Forged with the souls of 12 good lawmen fighting The Darkness, carried by the 13th, the lone survivor, these shining irons have become legendary weapons for The Light.
I don’t know what it was that set Shoutin’ Sam off, but when he left, it was like goddamned Apaches had busted in here and had a scalpin’ party in the saloon…
The saloon was smokey on the hot prairie night. She looked over her fan at her fellow players. The fan hid her smile, but not the smile in her eyes. “Well Gentlemen, I think I won’t call you on that.” Her dollars hit the table. “I think I’ll raise.”
Of all the published roleplaying games, we have a huge number of fantasy games, a good number of sci-fi games, a smattering of modern and modern variation games, but very few of anything else. The Western is an Epic Genre in the bookstore. There are shelves and shelves of them, nearly as many as the science fiction section (minus Star Trek and Star Wars books). You would think it would be popular. There are only a piddling number of western games, and none are very successful.
Old Town is anything but old and stuffy. Though the city is trying to be respectable, at its roots, it is as rough and tumble as they came in the day. You can see what the city was like “in the day” by strolling Old Town by waterfront.
Well, some of the old timers still work the mines, but the biggest news out in these parts is that the ARC is going to lay a line of rail through the Canyon.
That there is a big gun, partner…
Sure is. Feeling lucky?
Uh…no
Sure, everyone ‘round these parts knows who Dan the Dastardly Dog is. Last I heard the ARC had him cornered up in Demadex Canyon, a little silver mining town in the Arizona territory…
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.
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Desperado, oh, you ain’t gettin’ no younger:
Your pain and your hunger, they’re drivin’ you home.
And freedom, oh freedom,
Well, that’s just some people talkin’
Your prison is walking,
Through this world all alone.