[DL] Deadlands in Cannibal Country With Larry Part II (Long)

["Theron Bretz" <tbretz@montroseclinic.org>]

Still reading? I'm amazed. Usually this story is told out loud, so I can
always yell at someone to sit down and shut up if they try and leave...

But I digress. At this point, we unveiled our characters. Justin was playing
a fire 'n brimstone preacher who lived on a diet of cheap cigars and cheaper
whiskey. Pete was playing a Union deserter who headed west, and I settled on
playing an Arizona cowboy who was traveling north to find work. Larry was of
course using Dusty Blood as a GM-controlled PC. He set things up so that
Pete and I were traveling together through Kansas and came across a campfire
set up by Justin and Jonah Heck. Despite the fact that it was just past
sunset and we were approaching a campfire from the east, Dusty picked us out
with no trouble whatsoever. He immediately derided Pete for being a "Damned
Yankee" (Dusty was Confederate, y'know), despite the fact that no deserter I
know of would still be wearing his uniform a year after he went AWOL. We
shrugged these things off in order to get things moving (see, we were giving
him a chance, just like you asked).

I should point out that we were playing at Larry's kitchen table.
Approximately eight feet away, his parents and brother sat in the "TV room",
watching religious broadcasting on UHF, sort of like Otto's parents in Repo
Man, only about a hundred years older. Now, I have nothing against organized
religion, but it just added to the whole sensation of being a lamb led to
the slaughter. I swear they had a sausage grinder out the shed with my name
on it.

After trading pleasantries (which amounted to Larry telling us Dusty's life
story), we bedded down for the night. For no apparent reason, my character
was visited with a strange dream. In the dream, I saw a "crystal staff with
feathers at one end" (sort of like what you see in every frickin' Larry
Elmore painting), and heard an eerie voice saying, "Return the
staff...Return the staff". Clearly, this adventure had something to do with
retrieving and returning a magic staff, possibly to Larry Elmore's studio.
Needless to say, I was now entirely pumped up for the coming adventure
<*sigh*>.

The next day, we rode into the nearest town, which was apparently abandoned.
After looking around a bit, we found out why. The place was crawling with
the animated corpses of Sioux warriors. Thinking that Sioux zombies are, at
the least, a step in the right direction, we set about combating them. At
which point, Larry told us all to roll 1d20 for initiative.

Those of you who've actually played Deadlands may be curious about this
particular interpretation of the initiative system. Frankly, given that d20
Deadlands hadn't been so much as considered at this point, I must admit, so
was I. So curious, in fact, that I asked Larry about it. To which he
replied, "well, I read over that part last night ,but I really didn't
understand it. I was hoping you guys knew the rules." Well, there you have
it. The only reason we took this mission, all shot to hell. Larry continued,
"I guess I'm a good enough GM to just wing it and run things free-style
today. Roll 1d20 for initiative."

So rolled I did, and got a one. Larry rolled in the high teens for his
undead Sioux. Looking down at my feeble digit, I uttered the words that
still remain the epitaph of that wasted afternoon, "Oh, great. I'm slower
than a dead Indian".

At this point, things became a bit of a blur. I remember that the three of
us (Jonah Heck having slipped off somewhere in the fray) were having the
devil's own time putting down one of these walking dead Lakota. I remember
going through a plate glass window and getting all cut up. I remember Pete's
character getting struck by a tomahawk. And I remember FINALLY putting down
this one undead warrior. But, for the life of me, I don't remember how.

Subsequently, we found ourselves out on the street in front of the saloon.
An undead warrior on a skeletal horse came galloping by, almost riding down
our preacher. Of course good ole' Dusty Blood put him down in the nick of
time, saying something like "and that makes an even dozen". Meanwhile, Larry
ruled that Justin's character...er...hmmm, how to put it...soiled himself
when confronted by the charging Indian, this in spite of all we'd already
been through.

This was pretty much the final straw for me. Reaching down to my waist, I
surreptitiously reset my pager so it would go off on a test beep. I looked
down and said, "Oh, damn, that's Jane. She told me she might be leaving work
early. Guys, I hate to do this, but we've got to go get her." Justin and
Pete, their eyes alight with the sudden prospect of freedom from this little
slice of Hell quickly agreed. We'd been at Larry's house for less than two
hours.

Whenever I tell this story, Jane makes me point out that she did not, in
fact, need a ride home from work, like some minimum wage burger-jockey. She
worked in a 46 story office tower at the time, did not work weekends, and
certainly didn't need a ride anywhere. I love you, Honey.

Of course, there was more. Larry just had to tell us how the adventure was
supposed to turn out. Apparently a Ghost Rock miner had uncovered a magic
crystal staff that was sacred to the Sioux and taken it. After that, the
uneasy dead warriors arose from their burial ground under the lake just
outside town (yes, you read that right, they were buried under the lake). We
were supposed to recover the staff, put it back wherever it actually
belonged (possibly the Forgotten Realms), and make things right. Of course,
what a miner was doing in Kansas when Ghost Rock was found in the Black
Hills and on the west coast escaped Larry. Along with the fact that the
Sioux didn't traditionally go for aquatic funerals or crystal staves, but
never mind those little details. Freedom beckoned and we ran for it.

We drove away there in silence, as if each of us was trying to come to terms
with what we'd been through. Finally, Pete said, "Man, that was f***** up.
Anybody want to get some wings?" In the face of such wisdom, the only
possible answer was, "Yes". And so we went, to eat wings, heal our wounds,
and lick our fingers.

I've since tried to find the street on which this happened.  All I find are
quiet suburban streets, elementary schools, and strip malls.  No kudzu, no
clapboard houses, no cars in yards.  It's as if the universe itself healed
the rift that allowed Larry and his ilk into our reality.