!”

That was enough. With a push of your elbow against the granite edge, you hoisted yourself up, aligning your shot with your left hand. Your fingers curled around the pearl-handed grip as you then nudged the trigger, trusting and letting your heirloom knowingly do the rest. Your arm was steady, fiery smoke spouting from the barrel as the feeble iron bullet pierced the moonlit air. A lone whistling note trailed the bullet. The man had only a moment to divert his gaze before the bullet struck true and exploded his forehead. The soulflesh erupted like smoke, baring his charred skull. You readied the next chamber immediately.

Sitting unmoving atop his horse, the man’s lips twisted into a grimacing grin. Unlike Goldie’s, his flaming flesh didn’t simply dissipate and got born anew, but the mysterious force within his blackened marrow clung to his spectral form, piercing it back together. Without waiting for his flesh to return, he let out a loud whistle and gave a sharp tug on the leather reins. At his command, the stallion jerked his head and then thrust his muzzle and neck down against Goldie’s midsection. The crash sent her flying, her body crashing into the powdery white dust, her bones echoing a gruesome crack upon landing. Her body laid on the ground, her groans cut short as she gasped for air.

“There you are,” he said, turning his revolver at you— four bullets left, you were counting.

> His bones grant him the same voodoo powers as you, reckon. Dropping him’s gonna be a pain, but same goes for you. Ask him his game, but keep that varmint in your sights. Is your ore loot all he wants?
> He’s tougher to drop, if you measure him up with yourself, but he ain’t undying, just like you ain’t. You gotta make sure your shots are lethal: plug him in the head again, and again.
> Might not have enough lead in either of your six-shooters to dust this gent. Blast his shooting arm ‘stead, make him drop that iron and make it simpler to deal with.
> Shift your aim to his horse. Be it the nag bolting, bucking the feller off, or falling together with him, those all sound like developments you’d relish.
> [Write In]

>>5689761
>triple check
>still leave out mistakes

*Though she lacked the strength to halt the steed, his head jerked around from its place to meet her face.

>>5689765
> Might not have enough lead in either of your six-shooters to dust this gent. Blast his shooting arm ‘stead, make him drop that iron and make it simpler to deal with.

>>5689765
>> Shift your aim to his horse. Be it the nag bolting, bucking the feller off, or falling together with him, those all sound like developments you’d relish.

>>5689766
It happens.

>>5689765
> Shift your aim to his horse. Be it the nag bolting, bucking the feller off, or falling together with him, those all sound like developments you’d relish.

>>5689765
> Might not have enough lead in either of your six-shooters to dust this gent. Blast his shooting arm ‘stead, make him drop that iron and make it simpler to deal with.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5689788
>>5690231

>>5689801
>>5689861

>>5689788
>>5689801
>>5689861
>>5690231

You dropped your aim to the man’s arm, repeating the motion and pulling the trigger to release another shot. Your bullet cut through the air, landing beyond his fingers, below his iron, and lodged deep inside his wrist. A tinted haze rose from the impact, leaving the black bones of his hand clutching at the grip of his six-shooter. At first, you thought your aim had failed. But then, you realised that while he still held the gun—his spectral hand stripped bare—his fingers couldn’t pull the trigger. You watched his eyes widen, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be a gunslinger of this calibre.

The man let out a ‘Tsk’, tilted his gaze from his hand to you, and then, with a swift motion of his other hand, unfurled a barbed whip. The whip cracked, its barbed end uncoiling and soaring through the air. It twisted and spiralled above you like a coiled snake. Each thorn on its tip was curved to impale like venomous fangs.

> Hunker back into the mine and let the lash snap on the stone entrance and vacant emptiness. Raise your head and primed six-shooter when he don’t hit the mark.
> Haul yourself to abandon the mine completely, then barrel outta the way a few times just to be on the safe side. Line up and let loose your next and third round.
> Try to snag the whip with your bird talons, and give it a yank to stretch out and strain the whip, making it good for nothing. If you manage, take aim with your shot after you’ve done so.
> [Write In]

> Do say if there’s a specific location you want August to shot at.
> Do tell how can I interact and engage with you guys (readers and players) more than just posting updates.

>>5690499
> Hunker back into the mine and let the lash snap on the stone entrance and vacant emptiness. Raise your head and primed six-shooter when he don’t hit the mark.
>Shoot his horse.

> Do tell how can I interact and engage with you guys (readers and players) more than just posting updates.
Hm, don't really know how to answer that one. I suppose you could encourage write-ins more? Or just generally ask what we think about the update every once in a while.

>>5690499
I'll support:
> Hunker back into the mine and let the lash snap on the stone entrance and vacant emptiness. Raise your head and primed six-shooter when he don’t hit the mark.
>Shoot his horse.
Cripple and stand this black-boned bastard.

>Do tell how can I interact and engage with you guys (readers and players) more than just posting updates.
What sort of engagement do you want? More banter, character analysis, speculation about twists... Fanart?

>>5690499
> Hunker back into the mine and let the lash snap on the stone entrance and vacant emptiness. Raise your head and primed six-shooter when he don’t hit the mark.
>Aim for the hand holding the whip.
I want that horse

>>5690684
Who knows if a ghost-horse would obey us. it's, like... A demon, right? it's not a European-owned horse that got gunned down in the Old West?

>>5690684
supporting

>>5690730
Who knows. But I don’t know if a horse like that can be taken down by simply shooting at it, this assessment also applies to the man.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5690663
>>5690677
> Shoot his horse.

>>5690684
>>5691195
> Aim for the hand holding the whip.

>>5690663
>>5690677
>>5690684
>>5690730
>>5691195
>>5691223

Before the whip could strike your body, you leaped back onto the granite steps and hid in the protection of the mineshaft. The whip struck the white stone with a ringing echo, shattering the edge and the very spot where you had stood just a moment before. As the man retracted his whip, the whip’s barbs dug into the solid rock and scraped it. You pushed your sole against the stone and jumped from the mineshaft to find the stranger back within your aim, or—as you decided—to be more precise, his apparitional mount. The man’s gaze locked with yours, but you moved with a seasoned grace which he, you reckoned and could see, was not good enough to counter.

You guided the cylinder to the next round, locked the hammer, nudged the firing lever, and sent loose another bullet from the barrel. The stallion’s head was aglow, blurred, and without outlines, but you reckoned you shot it between the eyes. The ghost-of-a-horse stumbled, its hooves beating the air above the El Dorado’s sandstone as if trying to stomp and unseen critter, before releasing a high-pitched scream and bucking wildly. It forced the man to battle with its suddenly unruly nature and clutch the reins with the hand—one he could already use—he was holding the revolver in. The spectral animal trashed about, throwing the hostile stranger left and right, and preventing him from finding any semblance of balance. It screamed and panted as though your bullet was burning inside of its forehead. You gave the cylinder another twist and fired again.

The horse halted all of a sudden, its knees trembling before it collapsed dead on the ground with a dull thud. The light that once surrounded its body flickered, wavered, and then disappeared, leaving the remains of its body to decompose into white cinders akin to a burned-out fire. Only the padded saddle remained.

The stranger regained his footing and steadied himself with a strained groan. He grasped onto his hand with the hand holding the whip and then set you in his sights. You only had a tick of a clock before he would fire, and only one bullet left in this gun, not counting the fully-loaded, rusted one.

> Feign a shot but instead spook the fella just enough to sidestep his bullet.
> Let loose at the hand he’s clutching his iron with, then draw Goldie’s six-shooter, and keep firing till he’s smelling the dirt, if that’s in the cards.
> Take aim at his head, dodge his shot, and then charge to knock him into the dirt, as it seems he’s a tough old coot to put down with lead alone.
> [Write In]

>>5690663
How can I encourage Write-Ins more? When I first started, way long time ago, I only had [Write In]s available, but players dislike that, I found.

As for what you and others think of the update ... let's see. We are technically complete with the El Dorado Warren storyline, technically, unless you decide to return for some reason or something else happens, so what did you think of this part of the story?

>>5690677
Everything you mentioned would be great, just some comments and discussions though I understand I can't force it. I'm not asking for fanart, no.

>>5691417
> Feign a shot but instead spook the fella just enough to sidestep his bullet.

>>5691420
A smaller playerbase usually makes for more consensus and less debate and discussion, unfortunately. That said, when I have a strong rationale (or questions about what's going on) I try to include that. I phonepost, though, and sometimes at work -- this makes consistently doing a lot of deep thinking and chatting tricky.

As for write-ins... They're tricky in esoteric settings like this, where we don;t ally know enough about what's going on to know what is reasonable and sensible to propose.

Lastly, regarding the El Dorado Warren storyline... It's been super neat, VERY atmospheric in a good and spooky way, and I've enjoyed it a lot. Keep up the good work, QM!

>>5691417
> Feign a shot but instead spook the fella just enough to sidestep his bullet.

>>5691420
>How can I encourage Write-Ins more?
That's a tough one. I suppose the best way to do so is by hinting at another possible option? Though that might not work, especially on a board as slow as /qst/
>El Dorado Warren storyline
I liked it, and I'll agree with the other anon's assessment about the ambience and spookiness there. I still feel a bit bad about Landry.

No update today, vote still opened.

>>5691417
>> Feign a shot but instead spook the fella just enough to sidestep his bullet.

>>5691603
>>5691634
>>5692665

Gun in your hand, you raised your arm high, confronting the man with a daring glare. He flinched once you reached for the trigger, and, as you pretended to discharge a round, he ducked, rightfully reckoning that you would aim for his head. An empty chamber’s dry click echoed for a short second before it got consumed by the rumbling skies. It took the stranger a moment to catch onto your ruse; by the time he squeezed his trigger, you had already leapt aside, his bullet harmlessly whistling past your ear. That was half of his cylinder wasted.

“Stay put!” he yelled, his voice growing increasingly biting. He pulled back on the cocking lever, while his other hand tightened around the lasso, readying to throw.

You had a window to squeeze off a shot, perhaps a few mope, before he could do either. From the corner of your eye you spotted Goldie crawling on her hands and knees, inching her way toward him.

> Unleash the last round in his head, and then a few more from Goldie’s piece if need be.
> Fire just once at his shooting hand, then switch to Goldie’s iron but hold your horses to see what the gun’s owner is up to.
> The whip seems to be the bigger burr in your saddle. Fire at the hand holding the lasso and then brace to avoid the next of his shots.
> [Write In]

>>5692895
> The whip seems to be the bigger burr in your saddle. Fire at the hand holding the lasso and then brace to avoid the next of his shots.
Perhaps he’ll drop the whip and Goldie will grab it

>>5691603
Yes, I usually think of anything reasonable as regular prompts so that leaves little room for [Write In]s though it can still be used to combine two prompts or something I didn't consider.

>>5691634
Shame for Landry, there were choices not made that could've let him survive before and during the feeble stone explosion, but who knows after that.

>>5692895
> The whip seems to be the bigger burr in your saddle. Fire at the hand holding the lasso and then brace to avoid the next of his shots.

>>5692899
Yeah, he could've become a potential friend (probably the only chance we could've had to get one even) in this veritable hell. But I guess that boat has already sailed.

>>5692895
> The whip seems to be the bigger burr in your saddle. Fire at the hand holding the lasso and then brace to avoid the next of his shots.

>>5692897
>>5692935
>>5694302

You shifted your aim towards the hand holding the lasso, your bullet exploding his flesh into a plume of aquamarine smoke. He snarled, the smoky tendrils of his skin ascending to the air and weaving off his charred bones. As you tilted your now empty iron, the stranger returned the shot, the incendiary smoke swirling around and clinging to his gleaming revolver. You tried to sidestep, but, as in most cases, the bullet proved to be swifter than a man. His round burrowed into your shoulder, enveloping you in vapoured azure blood of your own. You stumbled in place.

Over your throbbing pain, you heard his hammer click into place.

“You’re turning out to be a right bother, you old coot. I didn’t expect that,” he said. “But that’s the end of it. I know the failing of them bones better than you. Take a dirt nap.”

As you took a step back, your boots scuffing the ashen stone, your injured arm flailed useless and limp, not able to reach for Goldie’s gun.

“Ain’t gonna say it twice,” the man said, his gaze fixed solely on you. He pushed his hand forward, the gun’s barrel nudging at your head.

You nodded, not in surrender, but as a stalling tactic. You bent your knee and set it on the granite sand.

He nodded approvingly. “Good—” His fleeting smile collapsed into a stern line as he felt a sudden tug. Goldie’s dainty hands grabbed the bare charred hand, breaking each finger apart, and then relinquishing the whip from his grasp. His left hand stayed outstretched, rendered useless and unable to reach for the whip. In motion, she pulled and seized the lasso before collapsing on the ground with her rear.

“You brat!” the man shouted, swinging the iron in an arch towards her instead. His teeth gritted as he fired, the bullet flying through the scorching cloud and into her head.

Goldie cried in pain as the bullet seared through her skull. For a split second, she sat motionless … before letting out a scream of raw fury. With her hand gripping the handle of the whip, she dragged the rope across and ground and then swung it above her head, sending a cloud of dust spiralling into the air. The whip snapped in the wind, its thorny tendrils slicing the air before striking at the man. It coiled around him like a noose, too nicely of a swipe and coil for it to be Goldie’s efforts and skills alone. She yanked back on the whip, trapping the man’s arms.

“You should be a goner!” he yelled, his body tightly squeezed from his neck down to his belly by the leather lasso. His iron was trapped against his chest, both arms held captive by the whip’s embrace.

“Well I’m damn well not,” she said, spitting venomously at his face. She shot you a glare. “This how you ‘handle the rest’, brother killer?”

You briefly rolled your eye, suppressing a retort. You looked at your arm, the bones striving to contain the escaping wisps of ghostflesh. “How did you pull that off?” you asked instead.

Confusion and pain twisted the man’s face as he tried to shift his weight. “How aren’t you dead? You ain’t got burned bones like me or him!”

“Wasn’t my doing’,” Goldie said, ignoring the man. Her brown gaze darted from the lasso in her hand to the man and back again. “Its his whip, there’s some magic in it.”

“Yes, you got me in a bind, I’m stuck! Oh no. You can let go of that whip, it’s just keeping your hands busy.”

Goldie bit her cheek and then shook her head. “No, I reckon I won’t.” She yanked at the lasso even harder.

“You little shit—”

> Shoot the varmint in the skull as many times as needed to send him to the Maker while you got the chance.
> Pry some answers out of him first, see if he’s in a yammering mood. [What you reckon to ask?]
> See if you can pilfer any trinkets off the fella first, then only send him to the dust.
> [Write In]

>>5694365
> See if you can pilfer any trinkets off the fella first, then only send him to the dust.
LOOT

>>5694365
>> See if you can pilfer any trinkets off the fella first, then only send him to the dust.
Sharing is caring

>>5694365
> See if you can pilfer any trinkets off the fella first, then only send him to the dust.

>>5694365
> Pry some answers out of him first, see if he’s in a yammering mood. [What in all this HELL is the deal with the water and the blackened bones? Where'd he get a horse?]
> See if you can pilfer any trinkets off the fella first, then only send him to the dust.

>>5694753
>>5694793
>>5694838
>>5695034

You waited as your obsidian marrow pulled and then wrapped the fleeing smoke back onto its place. You holstered your heirloom and pulled out the girl’s rusted iron that was tucked behind your belt instead. You confirmed with a sidelong glance at Goldie’s hands that she had no trouble handling the whip; her grip on the leather lash was as sure as a driver's hold on a waggon's reins. You raised the pitted barrel and pressed it to the stranger’s chin and throat, meeting the sight of his uneven eyes and the azure fires flickering inside of them.

“Didn’t pan out as you’d hoped, did it?” you said.

The man scowled, his focus shifting from you to the girl. “Yeah, I reckoned you’d be strolling alone, and that your bones would’ve shed their shadow by now.”

You swallowed the cold air, looking past your ghostly flesh at the charred skeleton beneath. “I’m to lose it?”

“Depends on how much of it you stole and swigged.”

“Just a sip.” Your gaze sharpened. The barrel of the loaded revolver nudged his chin upward. “What’s the story with windmill water, and why does it turn the bones black?”

“You’ll be a very brittle man come due time,” he replied, his horseshoe moustache bent to fit his widening smile. “And I wouldn’t suggest you die while they’re still charred.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

One of his eyes squinted shut while the other looked at your wound. “You already know. You can see how much tougher you’ve become instead of giving your soul to the wind when you were about to. It’s what it does best.”

“Suppose it does,” you said. You clicked the hammer into place, echoing the loaded round in the stranger’s ears. “But not immortal, huh? Just how many bullets can your bewitched skull take, two or maybe four?”

He winced, but his corked smile didn’t falter. “You wouldn’t fancy what’ll fill my boots if you squeeze that trigger.”

“What will?”

“I’ll let your head mull on that.”

Goldie circled the man, closing the distance an inch or two. Her hand reached out, swiftly nabbing a pendant from his neck. The man flinched, baring his teeth at the girl as she jumped back. She glanced down at the piece of black chalk she was then holding. As she opened her hand, the chalk on its braided rope fell through her fingers, jerking sideways by an unseen force.

“Stealing even more?” the man hissed between irate weighty breaths. “Didn’t your ma teach you not to steal?”

“That was the least of her concern,” she muttered to herself, shifting her gaze to you instead. “It’s pointing to someplace.”

You looked at the man. “At the watermill, I reckon. You were saying I shouldn't look to see my bones turn white again, weren't you?"

His response was a venomous silence, ending in a spittle-flying snarl. “No, no you ought to. You damn ought to. Keep your hands off my damn mill, you thieving cur. I'll swear I'll scalp you.”

You sighed, relaxing your grip on the firearm. You looked over the man, seeking anything of potential value; his pockets and sidearms were concealed by the barbed lasso you didn’t wish to handle. However, hanging from a strap on his waist was a feeble iron flask, it’s screw-top catching your eye. You took it, confirming with a brief shake the sloshing water inside.

The man’s eyes flared with surprise, then furrowed and narrowed. A container for carrying much-needed liquids, and it was even half-full; finally. This was turning into quite a fortunate encounter.

“Doesn’t seem like I’ll be needing to pay that mill a visit after all.”

He snarled. “What’s your name, you coyote spawn?”

> Looks like the moment Goldie drops the whip, he’d be loose.

> Say ‘I’m Aug ‘Only Dead’ Heart’, and he’s gone after the wrong man.
> Don’t be letting him know your handle, don’t need him spreading tales or making the trails any rougher for you.
> Feed the man some hogwash name, something plain and common.
> [Write In]

> Use Goldie’s revolver to shatter the fella's soul and cast him into the winds of the Graveyard Frontier.
> Yank the fella near the mine’s mouth. Soften him with a single shot, and then, when Goldie lets loose the whip, boot him down there. Let him lay to rest in that hole.
> Haul the fella over the mineshaft. Unload as many bullets as you can into his head and then have Goldie reel in her whip. Chuck his hopefully dying carcass into the abyss.
> [Write In]

>>5695337
>[Write In]
>Say you don't reckon you have one anymore, or some other 'mystical' baloney.

> Use Goldie’s revolver to shatter the fella's soul and cast him into the winds of the Graveyard Frontier.

Haven't caught up yet, but thought I'd say I'm enjoying it.

>>5695368
Thank you very much!

>>5695337
>Say you don't reckon you have one anymore, or some other 'mystical' baloney.

> Use Goldie’s revolver to shatter the fella's soul and cast him into the winds of the Graveyard Frontier.

>>5695337
>Say you don't reckon you have one anymore, or some other 'mystical' baloney.
> Use Goldie’s revolver to shatter the fella's soul and cast him into the winds of the Graveyard Frontier.
I kind of want to throw him into the abyss, but we're 'Only Dead' Heart'

>>5695361
>>5695368
>>5695440
>>5695537

You raked your talons through your bedraggled hair. “I don’t reckon I have one anymore. I can’t recall it.”

The man squinted. He smacked his front teeth with a nasty cluck and spat out, “Who are you trying to fool, you chicken-hearted-handed bastard?”

Goldie looked at you with tilted smile. “He ain’t lying about that hollow noggin of his.”

Your hand tightened on your firearm. You pushed on your knees, straightened, and then rose to your full height “Believe what you want— ”

“It’s ‘Charred Bones’,” he said, cutting you. “I’ve got a name and it’s Cassidy ‘Charred Bones’ Jones. And ain’t gonna let you swipe that.” He glared at the container.

“I don’t want your name, Cassidy,” you said. “And you spouting yours ain’t gonna jog my own loose.” You moved the iron’s sights on his forehead. “Now then … ”

“So, so so … Best you remember it, I’ll hunt you down again.” He side-eyed Goldie and the chalk she had on her. “And you too, little missy. Things’ll be a sight different then.”

You pulled the trigger, firing a round through the breadth of his skull. His ghostflesh exploded into opaque blaze, the black magic trying to grapple its fleeting remains. Your gun’s cylinder rolled onto the next chamber. You fired again, blasting his cranium at a yard’s length. Cassidy yelled out in pain as you did it over and over again.

“You” —he grumbled, his head snapping back and forth from the jolting force— “you shoulda… let be.”

His grin faltered. You watched as his spirit was peeled from the bare skull, unravelling into the pale air as if you were snipping away threads. This was different, however, not quite like when Bill and Landry were dusted. He was gone, alright, but a dark silhouette of his skeletal frame remained still within the lasso’s tight ensnare. Goldie eyed you, poised to slacken her grip.

“Hold on that,” you warned before she could act, waving your iron at her. “Something is off-kilter.”

You kept a wary eye on the stationary skeleton, ensuring a cautious gap between you two. Then it moved, each of its bones jangling and rattling like cattle bells. It craned its skull at you, its jaw opening and each tooth shuddering as if they were to fall loose. It hoisted itself off the granite stone, shuddering with irrepressible tremor. The girl tried to cinch the lasso tighter, but was jerked toward it instead. She dug her boot into the ground, halting just shy of spectre. The marrow wraith rose its arms, slowly fraying the lariat rope.

“It’s fixing to snap it!” Goldie hollered the obvious, her hold slackening—she wasn’t about to be dragged any nearer.

> You still had a few rounds to spare; a few.

> Blast the leg bones on that walker, see if you can hobble it or at least slow it down.
> Let your lead speak to that bone’s dome, see if it can take a lick better than Cassidy could.
> Holler at Goldie to shadow your steps and them run into the distant miss. Let’s see if the bag of bones trails you, and if so, at what pace?
> [Write In]

>>5695936
>> Blast the leg bones on that walker, see if you can hobble it or at least slow it down.

>>5695936
> Holler at Goldie to shadow your steps and them run into the distant miss. Let’s see if the bag of bones trails you, and if so, at what pace?

Dagum! We'll waste all our feeble iron on this fool, at this rate!

>>5695936
>> Holler at Goldie to shadow your steps and them run into the distant miss. Let’s see if the bag of bones trails you, and if so, at what pace?

>>5696331
>>5696380
>>5696473

“I don’t have enough lead left to handle that,” you hollered at Goldie. “Where’s that dark chunk I told you to tote?”

“Is -that- what you’re worried about right now?” she yelled back, her eyes trembling at the strain on the nearly snapped leather. She wound the lasso’s handle around her wrist. “I left it in the mine, of course. Got but two hands, and I needed ‘em both.”

Your gaze flit between the mineshaft’s maw and the eerily rattling skeleton. It jittered and shook, its skull swivelling in your direction. The voids in its eye sockets pulsed famished glow.

> Holler at Goldie to drop the whip, and high tail it back to the mine to fetch the shattered piece of black square she busted. Hold ground against the bone rack while she does it.
> There’s that padded saddle too, the only thing left after you smoked that spectre stallion. Tell Goldie to forget about the chunk and snatch that saddle instead.
> Tell Goldie to slacken the lasso before it snaps, and to hold into it instead.
> Tell Goldie to forget about anything that’ll weight her down and to hightail it with you into the distant fog.
> [Write In]

Stone, saddle, whip, or nothing, what would you prefer and why?

>>5696612
>> Holler at Goldie to drop the whip, and high tail it back to the mine to fetch the shattered piece of black square she busted. Hold ground against the bone rack while she does it.

>>5696612
> Holler at Goldie to drop the whip, and high tail it back to the mine to fetch the shattered piece of black square she busted. Hold ground against the bone rack while she does it.

>>5696612
> Tell Goldie to slacken the lasso before it snaps, and to hold into it instead.

>>5696612
> Tell Goldie to slacken the lasso before it snaps, and to hold into it instead.
> Yell at Goldie to fetch the black square.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5696672
>>5696828

>>5696860
>>5696866

>>5696672
>>5696828
>>5696860
>>5696866

“Ye’, yeah, two hands,” you clicked your tongue and nudged your head. “I’ll hold off this bag of bones at a distance, you go fetch that black nugget you so graciously left there.”

Goldie second-guessed your words, her fingers digging into the lasso’s intertwining strands. Her boots scraped against the dusty white granite as the skeleton continued to yank at the lasso.

“Damn it, Goldie, let go I said!” you shouted, locking the revolver’s hammer back with an authoritative snap and pointing it on the shadowy silhouette.

She spat on the ground and dropped the whip. “Suit yourself!”

The coiled lasso unravelled from the raven-hued skeleton, falling to the dirt before the rattling figure stepped on it. The wraith’s bones writhed and lowered as it turned its skull at the girl. Steadying its trembling bony hands, it reached out towards her. Goldie skipped back, but not before the calcified fingers grabbed her ankle and tore away a piece of her ethereal flesh. She yelled, recoiling in pain and falling onto her elbow, yet managing to remain upright. She glared at the thing, then—annoyed—at you, and backed away even further.

You slide a step forward the wraith, snapping your chicken talons for its attention. The skeleton pressed the fading opaque soul it pried off Goldie to its chest, the flames briefly burning on its marrow before dissipating into the moon-shining air. It gazed as the ghostly matter refused to stick, withering away from its charred-black bones.

After a forlorn moment, it took a notice of you again. Its skull slanted, bending the bones of its neck with a creaking strain. It glared at you with its hollowed eyes, a mountain lion sizing up the meat of a potential prey. It deemed so, as it outstretched its trembling hands and then lunged at you, the rattle of its bones echoing across the barren flatlands.

You had two bullets and no time to reload. They had to count.

> Spare the lead, instead dodge this wild, quick, and slippery bag of bones. Use your iron as a bludgeon, and if it gets too close, give it a good smack and scrape with your claw.
> Give the spook a double tap - one in the skull, the other in the neck, see if that'll do any harm or keep it still for a while.
> Tough shot, but give it a whirl: aim for this walking bones' ankles - first right, then left. See if you can hamper its stride.
> [Write In]

No love for the saddle? I see. I see.

>>5697323
> Spare the lead, instead dodge this wild, quick, and slippery bag of bones. Use your iron as a bludgeon, and if it gets too close, give it a good smack and scrape with your claw.

>>5697323
> Spare the lead, instead dodge this wild, quick, and slippery bag of bones. Use your iron as a bludgeon, and if it gets too close, give it a good smack and scrape with your claw.

>>5697333
We haven't seen many horses, other than the one we just shot.

>>5697346
>>5697474

You let the nuzzle drop and eased your finger off the steel squeeze. Shifting your handle, you grasped the six-shooter by its barrel. Angling away your shoulder, you leapt away from the wild and swift wraithlike skeleton. It missed by a hair’s breadth, a few mere inches, its gaunt fingers clenching at the desolate air, its jittering teeth gnashing the nothingness between them. You arched your steps to put yourself behind it and, with an swinging arm, you brought the wooden handle down on its skull. The gun’s grip shivered in your palm, the wood within cracking like a lizard crushed under a waggon’s wheel. Your blow glanced off the blackened skeletal crown, seeming to do no damage.

Before a curse could pass your lips, the wraith twisted its skull around. Grabbing your elbow with a steely grip, it chomped down on your left wrist, its teeth slicing through your spectral flesh as if it were tender overstewed fat. Stifling a pained shout, you bashed the handle against the skeletal ridge of its neck and spine—hell if you knew what those bones were called. But as if cast from iron, all you managed to do was further crack the weather-beaten grip of your firearm.

It bit deeper, its jagged teeth scraping against your charred bones. The wraith eased its clutch, pushed its hands against your wrist to tear off at the spectral essence seeping from your wound, and then made an abrupt leap backward. You lunged at it, your claw scraping across the skull as thought it were carved from solid rock, causing you more pain that the skeleton seemed even capable of feeling. The skeleton tumbled onto the granite surface, the pallid moonlight rippling against its convulsing form. You watched as it tried to smear your stolen flesh over its skeletal frame.

The bluish smoke slipped from its grip, finding its way back to your sinewless wrist. Probably, you didn’t had to worry; it would soon heal.

Goldie climbed out of the mineshaft, the shattered cube clasped in her hands. She let out a weary sigh, casting a look over her shoulder at you.

“You better darn well tail me,” she yelled, her form blending into the fog until her features began to fade.

> Your left hand was useless for a while … a minute? Two?

> Wait till this left hand of yours can wrangle again, then reach for that lasso. Loop it around that bag o' bones' neck and give a yank and a snap, or at least make a go at it.
> It's all caught up with that spectral hide it nicked, but how long? No matter, seize the moment and hightail it after Goldie.
> Stride over to the mouth of that mine and plant yourself on the edge, back to the blackness. Dare that skeleton to come a running, and then sidestep, if able to.
> [Write In]

Well damn, he, Cassidy, was better as a ghost.

>>5698055
>> Stride over to the mouth of that mine and plant yourself on the edge, back to the blackness. Dare that skeleton to come a running, and then sidestep, if able to.
Lmao lets add another hostile to the mine

>>5698055
Wait till this left hand of yours can wrangle again, then reach for that lasso. Loop it around that bag o' bones' neck and give a yank and a snap, or at least make a go at it.

>>5698055
> Stride over to the mouth of that mine and plant yourself on the edge, back to the blackness. Dare that skeleton to come a running, and then sidestep, if able to.
Worth a go, as >>5698116 suggested.

It's a No Update Thursday!

>>5698055
> Wait till this left hand of yours can wrangle again, then reach for that lasso. Loop it around that bag o' bones' neck and give a yank and a snap, or at least make a go at it.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5698116
>>5698756

>>5698257
>>5699057

>>5698116
>>5698257
>>5698756
>>5699057

You held your breath, waiting to see what would come first: you regaining the use of your left hand or the skeleton wraith shifting its attention back at you. They both happened in tandem and as the last wisps of the mist left its skeletal grasp, the creature hungered for more … in spite of all the futility of whatever it was trying to accomplish!

You were ready for its wild lunge. Sidestepping the charge, you brought the revolver crashing—splintering!—against its ribcage, toppling the heavy body to the ground. Its blackened carcass fell flat onto the rugged granite, splashing pallid dust up into the air and its rattling bones scraping the stone surface that was as unyielding as it were. You rushed to grab the discarded lassos, holding onto its handle like a drowning man would grip at a floating log.

The wraith had already hoisted itself upright, its spine trembling and wavering in ways bones shouldn't have been able to. You unfurled the rope, snapping the barbed leather at the looming demon. It cracked through the air, and despite your utter inexperience with using a lasso, it looped around the creature’s neck as if with a mind of its own. The skeleton staggered as your whip tightened below its skull, the metallic barbs scraping at its marrow. It reached with its rattling hands to claw at the leather. Before it could, you wrapped the other end of the lasso around your arm and over your shoulder, using your chicken claw talons to painfully secure it in place. With every ounce of strength in your bones, you yanked at it. You heard a harsh hollow cracking sound as you fell to the ground, the wraith’s skull snapping off behind you.

You watched as the black cranium whirled through the sky before landing yards away from its skeletal frame. The rope began to slip off the neck bones, only to be seized by the headless body. Its clawed fingers dug deep into the oiled weaves and strips, ruthlessly shredding them. You dropped the now useless whip and waited to see if separating the skeleton’s head from its body had any effect. The skeleton wraith continued shredding at the lasso until nothing but scraps were left, scattering tattered fibres into the air like plucked feathers. It stood there, wavering on the spot, its trembling arms reaching out blindly.

With a heavy sight, you turned to the dislodged skull. It twitched in place, before rolling to one side, its desolate sunken eyes turned to you. Returning its gaze, you noticed the headless body had understood where you were. God damn it! You heard a familiar clatter of blackened bones as it rushed at you. You kicked the dust, charging towards the skull. A cacophonous rattle followed in your steps. You reached the skull and then bashed it with your boot. The skull sailed above the ground, the skeleton frame behind you abruptly stopping in its tracks, fumbling in place. You kicked it quite far, you reckoned; the skull blurred into the mist, with you no longer in its gaze. You stared at the framework of bones to make sure it wouldn’t and couldn’t follow you—it would not—before leaving it there.

Rolling your shoulder—that pull was quite a pain to do—you headed to where you last saw Goldie vanish. You trudged through the graveyard shroud, the once clear and mercury-lined sights of the El Dorado Warren becoming something you could barely recall. Just as you were about to reach for the compass, a rustling sound made you halt.

Poised to reach for the empty revolver, you were taken back as Goldie suddenly emerged from the swirling mist. She slapped your chest with her palms.

“You took your sweet damn time,” she said, immediately stepping back. You whistled in some spit and held it in.

> Don’t reckon you need any shut-eye, rest, or even breath, but you’re sure been through a mill. Best you skedaddle far enough from this here Warren, then take a breather.
> Warren’s deal with now, so you gotta pick your next stop. Goldie’s got hold of that Charred Bone’s chalk. You circle back to the watermill if it leads the way …
> That gaunt miner you met before heading into the Warren spoke of a nearby town. You should set your sights on it, and that promised reward.
> [Write In]

> Can't hardly feel the dry in your throat. The Prickly Niceties won't let you forget your gaffe. Swig down that dark water you swiped from Cassidy.
> Despite the misery and bother of this thirst, don't go sipping from that flask, just hold onto it. Don't wanna make them black bones any tougher.
> [Write In]

>>5699733
>> Don’t reckon you need any shut-eye, rest, or even breath, but you’re sure been through a mill. Best you skedaddle far enough from this here Warren, then take a breather.
> Despite the misery and bother of this thirst, don't go sipping from that flask, just hold onto it. Don't wanna make them black bones any tougher.

>>5700237

“More trouble than I figured” —your stare locked on hers— “but you knew that.”

You scraped your wrist with your claw, the echo of its mutilation and tear penetrating your soul. Right on its heels, the sting of the man’s bullet flared anew, as if smouldering with renewed fire from withering cinders within your left shoulder. You pressed your normal hand onto the wound to try and suffocate the pain, but it fetched the tiniest relief.

A full day hadn’t passed since your arrival, and you had already suffered enough wounds to kill a lesser man five times over … yet, even in the Graveyard Frontier, you persisted, your spectral flesh and corporeal body inseparable. It seemed the man’s warning held truth, lending credence to all his other sayings. You reached for the flask with a careful touch: the meagre iron was brittle and thin; it was a wonder they used this feeble ore to forge their blades and firearms. Was there truly no better material available? Holding the flask to your armpit, you grasped to uncork it, your ceaseless, insatiable thirst an unending torment.

You saw Goldie frown. “Is that what’s in store for you too?” she asked, her brown gaze eyeing the charred bones visible beneath your translucent skin.

You halted, your fingers digging deeply into the cork’s bottoms. You might, if your temporary end follows the man’s fate, while your bones are still as black as midnight when that happens. “Worried, are you?”

“I’d just as soon not wrangle with your wandering bones if it’s avoidable.”

“Them water-charred bones make me tougher to kill,” you said. “So, if it comes to that … it won’t be a problem in the first place.”

Goldie, she ran her fingers around the edges of her nose before snorting. “Good reckoning. Guzzle till you’re ready to burst, don’t matter to me.”

“On the other hand” —you shot a look at your bird-like claw and sneered— “he claimed if I quit drinking, my bones’ll turn back, but more fragile, whatever that’s supposed to mean.” You knew what it meant, the necessity to keep imbibing to fend off the consequences.

“So, like a drug?” She offered you a taunting smirk. “I’d fancy you weaker and more pitiful when we run into Henry. Suits me just fine.”

You corked the flask and tucked it back beneath your belt. “I’ll be easy pickings for everyone else who ain’t your brother, too.” You sighed. “Besides, I ain’t got much use for this damned bird leg, and the only way to shed it is through ‘death’ and soul renewal. But, I ought not to do that while my bones are like this. Aside from you wrangling with my skeleton, who’s to say if it’ll lash out at others, or it’ll come after me.”

You opted against it. For now, you’ll hold onto the flask without toughening your ebony bones.

You cocked your head. “We need to put some miles between us and this place, find a sport to rest for a spell.” You paused, “And your gun’s busted.”

She tensed, leaning forward, her eyes unblinking as they fixed on you. “Whatever,” she spat, “it ain’t like it was of any importance, or I foot the bill for it. You weren’t about to let me use it anyhow, you filcher.” She reached her hand for your neck. “You can make amends by returning my watch.”

> She looks raring to scuffle for it, and you ain't got no mind to always be on guard 'round this brat. Let her have it."
> Refuse to hand over the enchanted ticker to the girl. If your aim is to dodge Henry, there ain't no better tool. Tell Goldie you tracked her down only cause of this ticker, and it's of better use in your grasp.
> Instead of the pocket watch, offer Goldie them keepsake shards. Tell her to hold 'em up to her right ear to hear praises, sweet nothings, and suchlike.
> [Write In]

>>5701282
> Instead of the pocket watch, offer Goldie them keepsake shards. Tell her to hold 'em up to her right ear to hear praises, sweet nothings, and suchlike.

>>5701284
Quick shooting, Anon!

>>5701282
> Refuse to hand over the enchanted ticker to the girl. If your aim is to dodge Henry, there ain't no better tool. Tell Goldie you tracked her down only cause of this ticker, and it's of better use in your grasp.

>>5701284
Whay advantage is there to giving her the shards?

>>5701316
Sweet memories is a real tempting thing and a great distraction. Plus if we ever end up in a situation like this fight where she’s able to approach the enemy to physically strike, she can jam a shard into their ear.

>>5701282
>> Instead of the pocket watch, offer Goldie them keepsake shards. Tell her to hold 'em up to her right ear to hear praises, sweet nothings, and suchlike.

Hello all, apologies for no update, got sick today.
We'll return tomorrow.

>>5702211
Feel better soon, QM! No rush: focus on getting well.

>>5702211
Hope you get better soon. Anyways this song makes me think of this quest:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=so2s-NZVXZA&ab_channel=SansRed

>>5701284
>>5701316
>>5701363

You backed away from her outreaching hands, shaking your head to deny her.

“I ain’t handing it back,” you said. “It’s more handy in my keep.”

Goldie cocked her and grit her teeth. “That’s not for you to judge!” she snapped.

You pulled at your shirt collar and hid the timepiece behind the fabric. “Only managed to trail you ‘cause of it, doesn’t that make my point?”

She skipped to the side and grabbed at your top, her fingers fanning around the buffalo horn buttons. “We ain’t in them mines no more, are we?

You grabbed her elbow, pulling on it with little leniency. “And you can go astray again.”

The cotton stopped her from properly clutching the timepiece. “Without a means to find Henry, something you’d likely prefer.”

“Enough!” you said, twisting her arm and casting her onto the ground—her hands empty. Staring down at her smoldering glare, you said. “How about I give you something else instead?”

Her hands clawed at the bleached sand. “What in tarnation else can you give me?”

You waited to see if the girl would make another grab for the ticker, but her venomous words masked a dash of inquiry that momentarily sated her. Reaching into your pocket, you took out a handful—all of them you had—of purple-blue shardlings from the hollering webbings you previously had to deal with.

Goldie scoffed and spat. “Why would I need anything from that damned place?” she asked. “All them ores and shards are there to make you suffer, you idiot.”

“Those can too,” you said, taking a cautious step at her. “They used to, in the original, bigger form, and they still can if you hold them to your left ear.”

“What? Left ear? —she blinked, her mouth hung open— “ … What about the other one?”

You let out a tsk to prompt her to open her palms, then dropped the lilac fragments into her hands. The girl’s eyes looked over you before she did as you told her to.

“I hear some— H-Henry?” she gasped, questioning the empty air. She moved the stones closer to her ear. “That’s Henry’s voice, what kind of witchcraft this be?”
You tapped your trousers firmly with your hand to dust it off.

She shut her eyes and let out a shaky whimper.

“It’s truly his voice, I ain’t forgotten. He’s repeating what he told me, all over again; every last word. It’s been a damned half-a-decade … ”

“Just your brother? No one else's?”

She paused, furrowing her brows. “No, now that you mentioned it, I can hear an old storekeep praising me for— what is this thing?” She looked at you.

You shrugged, your gaze straying towards the foggy horizon. “Just something I squirrelled away just in case. If you like it, you can hold onto it for now.”

Goldie curled her lips. “For now? What are you aiming to do with them?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m still fixing to take back that watch, you brother killer, but … I ain’t in the mood for dust-up anylonger.”

You sighed, it seemed like you had managed to placate the girl for now.

> Make your way toward where that pocket watch's hand is pointing at Henry. Might be he's holed up in some safe haven. Dealing with him now could stop him from being a persistent thorn in your ankle.
> Head in the complete opposite way of the hour hand, away from Henry. Ain't the most precise navigation, but here's hoping there's something nearby you can stumble upon.
> Let Goldie amuse herself with them bits, but then let her know you're aiming to follow that chalk she snatched, back to the watermill. Might be an opportune time, you could top off your flask with more of that water, and if that slave's still there, you could let him loose. Either to have him owe you one or just out of the kindness of your heart.
> [Write In]

>>5702656
It's a fitting song, alright.

>>5702997
>> Let Goldie amuse herself with them bits, but then let her know you're aiming to follow that chalk she snatched, back to the watermill. Might be an opportune time, you could top off your flask with more of that water, and if that slave's still there, you could let him loose. Either to have him owe you one or just out of the kindness of your heart.

If anyone curious, every choice in the very beginning of the Quest had their own unique "Goldie".

>>5702997
> Let Goldie amuse herself with them bits, but then let her know you're aiming to follow that chalk she snatched, back to the watermill. Might be an opportune time, you could top off your flask with more of that water, and if that slave's still there, you could let him loose. Either to have him owe you one or just out of the kindness of your heart.
>>5703026
So did we pick the angriest Goldie of the bunch?

>>5702997
> Make your way toward where that pocket watch's hand is pointing at Henry. Might be he's holed up in some safe haven. Dealing with him now could stop him from being a persistent thorn in your ankle.

>>5703363
I'm almost certain we're in hard mode right now. We killed her brother for only 5 bucks lmao

>>5702997
> Let Goldie amuse herself with them bits, but then let her know you're aiming to follow that chalk she snatched, back to the watermill. Might be an opportune time, you could top off your flask with more of that water, and if that slave's still there, you could let him loose. Either to have him owe you one or just out of the kindness of your heart.

>>5703818
To be fair, $5 in the mid-1800s is like $150 to $200 today.
Still a low sum to kill a kid for, but you know...

>>5703012
>>5703363
>>5703443
>>5703818

Making sure first that no threat had followed in your steps, you sat on the empty ground surrounded by the featureless landscape. Goldie had also made herself comfortable, laying on the ground with her hands cradling the chattering shards spread underneath her head like a knuckle-stuffed pillow. Her eyes closed, a soft hum leaving her lips that curled into a content smile, tears quivering on her short lashes. She seemed at ease—a sentiment you couldn’t echo.

Now that you tried to relax, no longer focused on traversing and weathering the ghastly blue expanse, your thoughts came back to your wounds, numerous and varied in their vehemence. The bullet wound in your shoulder whimpered for attention like a wild hound, unpredictable and capable of turning your arm—be it chicken’s or not—against you at the drop of Lucifer’s hat. You tried to swallow, but the parched residue in your mouth grated against your raw throat, making you cough and gasp for the funeral breath. You put your fingers against your neck in an attempt to soothe the dryness; instead, you flinched from the sweltering gashes on your palms: not merely wounds, but memories of them. The new injuries too, the bullet Cassidy lodged in your other shoulder and the damage he wrought on your wrist as a mindless wraith, ached like damnation itself.

You slouched on the ground, and it was then the worst of the pains chilled your body as if you and the lightning stepped to share a lake during the same estranging thunderstorm. The gnawing sensation of hundreds of stabs, punctures, and impalements made your bones shudder and your spectral flesh ripple like an ethereal cloud.

A curse slipped past your lips—God damn it!—as you laid there, writhing and wallowing from the lingering pains. Far from the moment of respite you hoped for, you found yourself tortured by those wounds, like a reminder of the ceaseless torment everyone else was damned to suffer in the Graveyard Frontier. You steadied your breath, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your throat like you were taught to. With no means to combat the pain, you yielded, patiently waiting to somewhat acclimate to them.

> Sit tight 'til you're able to move once more, and them wounds and stabs and gashes you've got, let 'em become something you're used to.
> Interrupt Goldie and her gabbing with them shards. Ask her to... spin a yarn about herself?... tell you tall tales of her brother?... speak on the praises she's hearing? … or other things?
> Can't take no more of this. Near defenseless as you are. If ya could shake one pain, let it be this damn thirst. Grab that flask and start refreshing your gullet.
> [Write In]

>>5704016
>> Sit tight 'til you're able to move once more, and them wounds and stabs and gashes you've got, let 'em become something you're used to.

>>5703363
>So did we pick the angriest Goldie of the bunch?
Let me think on that ... I would say yes. Kablooey's would have been the most unhinged, and Red Iron's would have been the calmest and coldest. Papoose's relative would've been the most interesting because of the nonexistent status of the natives in the Graveyard Frontier, with her (?) own unique powers and problems to deal with. But I'm happy with Henry choice, it worked out quite interested and I do like this Goldie.

>>5703818
>I'm almost certain we're in hard mode right now. We killed her brother for only 5 bucks lmao
$15, actually, but yes, even that's on the very low end of bounties back at the time, inflation or not.

>>5704019
On that note, there has been a mention of the biggest bounty Aug had ever hunted for, and the man behind it. It was mentioned at $1000 but I am making a change. The actual bounty was $4000. The man was far more dangerous than "Red Iron" ($820) and came the closest to killing August.

>>5704016
> Interrupt Goldie and her gabbing with them shards. Ask her to... spin a yarn about herself?... tell you tall tales of her brother?... speak on the praises she's hearing? … or other things?

>>5704016
> Sit tight 'til you're able to move once more, and them wounds and stabs and gashes you've got, let 'em become something you're used to.

>>5704017
>>5704024
>>5704340

You threw a glare at Goldie before bringing a finger to your mouth and biting down on it. You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing. The injuries, stabs, and gashes—you tried to turn them to mere itches. You knew you didn’t have to fret over collapsed lungs, torn muscles, damaged joints, festering infections, bleeding out, or any such physical maladies; it was all in your mind, this torment was all a twisted design of the Graveyard Frontier. The injuries could be deadly at the moment, but they wouldn't persist. Still, it was a wonder the souls you met hadn’t become mad, though Landry came the closest.

For hours, perhaps, you laid basking under the glow of the mortuary moon. The pains ebbed and receded, but only that, you reckoned you were never going to be free of them fully until you’d find your way home. It was a melancholic and sobering motivation, at least. The outside of your eyelids was veiled by an eclipsing darkness. You snap-opened your eyes and abruptly snatched Goldie’s arm above you, causing her to yelp.

“What do you think are you doing?” you asked, your grip on her arm tightening enough to eventually fracture it.

She pulled in an attempt to free herself, but you didn’t let her. “Looking in on you,” she said, digging her nails into your skin with her free hand.

“Sure you were.” You looked to where you stored the timepiece and sneered. “Grown tired of Henry’s prattle and his sweet talk, have we?”
Her serpent-like gaze slithered over you. “You are a piece of shit, you are! Let go,” she said.

Relinquishing your hold gradually, you eased your grip inch by painful inch, one finger at a time, until she could wrench free. She huffed at you.

You tucked your arm underneath you and propped yourself up to sit. You patted your pockets and your belt’s holster to ensure that they were unbothered by the brat; seemed like you caught her in the first act. You tilted your neck side to side to snap the bones in place and sighed.

“Show me the chalk you snatched,” you said, making a beckoning gesture with your open hand.

She squinted, clutching her stomach and chest with one hand. “You aiming to tail it?” she hesitated, “To the watermill?”

You gave a slight nod. “That’s our only shot at a clear path, else we just left to wander and hope to stumble upon something.”

Goldie furrowed her brows. “Not if we follow to where Henry is.”

“That Cassidy is not going to be a problem for a spell, it’s the prime time to head back there. Plus, there’s that trapped soul we could cut loose.”

Goldie’s spit landed near your boots. “You couldn't give less of a damn about that slave, you said it yourself. You just want the darn water, ain’t you?”

The reminder made you flinch; the only pain that captured your attention over and over every time you spoke or even drew breath was the drink hunger. There was a reason pioneers coined them spirits. You reached for the iron flask, only to stop midways as if you were reaching for an iron at a high noon. Cursing, you forced yourself to pull back the hand and turned to look at Goldie.

“No, we are going for the slave first. He was with … what’s his name, Charred Bones? If luck’s on our side, he’ll know a few landmarks we can rid on to.”

Goldie kept you in her silent scrutiny. “Prove to me that this ain’t just about you getting a drink.”

“Prove it to you?” you asked. “How do you want me to—”

“Hand over the flask,” she said, jabbing a finger at the container. “You made up your mind not to drink it, right? So it shouldn't be no issue."

> Pass over the half-filled canteen to Goldie and let her stow it at her side. Even better, you won't have to wrangle with your grit when it ain’t within your grasp.
> Refuse. You ain't got a clue when you'll be hankering for a swig, and she could use it to back you into a corner. It ain't her call to make whether you want your bones black or not. Demand to lay eyes on that chalk, and if she won't, you ain't scared to get rough.
> Tell Goldie she can judge your truthfulness—and were you speaking true?—her own self with you toting the flask but not touching it. You're keeping the jug.
> [Write In]

>>5705590
> Refuse. You ain't got a clue when you'll be hankering for a swig, and she could use it to back you into a corner. It ain't her call to make whether you want your bones black or not. Demand to lay eyes on that chalk, and if she won't, you ain't scared to get rough.
Look, girlie, we ain't friend sor oartners except our of raw necessity. We're going to backstab each other eventually. We don't have to prove shit to you, and if you're going to be a pain we'll just wander off without you in a random direction. See how you and Pwecious Henwy like that, huh?

>>5705590
> Refuse. You ain't got a clue when you'll be hankering for a swig, and she could use it to back you into a corner. It ain't her call to make whether you want your bones black or not. Demand to lay eyes on that chalk, and if she won't, you ain't scared to get rough.

>>5705590
> Refuse. You ain't got a clue when you'll be hankering for a swig, and she could use it to back you into a corner. It ain't her call to make whether you want your bones black or not. Demand to lay eyes on that chalk, and if she won't, you ain't scared to get rough.
Going to throw the flask at somebody as a distraction.

>>5705602
>>5705665
>>5706329

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, making them unseen beneath your closed lids. You slapped the surface of the flask and said, “Ain’t gonna happen, girlie. It’s staying right here with me.”

Goldie locked her arms and pushed them against her chest. She locked her eyes on you with a daring stare. “Do you think I'm just gonna tail after you like a goddamn pet?”

“We both know you’re just bidding your time to stab me in the back,” you said. “Don’t gotta prove a damn thing to you. Go, wander off if you like.”

Goldie was quiet in her reckoning, scuffing the dirt under her boot and digging into the hollow soil. She then turned her back to you, walked to her previous spot, and picked up the heavy pieces of the lodestone cube. With only her burdened short groan breaking the silence, she hurled them at you! You raised your arm to shield your face as the black chunks struck your chest and neck. The sharp corners tore into your jacket and the blunt sides struck against your body. You caught the pieces mid-air before they could fall, glaring down at the girl.

“Ain’t your pack mule either,” she spat.

You took a deep, whistling breath and then held up the pieces of the lodestone. “You bitch. Gather up these godforsaken rocks, show me the damn chalk, and don't push my patience any further than you already have."

Goldie tucked her hands beneath her elbows and then lifted her chin. “Pray tell, or else what?”

Your grip tightened around the dark rock. “Your memory seems all too short, probably all of them blows to your thick skull. I swear I'll smash your darling little timepiece if you don't do as I tell ya."

“You ain’t gonna do shit,” she dared. “You need that to duck Henry like the lily-livered coward you are, too spineless to face up to your own deeds!”

> You ain't one for idle threats. Yank out that pocket watch, heave it skyward, and let a hollow bullet sing its death knell. Show the brat where she stands.
> Snatch that pocket watch and hoist it high for her to see, then start mashing it 'tween your palm and your talons. Keep squeezing till the lass pleads mercy, and if she stays mum, smash it to bits.
> Shoot her a mean glare, but leave it at that. Lugging around chunks of lodestone with a single arm will be a royal pain, but it seems you might've pushed your luck too far with the girl.
> [Write In]

>>5706496
>> You ain't one for idle threats. Yank out that pocket watch, heave it skyward, and let a hollow bullet sing its death knell. Show the brat where she stands.
She shouldnt have dared us. little wbitch.

>>5706496
> Snatch that pocket watch and hoist it high for her to see, then start mashing it 'tween your palm and your talons. Keep squeezing till the lass pleads mercy, and if she stays mum, smash it to bits.
leverage

>>5706496
> Snatch that pocket watch and hoist it high for her to see, then start mashing it 'tween your palm and your talons. Keep squeezing till the lass pleads mercy, and if she stays mum, smash it to bits.
Don't wanna waste bullets on it, hollow or not.

>>5706496
> Snatch that pocket watch and hoist it high for her to see, then start mashing it 'tween your palm and your talons. Keep squeezing till the lass pleads mercy, and if she stays mum, smash it to bits.

>>5706620
>>5706714
>>5707185
>>5708059

You tossed the cube on the ground in front of the girl, your scowl tightening into a thin line. You reached inside your plaid shirt and yanked out the pocket watch by its chain. As Goldie tensed up, her arms pressing further against her ribs and her blue gaze flickering towards the piece, you snapped the watch open and hoisted it to your shoulder level. Spreading your claw, you touched the bezel and the glass case, scratching a nasty mark inches away from Henry’s weathered portrait.

Goldie’s eyes snapped wide open. She approached you with a quick step, her arms falling to her sides.

“Right you are, this little trinket sure is handy for keeping an eye on your brother and your pain-in-the-ass self," you said.

As she took another step, she started. “Wait—”

Your claw chipped and fractured the watch’s glass face, the sound seemingly echoing in Goldie’s ears like a drill.

“But you're dead wrong about how much I give a damn about it,” you said, raising your eyes to meet the dilated flames in hers. With that, you squeezed the watch between your hand and your claw, cracking it further.

Goldie rushed and slammed her weight against your chest but you kept your ground, unfazed by her light push. The girl grabbed your hands with her own, standing on her tiptoes to reach them.

“I damn-well said … stop!” she snarled.

You shook your head. With a swift motion, you lifted the timepiece above your head, breaking free of her pathetic grasp and moving it far out of her reach. She stumbled back, her breathing becoming short and sharp as she clenched her fists, seeming ready to punch you. However, her lifted leg wobbled in the air when you dared her to come closer, the watch's glass face continuing to crack under your clasp.

“This fancy thing holds no meaning or value to me,” you paused, the crack in the watch's casing spreading across its entire surface. “Ready to start begging now?”

Goldie exhaled sharply into the frigid air, her gaze shifting uneasily between you and the watch ticking away seconds before it would break.

“I get it,” she said as she stepped back and spat. “Fine, alright! I messed up, and said things I shouldn't have. Is that what you're aching to hear?”

“Partly,” you paused and, keeping her on painful edge for a moment longer before dropping the watch onto your chest. "Now gather up them stones, and keep your unasked-for thoughts to yourself.”

There was a sound, a splintering creaking like branches and trunks breaking asunder under a violent wind: although it was still. You and Goldie turned to face the looming shadow emerging from the pale-tinted mist. The fog unfurled to lay open your eyes to the eerie green glow of its spectral wood: a massive gallows-like structure. The hewed ethereal beams creaked as the structure lurched closer; the beams edging like legs not meant to be seen moving. The teetering beam rolled at each unsteady step, desolate and bare of the frayed hanging ropes meant to be there by design. A figure sat atop the planked platform, his gaze meeting yours. He tipped a hat that wasn’t there and then turned the book he held in one hand to the next page with his finger—his other hand was in the air, elbow against his knee.

“Why isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” he said in a voice with a delicate lilt, each word cadencing into the next. “A man with bones as black as coal and a girl no older than sixteen. You two make for a curious pair.” His eyes dropped to the page of his book before rising back to meet yours. “I'm all tied up with a troublesome riddle here, care to lend a helping hand?"

> Yank out your iron and start firing. Ain't no time to suss out if this feller's friend or foe, best be safe 'fore he has the chance to pull a fast one on you."
> Push Goldie out front to shield yourself. Query this stranger, see what kind of help he be needing.
> Give the gent a good ole cowboy howdy. Wonder aloud why he's so hell-bent on getting answers, of all the godforsaken things he could be up to instead.
> [Write In]

>>5708425
> Give the gent a good ole cowboy howdy. Wonder aloud why he's so hell-bent on getting answers, of all the godforsaken things he could be up to instead.
While the other two options are potentially safer, I can't resist the lure of a good old western howdy.

>>5708425
> Give the gent a good ole cowboy howdy. Wonder aloud why he's so hell-bent on getting answers, of all the godforsaken things he could be up to instead.
> And maybe ask some questions of your own, like where a man can go to get answers about the nature of this here Graveyard Frontier (and how to escape it)

>>5708425
> Give the gent a good ole cowboy howdy. Wonder aloud why he's so hell-bent on getting answers, of all the godforsaken things he could be up to instead.

>>5708432
>>5708460
>>5708774

“First off, howdy, partner,” you greeted, touching the brim of your hat in an acknowledgement. “Name’s Aug. You’ve got yourself an interesting mount there, don’t ya?”

The man craned his neck slightly, revealing a faint smile. His tawny shirt collar, turned up, obscured the gleaming skin of his throat.

“Wouldn’t really call it a mount,” he replied. “I was known as Abel once, but in these parts, people know me better by another name: The Riddle Wrangler.”

“And which name do you fancy more?”

He tapped the coarse page he was reading, then lifted his hand.

“I don’t mind either, dear Aug,” he said, maintaining his smile. “I don't even mind if you’ll mispronounce it as 'a-Bel'.”

“Abel it is then. Got a few queries need answering, reckon you could help with that?”

He nodded almost as soon as you marked the dot. “I’ll be more than happy to assist, long as you can lend me a hand first.”

You glanced over at Goldie, who tilted her head and raised her fist. In spite of the insulting display, she begrudgingly began to pick up the pieces as you had asked.

“Keep me outta this,” she said.

Abel chuckled. “If your delightful compadre wishes to try her hand at solving one as well, I wouldn't mind, dear Aug. She shouldn’t shy away from stretching that brain of hers. You know … there’s that rot of age the youngsters just haven’t yet experienced.”

“Pay her no mind,” you said, spitting into the dirt and grinding the spot with your boot. “So, what’s the riddle?”

“I've got quite a few that are causing me trouble," he admitted with a tired sigh. “Here is one for you: what weighs more, a pound of hope or a kilogram of despair?"

> [Write In]

No prompts to pick from? You can't do this to me, YouAndYourWaifu!

>>5709192
>"Trick question. A kilogram is always heavier than a pound."
I hope this isn't some sort of metaphorical thing.

>>5709223
I'd say despair weighs more then hope even in metaphor

>>5709223
Support.

>>5709192
"And anyway, hope lifts us up, so it's gotta' be lighter than air at least."

>>5709223
>>5710128
>>5710129

“This is one of them trick questions, ain’t it?” you said. “Well … A kilogram weighs more than a pound. So, I reckon, I’d wager on despair.”

Reaching into the spine of the book, the man drew out a lead pencil. He tapped the unsharpened end somewhere on the paper.

“That’s not it,” he said, sighing. “I’ve already tried that one myself. But it was a good guess nonetheless, dear Aug.” His left knuckled grip, one holding nothing you could see, relaxed partially.

“Hold on a second,” you said, biting your lip. “So this ain't one of them trick questions? We're talking metaphors here, ain't we? But damn, hope's supposed to lift us up, despair's supposed to weigh us down.” Resting a hand on your belt, you tried again. “So... the answer's a pound of hope?”

Abel held down a chuckle. “Afraid not, Aug.”

“Huh? So it ain't either one? What in tarnation kind of riddle is this?"

“One that’s very hard to find a right answer to.”

The man sighed and pressed the page with his pencil. A sudden itch crawled over your neck, making you scratch the irritated spot with your talons. Was it just a caprice of your ghost flesh?

“Any other guesses?” Abel’s words flew as naturally as a bird’s singsong; he seemed hopeful for an answer to his riddle as much as a bird hoped for another to join the nest.

“How you figure my answers are wrong?”

He glanced at the pages before saying, “I’ve got a hunch, dear Aug.”

“A hunch?” you asked, eyeing the book of riddles. “You telling me you don't even know the right answer?

Abel raised the book to his face and laughed. After a moment, his laughter died down. “No, I didn’t come up with them riddles with an answer in mind.”

“You didn’t— just how many of these riddles you got in that there book?”

“More than half a hundred,” he said.

“And how many you reckon you've solved?”

“None,” he admitted, lowering the book to his knees. “Not a single one.” He turned to Goldie, who recoiled slightly under his gaze. “Do you mind giving it a try, Miss … ?”

Goldie waved the chunk of ebony at him. “I ain’t good at them riddles or quizzes. Ask the brother killer a second one instead.” Her smirk twisted a little as she looked at you.

Abel glanced at you, then back at Goldie. "I insist," he said. His lips hung parted, his teeth locked together in an overly strained smile.

> Chide Goldie to spit out her best guess, gotta abide by the cowboy’s rules if you’re looking for his help.
> Keep your trap shut, if Goldie's got a mind to answer, let her. If not, let her be as stubborn and silent. You’re tired of being her dad. Ask the gent if he can hitch you a ride to the watermill (or someplace else?)
> Prod the fella for more about that interesting book of riddles he's clutching onto.
> [Write In]

>>5710382
> Chide Goldie to spit out her best guess, gotta abide by the cowboy’s rules if you’re looking for his help.
Huh, something definitely happened to us. But I'm too much of a smoothbrain to figure it out.

>>5710382
> Keep your trap shut, if Goldie's got a mind to answer, let her. If not, let her be as stubborn and silent. You’re tired of being her dad. Ask the gent if he can hitch you a ride to the watermill (or someplace else?)

>>5710382
> Prod the fella for more about that interesting book of riddles he's clutching onto.
I get the sneaking suspicion this man will steal something using word games.

It's no update Thursday! How are you celebrating?

>>5711060
Sleeping in.

Rolled 1 (1d3)

>>5710388

>>5710391

>>5710796

>>5710388
>>5710391
>>5710796

Goldie scoffed. “You insist, do you?” She turned her attention to the man as he nodded his head. “Solve your own riddles, I've got no interest in ‘em,” she said.

“Just spit something out,” you said, turning to her. “Just give whatever answer you can think of, it's not like it'll be a correct one anyways."

Goldie’s eyes narrowed. “Not like it’ll be right?” She hefted the chunks of rock in her hands before having her gaze wander around. “Fine, give me another one,” she said, lowering the necktie from her chin, “but if I get it right, you're helping -me-, not him.” She jerked her head at you. “What I want is different from what the murder of my brother will question of you.”

Abel leaned back, then pointed the pencil at the brat. “That sound more than fair to me, don’t you agree, dear Aug?”

You pursed your lips. The watch pointing to Henry’s whereabouts was in your possession; what else could she possibly bargain with him for? You didn’t nod but didn’t shake your head to disagree either.

Abel stashed his pen beneath the mustard-coloured pages, gripping the edge as he turned it to the next one. He made a gesture as if adjusting spectacles that weren't there with his wrist.

“I have one for you here, miss,” he said, lifting the book to show her a page: there was a riddle inscribed in stark black ink with a perfect circle drawn right beneath it. “How do you spot a beginning of a circle?”

Goldie palmed her hand into half-a-triangle and put it against her nose and lips, letting go of a pent-up breath. She closed her eyes and, scratching at her chapped skin, fell into ponderance.

Abel waited, his legs swinging from the edge of the glowing gallows. You waited too, for a good ten minutes, before your patience began to wear thin.

“You gonna answer the man or what?” you snapped.

Goldie’s eyes flickered at you; her voice was stifled by her hand. “I’m thinking,” she said.

> Take a shot first at answering Abel’s second riddle. You might just know the right answer.
> Allow Goldie some peace to think. You can practically hear her un-oiled cogs grinding in that hollow skull of hers.
> Ask Abel about his riddle book or if he'll divulge anything else. Sure, you might interrupt Goldie's train of thought, but … you don’t really care?
> [Write In]

Sorry for the delay.

>>5711929
> Allow Goldie some peace to think. You can practically hear her un-oiled cogs grinding in that hollow skull of hers.

>>5711060
Eating.
>>5711929
> Allow Goldie some peace to think. You can practically hear her un-oiled cogs grinding in that hollow skull of hers.

>>5711929

> Allow Goldie some peace to think. You can practically hear her un-oiled cogs grinding in that hollow skull of hers.

Apologies, no update today. I can't really give an excuse, I need to be bullied more.

>>5711929
> Allow Goldie some peace to think. You can practically hear her un-oiled cogs grinding in that hollow skull of hers.

>>5712164
>>5712307
>>5712316
>>5713017

You grit your teeth and tsked your tongue. Thinking, she said, as if there's anything in that head of hers to think over.

Another ten minutes trudged before Goldie finally lowered her hand and turned to Abel. “Got my answer now,” she said.

Abel’s left hand twirled an unseen instrument in the air before he returned Goldie a small nod. “Well then, let's hear it, little miss.”

She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together before pointing the latter at the man. “I reckon I’d just ask the one who drew it to point how he did it to me.”

Abel cocked his head. He observed Goldie as she moved her finger to point it to the page. “That here's your handiwork, right? How 'bout you just tell me how you got it onto paper?”

“And if they don’t tell you?” he asked, placing the pencil between the pages. He raised an imaginary quirly to his lips and nibbled on the very end of it, taking a soft whiff.

Goldie withdrew her finger, balled her hand into a fist, and then cracked each of her knuckles against her shoulder blade. “Got plenty of ways to ‘ask’, you riddler.”

Abel returned his attention to the page, a smirk hanging on his lips. “That’s an interesting answer, but I’m afraid it’s also a wrong one. Can't be of any help if I don't remember, now can I?”

“What?” she said.

“Even if I was the one to draw it this way, if I don’t remember how I did it, there’s no way I can tell you. Am I correct?”

Goldie shot him a sideways scowl. “You have a horrendously shitty memory,” she said. Suddenly, Goldie slapped at her neck, blinking and clutching it as if a mosquito had taken a bite.

Hidden beneath the brilliant radiance of the gallows beam, you noticed a minute twinkle—tightly knotted cords alone—enveloping the crossbeam. Had these always been there? Was their faint existence obscured by the ethereal green glow of the rest of the structure and that’s why you didn’t notice them?

Abel’s voice broke your train of thought. “You two didn’t give me an answer, but you two gave it a shot … I can’t just let that effort go unappreciated, now can I?” he said, drumming on the misty platform with his pencil. The gallows lowered with a sound as if the hardwood inside of each vertical post splintered and cracked, like it was fracturing just to shift an inch.

The weathered staircase laid upon the white-grey earth, tendrils of smoke spiralling up from within the cracked steps. The path to ascent those gallows had no handrails to hold.

Abel motioned to you with his hand. “I’m happy to give you a lift... Now, where is it you're looking to go?"

“Take us to the watermill, I’ve got a pointer right here,” you said, reaching to snatch the chalk on Goldie’s neck. The imp evaded you, and shouted, “Take me to the town!”

The man let his raised hand fall and delved into his waistcoat pocket. “I’m afraid I can’t accommodate both,” he said, pulling out a coin and fastening the pocket's button. "Shall we decide with a coin flip?"

You recognised the golden coin: the Double Eagle. A full twenty-dollar worth in the size of a casino chip, Liberty herself on one side and eagle on the reverse. There was no federal coin worth more than that one.

“Heads or tails?” Abel asked, flipping -the- American coin between his fingers, leaving the question open to either you or Goldie.

> Call 'Heads'.
> Go for 'Tails'.
> Let Goldie call it. Chances are, her luck's run out long before yours.
> Cheat somehow?
> [Write In]

>>5713908
> Call 'Heads'.

>>5713908
>> Go for 'Tails'.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5713911

>>5714126

Rolled 2 (1d3)

>>5714126
Now rolling for the coin toss results.

1 - Heads
2 - Tails
3 - Neither

>>5713911
>>5714126

“Heads, I reckon,” you declared ahead of the brat.

Goldie looked at you sideways and huffed in retort. “You think calling it lets you wrangle the fortune, do you?” she asked.

You turned a deaf ear to her, gesturing for the Wrangler to toss the coin. Abel sent the coin airborne with a flick of his thumb. The Double Eagle turned around itself a dozen or more times before it sailed above and over the edge of the gallows and began its descent. It fell onto the dirt between you and Goldie with a soft muted landing, the cryptic moonlight dancing on its edges and rims with every turn it made on its way down. You both hurried over to inspect the results. Goldie proved quicker than you, bending to announce the outcome.

“Look at that, it’s ‘Tails’,” she said, stepping between you and the coin, the gold glinting in the blue flame of her empty sockets.

Goldie’s petite frame was not enough to obstruct your view, but you realised that wasn't her aim. What she was trying to do was to prevent you from tampering with the result. Goldie squinted, bending her knees to make sure you she wasn’t that easy to move. It was far too far for Abel to see …

> You ain't no thief, nor a fork-tongued snake. Confess it's 'Tails', then scoop up that Double Eagle post hollering to give back to the Wrangler.
> Declare it's showing 'Tails', then amble your way to them hangman's stairs. You don't mind where that shiny piece ends up, dollars don't carry no weight in these parts.
> Call it 'Heads', then give Goldie the old heave-ho and snatch up that coin to sell your fabrications as gospel.
> [Write In]

>>5714634
> You ain't no thief, nor a fork-tongued snake. Confess it's 'Tails', then scoop up that Double Eagle post hollering to give back to the Wrangler.

>>5714634
>> You ain't no thief, nor a fork-tongued snake. Confess it's 'Tails', then scoop up that Double Eagle post hollering to give back to the Wrangler.

>>5714634
> You ain't no thief, nor a fork-tongued snake. Confess it's 'Tails', then scoop up that Double Eagle post hollering to give back to the Wrangler.

>>5714634
> You ain't no thief, nor a fork-tongued snake. Confess it's 'Tails', then scoop up that Double Eagle post hollering to give back to the Wrangler.

>>5714674
>>5714942
>>5714953
>>5715005

You raised your head and voice. “It’s ‘Tails’,” you said.

Seizing Goldie by her arm, you pulled her to the ground, freeing the path to the coin. She blinked at your forthrightness, you imagined, caught off guard as you shoved her aside. You scooped up the coin worth twenty dollars and shot her a glare. You were no fork-tongued snake to lie and … but, the town wasn't the worst place to head towards. You weren't losing all that much.

You ran your fingers over the golden edges, then flicked it upwards with your thumb, returning the coin to its rightful owner. As it was still in the air, you stepped past the imp you’d left sprawled in the dirt and planted your boot on the echoey, smoke-tinged steps of the gallows. You climbed the thirteen steps and made your way to the end of the platform to meet Abel eye to eye. You could hear the ghostly wood creak and sizzle as Goldie followed in your wake, one arm rubbing the other as she muttered something about the dollar under her quiet breath. Your boot struck the weathered lumber.

Abel drew together the sides of the book, its pages rustling, and slid the pen back into his sleeve. Putting both hands on his knees, he pushed himself to his feet, standing a few inches shorter than you.

“So, we’ll be off to the ‘town’, as the dear miss suggested.” Nodding first, he swept his fingers over the horizon line. “There is one … if my memory serves me right, not far from here. Am I being correct?” He looked down to the gallows’ platform.

It creaked the way it did before, no different … or so you thought, but the Riddle Wrangled took that as an answer. He smiled. “I can’t say that I quite recall its name, so you’ll have to pardon me for that.”

“It’s fine,” you said, looking aside keep an eye on Goldie who was stumbling and leaping over several steps, nearly falling off the handrail-less side. Once she reached the platform, the stairwell rose itself into the air.

“For Christ’s sake!” Goldie shouted, gasping as she staggered back onto the platform. “A little warning would be nice!”

Abel chuckled and shook his head. “It's the gallows you ought to be cross with, but I'll apologise on their behalf, dear miss.”

“Miss this, dear that,” Goldie spat. “Just call me Goldie. You promised to get me to the town, so let's get a move on.”

“Very well, I would suggest you find your footing,” he advised, “or perhaps even cling to one of the pillars. This will be different from horseback riding.”

The ghastly green gallows swayed and shifted, the framework beneath your feet trembling with every inch it moved. The pillars on which it stood quaked, sounding like rupture of tree trunks and branches, their inner fibbers cracking within but never splitting on the outside. Creak! Crunch! Snap! Crack! The dreadful noises melded into a cacophony, yet the man seemed unaffected, oblivious to both the tumult and the tremors. You couldn’t hold it against Goldie when she pressed her palms hard against her ears to shut out the horrendous sounds.

You were, instead, tantalized by the quivering crossbeam just above your head. Two clusters of silvery knots shimmered around the girder, but there were no ropes or chains that you could see. Why were there gallows in the Graveyard Frontier, and more puzzling, why were there no hanging ropes attached to them? You felt a wave of uneasy, You felt a wave of unease, as if something was pulling at your neck. … you reached to touch your throat just in case, but founding nothing unusual there. You cast a sidelong glance at Goldie, who seemed unaffected, aside from her chin being slightly lifted: was she -that- proud of winning the coin toss?

> Question the stranger if he’s done harm to you. Cast blame, be you paranoid in the head or ain’t, better safe than sorry.
> Prod Abel ‘bout the riddle book, the gallows, and that there ghost town you’re going to. Gauge how much he's willing to spill.
> Keep your mouth buttoned up, and let the quiet loosen Abel into spilling you a yarn that'd make this whole ride in the bedlam worthwhile.
> [Write In]

>>5715337
>> Keep your mouth buttoned up, and let the quiet loosen Abel into spilling you a yarn that'd make this whole ride in the bedlam worthwhile.

>>5715337
> Prod Abel ‘bout the riddle book, the gallows, and that there ghost town you’re going to. Gauge how much he's willing to spill.

>>5715337
> Prod Abel ‘bout the riddle book, the gallows, and that there ghost town you’re going to. Gauge how much he's willing to spill.

>>5715337
> Prod Abel ‘bout the riddle book, the gallows, and that there ghost town you’re going to. Gauge how much he's willing to spill.
Guess the greatest riddle of all was solved for him. What happens after death?

>>5715361
>>5715369
>>5715371
>>5716045

You couldn’t decide whether the rumbling sky or the creaking gallows was louder. You approached Abel, your good left hand hovering over your holster.

“How did you meet your end?”

Abel's lips curled - was it amusement or a sneer? He pulled on his shirt’s raised collar and then lifted his head to the beam overhead.

You swallowed, kneading on your throat with your fingers. “They strung you up?”

He nodded. “Indeed they did, and I can’t really say I’m the only one around with a similar story.”

You knelt and ran your talons over the opaque wood of the gallows. “That why this godforsaken structure resembles the gallows?”

"I didn't ask it to look like the execution stand. The Evergreen Molt had its own ideas, most likely channelling my recollections."

“The what-a-what?”

Abel adjusted his nonexistent glasses. “Dear Aug, despite your rough-and-tumble looks, seems like you're fresh to these parts?”

You squinted, grimacing. “That'd be correct. I ain't one for record-keeping, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it's been 'bout a day.”

“Just a day?” he looked you over, hat to toes. “Only a day … and what, I might ask, happened to you in that short span?”

You scratched your neck. “I ain’t against sharing, Abel, but how about you spill about these Evergreens first?”

“Fair enough, dear Aug,” he said, turning his gaze from you. “These Forsaken Plains house behemoths the size of Sequoias, all made from the same ghostwood as the gallows, but less lumber … more wood. Buildings, and other constructions here, all spawn from these giant-like, ambulatory trees. From time to time, pieces of them break off and tumble down. If lost souls happen upon such deadwood, their memories mold it into something they recognised. That's how these towns we have around sprung up, and how my memories shaped these gallows.”

“So, do all these structures up and move around?”

The Riddle Wrangler shook his head. “No, it’s not a common occurrence. Until you’re aiming to craft a little shack from Evergreen Molt that’ll traipse across the Forsaken Plains, I don’t think you should worry about it.”

You looked at the toppled down mountains of the steel-hued summits of the sky. "Ain’t much to what happened to us," you confessed, looking over at Goldie sideways. “We turned up here, got wind of the El Dorado Warren, got conned into embracing the Prickly Niceties, then trudged on. We found the mines, delved in, delved in, spent a good while mining ores and courting trouble, then we up and left. That's when you stumbled upon us.”

“You ‘left it’,” Abel echoed, creases forming at the corners of his ethereal blue eyes. He took a draw from an imaginary quirly. “You make it sound so simple. Dip me in marvel, dear Aug, and don't say that that in front of the miners who’ve been stuck in there for years.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Saw another fella leaving as we were making our way onto the granite plains, so not everyone's stuck with the same rotten luck.”

“Some of them know what they are doing, sure. Those headstrong lunatics who willingly enter the mines again and again, risking to be stuck there forever each of those times.” He nodded. “But they are appreciated.”

“I can see why,” you said, patting your pockets laden with the ore you'd gathered. “This iron, 'feeble' as they label it, seems to fetch quite the demand, doesn't it?

“By some,” Abel said, “by most.” His eyes fell on your mangled hand. “That explains your arm. I've heard whispers of a beast called the Chupacabra lurking in the El Dorado Warren. It seems you had a run-in with it and lived to tell the tale You must be quite the seasoned hand.”

“Came across two of ‘em, but I reckon the girl hinted there might be more down there.” You let out a frustrated sigh. “Managed to hold 'em off, but it left me with this damned chicken claw for a hand.”

“That is indeed a unfortunate” —that's all he offered, no cure or remedy he seemed willing to suggest.

You clutched the talons in one fistful. “I’ll find a way to manage.” Your attention swivelled to the paperback. “So, this book of riddles, you slipped that the riddles there are of your own making? Did you carry this book from the frontier? And if so, why the devil are you so hell-bent on cracking the answers rather than hunting down the man who ended you? Shouldn't you already know the answers?”

Goldie, having been left out of the conversation so far, uncorked her ears. The racket had her grimacing, but she wasn't about to let any 'whispered' discourse between you and Abel slip her by.

“That’s the issue, dear Aug. I never intended for there to be any solution, I haven’t crafted those riddles with an answer in mind.” Abel scratched his scalp. “Nor did put them down in a book, they were all up here.” He tapped his forehead. “But, not matter what they say about me, I am a man of faith. I went to the Coffin Fields, pulled a nail from my coffin, and sought an answer in prayer. In return, was handed this book, brimming with my own riddles to crack. Seems very ironic, sure, but it’s also fitting. As for the man who strung me up, he's here ... but I have no desire for revenge.”

“He’s here, you say? Wouldn’t just taking your revenge on him solve all your problems?”

Abel regarded, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly and the flames flickering in his skull. “Those who do vanish.”

You blinked. “Exactly! They find solace from the Graveyard Frontier. What more could you possibly want?”

He extended a finger skyward. “I want to go there.”

You trailed his gaze to the roiling clouds. “Where the Indians are?”

“No. No! Dear Aug, I yearn for Heaven.”

“There’s a Heaven?”

“I hold faith that there is. Hell exists, after all. Why wouldn’t there be a Heaven? But merely killing the man who killed me won't lead me there.”

“And cracking all your riddles will?”

“I’ve decided to believe it will,” he responded, a tranquil smile finding its way back to his features “Given that I’ve never taken a life, I have a lot of time to ponder on them without worry.”

Goldie scoffed at him and his words. “The man who did you in doesn’t. If you don't off him for your own peace, someone else will, and there goes your chance.”

Abel scratched his chin. “I don’t regard it as an opportunity, dear Goldie. If another soul prefers oblivion to this torment, I can only be pleased with that. I hold no fondness for my executioner.”

Goldie snapped her fingers. “I don’t particularly care, but that’s a surefire way out. Your book there, with riddles? There's no guarantee there, zero.”

Abel maintained his smile, though his hands trembled slightly. "I wouldn't have been handed this book if it bore no significance."

> Side with Goldie. Tell Abel that he’s wasting precious time, and that once his killer’s cold, he could be stuck in this godforsaken place ‘till kingdom come.
> Don’t be seeing eye to eye with Goldie. There's gotta be more ways outta the Graveyard Frontier than the one most folks know. Query Abel 'bout the path to Coffin Fields.
> Hold your peace, don't spill your notions. You're itching to know what Abel's thinking more, but you'll let Goldie weather the storm.
> [Write In]

>>5717530
> Don’t be seeing eye to eye with Goldie. There's gotta be more ways outta the Graveyard Frontier than the one most folks know. Query Abel 'bout the path to Coffin Fields.

>>5717531
You are one fast reader, friend.

>>5717530
> Don’t be seeing eye to eye with Goldie. There's gotta be more ways outta the Graveyard Frontier than the one most folks know. Query Abel 'bout the path to Coffin Fields.
It might be a red herring, but it should at least prove to be interesting.

>>5717530
>> Don’t be seeing eye to eye with Goldie. There's gotta be more ways outta the Graveyard Frontier than the one most folks know. Query Abel 'bout the path to Coffin Fields.
Hope is a dangerous thing.

>>5717530
> Don’t be seeing eye to eye with Goldie. There's gotta be more ways outta the Graveyard Frontier than the one most folks know. Query Abel 'bout the path to Coffin Fields.
If killing our killer is the only way out, we're fucked, so Goldie BETTER be wrong.

>>5717531
>>5717556
>>5717670
>>5717868

“How would you be privy to that?” you fixed Goldie with an icy glare. “You knew nothing about the Graveyard Frontier, and you remain so. Just ‘cause taking out your killer is the path for most folk here, doesn’t mean its the sole one.” You pivoted to Abel. “And if it’s tailored to each soul here, as you stated, Abel, then it's plain to see why it ain't in common folktales.”

Goldie huffed and folded her arms, her gaze locked somewhere below your neckline “Or those nails just summon a keepsake from your past, soaked in magic, akin to what we saw with -my- ticker, and there's no more to ‘em. You longing for a way out, killer? ‘Cause there's but one for you: aid me in finding my bother and putting things right!”

You raised your chin, cracking your neck and then rolling your gaze away from Goldie.

“Again with that …” you grumbled, exhaling a sigh. “Abel, where might them Coffin Fields be?”

The Riddle Wrangler tapped the empty air, as if adjusting an imagined brim of a hat. “I've only been there once, and I needed assistance, so I can't exactly point you in the right direction, but you don’t need to fret. The townsfolk'll be more than happy to show you the path, for a price.” He added with a smile, “The price just needs to be right, dear Aug.”

“And what would they demand in recompense? Feeble iron?”

“Perhaps, if you’re in luck, that’s all they’ll ask. Or something of higher value.”

You shifted your shoulder. “Did you have to fork over anything to the 'help’' you got, anything at all?”

His chuckle was soft, his voice melting into yours. “Yes, they might ask you for something in return - a nail from your own coffin.”

You squinted, “I reckon I’ve heard tell of that … once the nail's pulled out of your coffin, anyone can make use of it."

Abel twiddled the Double Eagle between his digits. “That’s right, and that's why it's a common form of payback,” he acknowledged. “Tell me, dear Aug, are you the type to be laid to rest in a coffin? I made sure to arrange a Christian burial for myself while I was still breathing, insurance and all. The virtuous chapel was to put my coffin to rest all properly.”

“Am I the type?,” you said. “I’m no villain, so once they’ll stumble upon my body, they should … place it in a casket. The hitch lies in when they'll uncover it. I was murdered at my secluded abode, away from prying eyes.”

“There’s no point trekking to the Coffin Fields if your coffin isn’t there,” he stated, smirking soon after, “I say that, but plenty still journey there, hoping to pilfer other’s nails.”
With a bent finger, you pointed at the brat. “Did you leave a body behind?”

Goldie scoffed at your question. “Of course I didn’t. I ain’t -dead-.”

“You look like a soul to me,” Abel said, his head swaying in with the drums of the relentless cacophony.

“Well I ain’t. And I ain't sticking around a day longer or touring them ‘fields’ to entertain your hopeless hope.”

In spite of her remarks, it was clear she intended to trail you wherever you ventured, even if it was to the fields. She was a leash.

“Did you recited anything specific when you prayed on that nail of yours?”

“Psalm 32:8,” he said.

“That being?”

He recited the Bible, “‘I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you’.”

A grunt left your lips—that was quite the verse. You raised your hand to rub at your cheek, striving to etch Abel’s words into your memory. Was it necessary to be as precise as Abel to summon your means to escaping, assuming it would even work? It was a sliver of hope to latch onto, much like a hungry fish would bite onto a hook. Your attention shifted to your bones, and with Cassidy’s words echoing in your mind, you noticed your black veneer starting to fracture and peel away. Ashen flakes crumbled, revealing the stark white marrow beneath, stripping away the charred layer much like water would disperse dark ink.

> Let your bones revert back to their natural state, bleached and brittle. Your spirit'll find it simpler to part ways when injured, whether that be a blessing or a curse.
> Grab that flask and swig down some of that black water to turn your bones to cinders once more. You ain't sure what's awaiting in the town, you’ll need that damned edge.
> [Write In]

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On that note, the quest had reached 50k words. That is plan text, no choices. Thank you for playing so far.

>>5718241
> Grab that flask and swig down some of that black water to turn your bones to cinders once more. You ain't sure what's awaiting in the town, you’ll need that damned edge.

>>5718245
Thank you for writing!

>>5718241
>> Let your bones revert back to their natural state, bleached and brittle. Your spirit'll find it simpler to part ways when injured, whether that be a blessing or a curse.
>>5718245
very nice

>>5718241
> Let your bones revert back to their natural state, bleached and brittle. Your spirit'll find it simpler to part ways when injured, whether that be a blessing or a curse.

>spirit'll

>>5718241
> Grab that flask and swig down some of that black water to turn your bones to cinders once more. You ain't sure what's awaiting in the town, you’ll need that damned edge.

>>5718535
>>spirit'll
W-was that not a word in the ye Old West?

>>5718595
When I try looking up the word it just shows me grills rather than the Ol' West. Aug 'Only Rare' Heart.

>>5718944
Blue rare or bust. Bring ne my cow still kicking!

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5718247
>>5718547

>>5718424
>>5718535

>>5718247
>>5718424
>>5718535
>>5718547
>>5718944
>>5718948

You wrapped your fingers around the fragile layer of steel that held the cursed water within. Grasping the flask by its neck, you lifted it, resting it against your chest. You halted then, leaving the cork intact. Your charred bones were instrumental in your survival within the Warren, and you were uncertain of what to expect in the town soon to be ventured into, any edge would be welcomed. Merely remembering that you had the flask on you made you thirst for any sort of liquid, and as you swallowed, only the sharp, biting air flowed down your windpipe. A cough ruptured from your throat.

If you were going to get rid of your claw, you reckoned your soul would have to shatter at least once. You could only do that when your bones are were no longer blackened. Moreover, black bones were likely to bring unnecessary attention in the town. Cassidy’s moniker, “Charred Bones”, was infamous, as at least the miner you met seemed to be aware of his charred bones. You had no wish to be mistaken for him. As you lowered the flask and returned it to your belt, you met Goldie’s scrutinising gaze. You narrowed your eyes at her, then looked away, releasing your grip on the flask.

“That might be the place,” Abel said, taking a few steps to approach the edge of the gallows.

There, in the distance, rising from the dense pallid haze like green trees devoured by flames on a smoke-chocked night, appeared ghastly clusters of houses and barns. Shimmering with the same otherworldly blue-viridian as the gallows, the buildings, constructed from the opaque lumber, solidified from the shifting veil. An arched gateway, signs with hazy etchings, damaged fences both picked and barbed, hitching posts devoid of horses: everything echoed the eerie semblance of a forsaken town. But it wasn't, and as the gallows moved closer, the presence of the souls, their spectral flesh aglow with the typical cyan hue, encasing their white bones, became more evident.

It was a town, a genuine town, inhabited by many. It was as you expected, but you weren’t prepared to witness such a collage of cursed souls all at once. The loud rattling of the nearing gallows drowned out every other sound in the town. The cracking uprights halted before the gate, the horrible noise drawing out a crowd. Most of them were men, with one woman and no children in sight, each clad in the attire they were found dead in.

“The Riddle Wrangler is back … ” one murmured once the trudging gallows no longer silenced his voice.

Abel tucked at his waistcoats and picked up his book of riddles with an reverberating snap. He situated himself in front of the gathered crowd, then raised his other hand, grabbing thin air with his fingertips.

“Howdy to you all. Would anyone be willing to lend a hand with a riddle? I’m having some trouble here … ‘How long is a moment that refuses to end?’”

He waited in silence until one man opened his mouth. Abel turned to him with a broad smile and a nod, but the woman covered his mouth to silence him.

“You lost your marbles?” she whispered into his ear. “Ain't you heard what came of Chuck? Don’t be a fool!”

Abel’s delicate grip briefly failed, his book slipping from his grasp before he managed to catch it mid-fall. He looked at other men, who all remained silent.

Clearing his throat, he ventured, “Might be a tricky one, to be fair. Any takers?” Despite his appeal, no one answered him. Abel sighed and tapped his foot against the gallows, the ladder plummeting with a splintering echo at his demand. Abel turned to you and Goldie with acknowledging low nod and then, closing the book and stowing it away, he descended the thirteen steps to the ground. “Chuck … That is right, there was dear Chuck. Where might he be now?” he asked, his eyes searching.

One of the men pointed deeper into the town.

“Much obliged,” Abel said. “That wasn’t a riddle.” He then turned to you. “Got some affairs to see to, dear Aug. Catch you sooner or later.”

> Pull your iron on Abel and query what's with all the skittishness. Anything befall folks who tried to solve his riddles? If he's hexed you, demand he lifts the curse or you'll let the lead fly.
> Inform Abel you're joining him for his powwow with Chuck. See if you can figure out what's happened to him that's got the woman and the rest so frightened.
> Bid Abel a farewell, you ain't got time for the rest. Check if anyone's spotted Perry in these parts, if not, see if anyone else can eyeball the worth of the ores you've rustled up from the El Dorado Warren.
> [Write In]

>>5718944
>>5718948
Sure, let's make that one canon. Only eats his steak with a sear faster than his shot.

>>5719077
Nice.

>>5719074
> Bid Abel a farewell, you ain't got time for the rest. Check if anyone's spotted Perry in these parts, if not, see if anyone else can eyeball the worth of the ores you've rustled up from the El Dorado Warren.
And
>Ask that lady what the deal is with 'Chuck', and what happens to those who answer Abel's riddles, when Abel is out of earshot.

>>5719074
>> Inform Abel you're joining him for his powwow with Chuck. See if you can figure out what's happened to him that's got the woman and the rest so frightened.

>>5719074
>> Bid Abel a farewell, you ain't got time for the rest. Check if anyone's spotted Perry in these parts, if not, see if anyone else can eyeball the worth of the ores you've rustled up from the El Dorado Warren.

>>5719096
>>5719134
>>5719257

You returned Abel’s farewell with a nod, parting ways with him for the time being. You and Goldie stood alone atop the towering gallows.

You sunk your teeth, watching Abel's figure dissolve into the flickering luminescence. Lifting your hat with your claw, you turned to face the crowd.

“You” —the woman, who had been watching Abel walk off as well, recoiled slightly, her eyes wide and her hands drawn up her chin— “why were you two with Riddle Wrangler?” From her locked hands a single finger lifted to point at you. “What's with your hand? Did he curse you?! Are you in cahoots with him? Don't ask me a riddle!”

You lifted an open palm. “I’m just hitching a ride. As for the chicken claw, no, that ain’t his doing. Why are you all so spooked? What came of Chuck?"

“Riding along with the Wrangler?! You outta your wits?” she gasped. “Chuck he—”

Before she could finish, the platform trembled. Goldie stamped her boots on the smoky gallows stage, rushing towards the stairs. She slithered down over several of them and then leapt off the staircase, landing in front of one of the men and burning him with her eyes. She perched on her tiptoes in front of the stupefied onlooker, grabbed the lapels of his faded coat, and finally yanked him close to her face. The man, clearly taken aback, got pulled in easily.

“Any Henrys around these parts?” she asked, her voice shrill and her cracked lip splitting further.

The man blinked at her question, casted a judgemental glance in your direction as though you were her father, and then shook his head. “Who the devil is Henry?”

She glared at him. “Kirkland Henry. Just a boy, 'bout my age. Seen anyone who fits that bill?”

The woman shifted her gaze from you, her attention drawn by the brat and her actions, as did the rest of the crowd. All except one man—who was staring at you. His eyes meet yours, and he sharply looked away to avoid that being the case. Turning his back to the gallows, the man rushed his steps and began to distance himself.

> Raise your iron and with the man's next stride, let it leave a lead hole in the white sand, a caution to halt his tracks.
> Let Goldie and the rest of the rabble be and mosey down the steps to tail that fella 'fore he's outta your sights.
> Bide your time 'til Goldie's said her piece and soaked up what she can, then carry on with your enquiring of the woman.
> Cut Goldie off mid-sentence, then start shooting' them questions you've been delayed to have answered.
> Turn back from the gallows, Goldie, and the flock, and hoof it 'round the township to hunt for Perry on your own conditions.
> [Write In]

>>5720266
>> Raise your iron and with the man's next stride, let it leave a lead hole in the white sand, a caution to halt his tracks.
thats a walking red flag.

>>5720266
> Raise your iron and with the man's next stride, let it leave a lead hole in the white sand, a caution to halt his tracks.

>>5720266
> Bide your time 'til Goldie's said her piece and soaked up what she can, then carry on with your enquiring of the woman.
don't waste lead

>>5720367
>>5720515
>>5720850

You freed your iron from its confinement and cocked the hammer to strike it like a flint. Walking a short distance to the right of the platform, you brought the man within the crosshairs. From the towering position of the gallows you found a clear shot. You tugged on the iron's trigger, the gleaming barrel steadfast in your grip. The gunshot rang out, stilling the crowd’s babble, the fragile load exploding within a dusty cloud, wounding the earth where the man was a breath from stepping.

His body froze, his skull whirling to the source of the gunshot—to you—and his foot held in mid-air, as if treading water.

“Hold your horses right there, nice and straight,” you shouted, pulling the iron’s hammer back a few inches.

You sauntered the gallows’ steps and began to descent, both your eyes and your six-shooter’s muzzle zeroed in on the man. His was still.

“What are you doing?!” the words slithered from Goldie's half-gaped mouth.

The cluster of souls parted around you—some fumbling to reach below their belt, the others retreating, and lastly, the woman clutching a scintillating hatchet she had hanging off her riding skirt.

“His smoke waggon! It’s a nail’s one!” whispered one of the men, his shoulders sagging as you turned your gaze on him.

“You can't just start shooting up the place!” the woman hollered. “You come looking for trouble? Well I ain’t interested in that! Someone, summon the sheriff! And tell 'em 'bout that damn Wrangler, too!”

> Pay no mind to the skirt and the rabble, and hustle over to that fella 'fore he grows a spine and lights out.
> Take a breath to tell the lady you ain't aiming to harm, or end, anyone. This is a private tiff 'tween you and the gent right there.
> Swing your iron towards the crowd for a hot second and give 'em fair warning there ain't no need to call for the sheriff or his law dogs, if that’s what they be talking ‘bout. You'll be hitting the trail shortly.
> [Write In]

No update tomorrow and then a new thread.
$5, woohoo!

>>5721160
> Take a breath to tell the lady you ain't aiming to harm, or end, anyone. This is a private tiff 'tween you and the gent right there.
We're a bounty hunter, dammit. That's a type of lawman, right?

>>5721160
> Take a breath to tell the lady you ain't aiming to harm, or end, anyone. This is a private tiff 'tween you and the gent right there.

>>5721160
>> Take a breath to tell the lady you ain't aiming to harm, or end, anyone. This is a private tiff 'tween you and the gent right there.

How are you enjoying the quest so far? Anything to complain about? Any improvements you'd like to be seen? I wanted to try adding AI generated art to accompany the updates but I wasn't able to find the time to get to it.

>>5722183
I've been enjoying it pretty well. I can't say how ai art would be, but pictures tend to add more flavor towards the writing.
However it usually isn't worth it if it's making the updates go slower.

>>5721160
> Take a breath to tell the lady you ain't aiming to harm, or end, anyone. This is a private tiff 'tween you and the gent right there.

>>5722183
The only thing I can think of to 'complain' of is that, with the pacing as it is, it's hard to believe we've only been in Cowboy Hell for a day, but given the setting perhaps that feeling of uncertain time dilation is intentional?

>>5722847
New Thread
>>5722847
New Thread
>>5722847
New Thread

>>5722821
For August who has been walking from one problem to another without needing to sleep or rest or eat or really feels like a long continuous day.