Dark Waters by benefactorl

Link: https://fiction.live/stories/Dark-Waters/KYkdQi4zx8mxhuPGL/home

(In the encroaching dark of fetid waters will you find your purpose or drown in the depths. A horror quest set in an alternate 1800s American South.)

Synopsis

A mix of Hunt: Showdown and STALKER with a few twists.

In 1803 the Louisiana Purchase was funded and ratified, near doubling the size of the United States. For the cost of eighteen dollars an acre the grand total of land came to eight hundred and twenty two thousand square miles, along with the port of New Orleans. Unbeknownst to the congress and citizens of the great United States, the newly gained territory was nothing more than a festering cancer spreading from the great swamps of the south. New Orleans was a ghost town, long abandoned and stripped bare of nothing but the dry skinned husks of its former inhabitants. Some called it voodoo, others an act of God, or perhaps the work of Lucifer himself.

No matter the cause, the murky waters spread rapidly the more caravans rode west to stake their claim, fed by those who went missing with every passing night. Soon enough, the rotted wood of twisted and flora infested wagons dotted the countryside along even the most well traveled routes. Rumors spread, of dark things in the night that dragged their victims twisting and screaming into the thick murk of the swamps. Monstrous creatures of flesh and metal that shrugged off all manner of attack on their rampages through wagon circles.

With each passing year the borders of the swampland grew, bringing with it more and more horrors. Some said even the very ground and plants hungered for life, wicked vines sucking the very life of their victims from their veins. Soon, the twisted stands of trees were adorned with an abattoir of rotting corpses stuck in perpetual terror. Much to the Army's dismay the borders continued to expand through the south, and soon tales of precious artifacts and untold riches spread through the country. They called those foolish or desperate enough to enter these forsaken lands Hunters.

As the years passed, the growth slowed with the closure of roads and entryways into the now massive bayous of the south. Forgotten plantations and broken towns dotted the lands, each a grave to an old and dead way of living. Safe havens and ramshackle structures popped up here and there in the less dangerous parts of the swamps. What wonders the Hunters brought back sent technology racing into farther and farther reaches. The advent of smokeless powder in 1841 did little to stop the menagerie of creatures that now prowled the blighted land.

Rumors began, of malformed humanity that turned on their own, of black magic that twisted and broke and reshaped. The United States split, into the clean and unclean. The government poured every resource they had into containing what became known as Hell's Bayou. Now well past the state of Louisiana, the swamp stretched all the way through Texas, to the border of Kansas and out east to the Atlantic Ocean in North Carolina.

Few people went into Hell's Bayou, and of those few even less survived more than a week. Factions began and ended, though the Army was a constant thorn in the side of Hunters. You were one such unfortunate soul now beyond the borders of the Quarantine. The stinking mire clutched at your ankles, soaking through the ratty boots you came in. The last few days were a blur to you, or perhaps a nightmare.

You were a man at the proverbial and literal end of god's country. If America was a land of opportunity then the Bayou was a land of suffering and fear. What even brought you here?

Choices -Voting closed - 5 voters

VOTES

You were a prisoner, your sentence to be served in either death or the discovery of some scientific wonder

3/4

A dead end, nothing left for you but a watery death

1

A man down on your luck, chased by organized crime and left only one place they couldn't reach

0

Adventure, a lust for gold, or some other regretful reason now that you are stuck here

0

With so much stress on day to day life even outside the Bayou now, no crimes were taken lightly. Petty thievery, pick pocketing, it didn't really matter what landed you in the slammer anymore. Your choices were simple, the chain gang until your ankles bled for the rest of your days, or become a government "investment" and be sent into the swamps. Their words, not yours. Everyone behind bars knew that either choice was a death sentence, one was just much slower. After rumors began spreading of what lay beyond Quarantine, volunteers for becoming a Government funded Hunter sharply declined to the point that some form of incentive was required.

With the promise of freedom beyond prison walls, and the glimmer of a chance at a life afterwards some took it just for the starting stipend and a change of scenery. It didn't really matter why you took it, you were here now. The tiny piece of artifact implanted at the base of your skull hummed along with the clouds of flies and sounds of insects. The wound was still tender and the crushing humidity likely did it no favors. A tiny sliver of the Bayou marked you as a prisoner in a different sense, an artifact attuned to the deep rhythms of the swamp that would take a path to return at any cost if you tried to escape. Nine times out of ten that was out through your skull.

Still, it wasn't as if they sent you in to die right away. You were allowed a stop at The Last General Store on Earth before you entered past the guards. A fitting name for the last civilized place you might see. Even now the smell of stale pipe smoke wouldn't clear from your sinuses, and the gravel voice of the shop keep would surely be one of the few friendly things you heard for the foreseeable future.

You had thumbed through the measly money the suited stooge had given you on the automobile ride up to the store. Shaky as it was, you managed to count out five whole dollars, more than you had seen in quite a few years. Upon entering the store the shop keeper looked you over once, leaning himself onto the counter.

"Well now, another oneofya prisoner folks here to buy your last meal eh? I don't mean no harm by that, sure as sure you just won't last long. You probably knew that already though. Greenhorn kit is over by the window, that's all I can risk"

As you made your way over to the stack of leathers and rusted metal the sound of a match striking and burning tobacco reaches your ears, followed quickly by a sweet cherry smoke.

"An no hagglin', I don't haggle with greenhorns"

You had a...rather pathetic amount of choice really. With five dollars to spend you couldn't get it all though.

A change of clothes, nothing fancy but it would get you out of prison stripes: 50¢

A thick leather duster, it'll keep any rain off you but confers no protection. (+5 stealth at night): $1.25

A simple plantation hat, low brimmed and ratty. No self respecting Hunter would be without a hat right?:75¢

Remington Model 1858, converted for smokeless this .44 Caliber revolver will pack a punch against a man but not much more than the most basic of creatures. Comes with six shots. (Damage 1D12 Puncture): $2.75

.44 Ammo, dirty but still workable. (Misfire on a 2-5 on a d100, critical failure on a 1):10¢ per round

Woodsman axe, rusted but useful in a pinch. (1d10 Cutting): 75¢

Bowie Knife, rusted and chipped but still sharp enough to put between a pair of ribs. (1d6 Slashing/Puncture):75¢

Gunbelt, useful if you want to keep your gun marginally cleaner and have a bit easier access to reloads. Still, if you take a tumble you risk covering your weapon in mud and water. (+5 to quickdraw attempts):$2.00

Choices -Voting closed - 2 voters

VOTES

1 change of clothes, 1 Woodsman Axe, 1 Remington Model 1858, 5*.44 Ammo.

1/2

You picked up the faded cotton clothing, taking note of the patchwork repairs and frayed threading. It likely won't survive the harsh conditions of the swamp more than a few weeks but it's better than black and white stripes. Those would make you a target.

The woodsman axe was in quite rough shape, but the edge was keen enough to cut wood or bone with a few swings.

Finally you snapped up the Remington 1858, not wanting to be without a gun inside the mire of the Bayou. Even if you were just in the outskirts and close to a fair few of the larger Greenhorn settlements there was no telling what you would find.

You set the goods down on the counter in front of the shop keep, tallying out every one of your bits of change and setting them in front of the man.

"I'll have five of those .44 rounds as well, and that brings me to an even five."

"Throw in those prison stripes and I'll give you a sixth round to even you out. I'd recommend you change here too, best not to be seen past the Quarantine in those. I don't have anywhere ta change but you can at least look yourself over in the mirror over there."

The shop keeper tilts his fat sausage fingers to the side, pointing out a scorched and clouded mirror.

Choices -Voting closed - 1 voter

VOTES

Trade them in and get another round, even numbers are lucky after all. (+??? Perk)

1

Maybe you can use the prison stripes for something later, makeshift bandages or patching clothes? (+??? Perk)

0

"Thank you kindly Hunter, take that last bullet off the table and get changed up."

The shop keep leans back, stuffing the wad of bills and change into his pockets. The scuffed floorboards creak as you walk over and grab the last round, setting it on the counter next to the rest of your purchased items. Now to change.

Doing this in public didn't bother you anymore after your stint in a penitentiary. The prison stripes were no more than rags really, light and threadbare with your number stenciled on the back. You stood in front of the mirror for a moment as you changed, looking yourself over.

What's your build, height, and defining feature?

Choices -Voting closed - 2 voters

VOTES

Nearly 6'2" (Barely 6ft), fairly skinny but deceptively strong, Several scars that interrupt our ear and reach the corner of our mouth (From a broken thresher)

1/2

You stand fairly tall among the men of your time, nearly 6'2 if you feel like rounding up. Though lithe, what you would call athletic, you can still lift over your own weight from years of hard labor and the months you spent on the chain gang. A strong jaw, but you can already see the telltale signs of a five o'clock shadow forming since you left your prison. Lucky, or unlucky for you depending on who is asking though, are the criss-crossing of scars running from the left side of your mouth and across your ear. A grain thresher was dangerous when it was running, even more so when it broke. You'd always have this reminder of that at least.

The cotton shirt and pants were scratchy but still more comfortable than the prison jumpsuit you had been wearing, which you quickly handed over to the shop keep.

"And that's you on your way Hunter. Best of luck to you, and dontcha go prayin out here. God left us a long time ago."

With that, the burly man turns his attention back to his pipe, staring glassy eyed at the door waiting for the next poor fool to walk in. The 1858 was heavy in your pocket, and the loose ammo jingled with it. You could at least sling the axe through one of the loops in your pants, though it made them sag slightly.

------

Gained Perk: Superstitious Bullet. Not everyone believes in luck, but you'll take what you can get out here. Having an even number of rounds just really sets you at ease. It divides easy. You can spend one round of ammunition on any even numbered roll to increase its value by ten. Running out of ammunition however makes 1's and 3's a critical fail.

------

You tie your bag back up, already a festering algae forming on the bottom from just the few minutes you had it in the water. Idly itching at the implanted fail-safe, you take a look at the note stuffed into your bag.

Prisoner 613

Tch what an unlucky number

You are hereby a member of the Hunter program. Through your debt to society the United States Government has seen fit to allow you a chance at redemption. You are tasked with finding enough artifacts reaching a total numerical sum of five thousand dollars, or reaching New Orleans. Completion of either of these goals will fully settle your debt, and the fail-safe implanted in your spinal column will be removed post-haste. There is no set time for this goal to be completed, however you are required to post mail once a week sent to Lt. Alexander A. at Quarantine checkpoint 12. Best of luck, and god bless the clean states of America.

Clean states, meaning anywhere but here. Thick clouds of flies move about like animals of their own, buzzing across looping vines that occasionally snap out and tear through their numbers. You can hear the incessant croaking of frogs already, though the water ahead of you is disturbingly still. From what the suit in the automobile told you, your best bet is to head to Outskirt Outpost. Not a very creative name but no one ever accused Hunters of being that.

You could go:

Choices -Voting closed - 13 voters

VOTES

Try to brave a south-east direction through the Still Water swamp, a known breeding ground for some of the 'lesser' mutants

1/9

The most direct route, south down the road which is likely to be the safest from mutants but not so much humans

2/3

Loop south-west and try your best not to get herded by Shepard Vines into one of the anomalous zones

1/1

You shift the weight of your backpack, stepping deeper into the clouds of flies and thick watery muck. Disconcertingly the water doesn't even ripple out from your steps. Still Water swamp indeed. The quick overview the suit had given you on the immediate area had listed this briefly. Still Water Swamp was a breeding ground for some of the lesser mutants, and a known territory of the hangman vines that so eagerly bled their victims dry.

The company of the flies quickly became unwelcome, massive black clouds more akin to a fog than anything setting your ears ringing with an incessant buzzing and thick coat of the thumb sized bastards that clung to the loose threads of your clothes. Perhaps the road would have been less overwhelming for your first foray into Hell's Bayou.

3 Encounter rolls until you reach Outskirt Outpost

Best of 3 1d100, higher is better.

Reader Posts- Closed - be the first to post.

Dice: 1d100

92 = 92

Dice: 1d100

29 = 29

Dice: 1d100

17 = 17

Surprisingly, your movement forward leads to no real issues. The Swamp remains disturbingly placid, quiet even among the buzzing of insects. Brushing off some of the massive flies you continue forward, an uncomfortable sensation as some creature loops itself around your water logged shoes. Thankfully whatever interest it shows is fleeting, the constriction momentary as the thing retracts away, a skating shadow in the murky water heading off to your west.

You make what you think is good progress, whatever that can really be as all the scenery looks the same. It's now you notice the smell tickling at your nose, a mixture of fetid water and the cloying sweet of rot. Judging by the occasional snap that you feel more than hear as you walk, this place is a breeding ground and a place of constant feeding. Thick Noose Vines coil and uncoil over you, grasping at the occasional lizard or small mammal and silencing their cries with a wet squelch.

After what seems like an hour of walking, you come upon a small island in the center of the swamp. Though still bright in the dawn, thousands of fire flies flit through a low hanging mist over the water that looks almost like a natural barrier around a massive willow growing from the patch of land.

Choices -Voting closed - 3 voters

VOTES

A slight detour wouldn't hurt, try to move to that tree. It looks...important somehow

1/3

Continue on your way, best not to dawdle in unfamiliar land

0

You struggle forwards through the muck that sucks at your calves, you'd be sweating from exertion if the gripping humidity hadn't covered you in moisture already. As you get closer to the misty little island you look closer at the tree and surrounding area. There's some odd shapes in the tree, and bundles of bright white shapes floating lazily in the water. Swamp grass grows through these odd rocks, and bright pinpricks of light seem to shine like beacons in them. They almost look like...eyes?

Carefully you pull your 1858 Army from your pocket, a light wetness to the handle though nothing that would risk your grip.

Choices -Voting closed - 3 voters

VOTES

Take a closer look at things before moving. What's in the tree, and what the hell are those rocks?

1/3

Just be quick about getting to the island

0

Maybe this was a bad idea

0

Perception check

1d100 no modifiers

Best of 2

Superstitious Bullet can be used here on even numbered rolls for a +10

Reader Posts- Closed - be the first to post.

Dice: 1d100

12 = 12

Dice: 1d100

95 = 95

You take a moment to stop and listen, squinting at the shifting forms and shapes. It almost seems like the mist is trying to block your vision, slowly rising from the ground to chest level in an effort to hide what horrors live within. Never let it be said you weren't a careful man though. Time seemed to stop for a moment, the placid waters like ice.

Those white shapes weren't rocks, far from it. What were once blurry shapes flicked on a switch deep in your brain as you saw quickly sun bleached bones and the distinct lines of ribs. These were corpses, tens of them arrayed in some sort of star pattern circled by an outer row. Empty eye sockets burned with the yellow light of little clusters of fire flies, jaws hanging slack in a mock surprise.

You'd seen death in the prison, violent inmates tossed together with the minor pickpockets and pennypinchers. Never on this scale though, and never this...occult. Fear clawed itself up through your spin, and the water felt twenty degrees cooler. The sweat on your brow was icy cold as you glanced up at the massive willow. In the dark recesses of your mind something whispered and cooed at you.

"The Hanging Tree"

The willows fronds weren't leaves, but hundreds and hundreds of bodies, maybe even a thousand. Whatever magicks at work dissipated to your keen senses, the previously welcoming glade now a truly cold and ill place. The bodies were in various states of decay, some a dull earthen brown of stained bones and yet others seemingly fresh.

"The Hanging Tree"

There it was again, a caress at the base of your skull that called to you like the whisper of a lover. Sensuous and resplendent in terrible beauty that heralded you forth. You cock the hammer on the revolver in your hand, such a simple sound louder than any gunshot you'd heard before. It was then you noticed the fire flies weren't so random anymore. Under your observations they'd moved, a black cloud above the mist that all flared to life to the tune of some beat that you felt rather than saw.

Choices -Voting closed - 4 voters

VOTES

Start backing away, as quickly as you can without risking tripping over something. Keep an eye on the tree and fireflies to be prepared for any attacks.

2/3

Shoot the Skull, you ain't no bitch

2

RUN

0

Though for a moment you think of breaking the circle and seeing what happens, you quickly quash that idea and begin to back away slowly. For the first time since entering the swamp you notice ripples around your ankles, alerting any lurking creature to your presence. This concerns you far less than the fact every single skull and face in the clearing is tracking you, a dull creaking as dusty bones twist and turn under some dark force. Your 1858 suddenly feels very useless here, no matter how much space your are putting between you and The Hanging Tree with each step.

"Leaving so soon...Hunter~?"

There it is again, that voice dripping honey like a freshly split comb. The fire flies above you twist and whirl, their incessant light show beating faster and faster as they group beneath the tree. With a crack like lightning the tree breaks open, a dark chocolate hand curling its lithe fingers around the split bark. Oh christ the eyes, a bright golden liquid that leaves behind an after image in your brain and shatters your soul into pieces.

With almost sensuous movements a milky white bust presents itself as the tree is forced open, birthing something from a dark and long lost age to humanity. A woman of some sort strides forth, darkened wooden extremities contrasting brightly with skin as soft as the moonlight.

"Stay and listen Hunter, if only for a moment"

It speaks to you but its mouth doesn't move, rather it just hangs open as the words invade your brain. Golden eyes look you over like a succulent piece of meat.

Choices -Voting closed - 3 voters

VOTES

Humor the..woman? Thing? What pain can listening bring

1/2

+Don't look directly at the eyes.

2/2

It's time to leave this place of death

1/1

You lower your gaze to the stinking mire, trying to keep most of the grinning skulls in your view in case things go even worse than they are. Something about this place tugs at your sanity, offering your will the chance to fracture and escape to the deep corners of your brain.

"Oh? You're the first since my rebirth to listen to my request. The others were so keen on gunpowder and fire. Even within this form they cut deep, gnawing and biting with axes and teeth."

With a contemptuous flick of her wrist some of the corpses quiver and dance, any that weren't stripped to the bone already quickly mummifying as the branches tightened and roiled.

"You hide your gaze from my flesh Hunter. Do I entrance you? Do you...fear me? No matter, all I need are your ears."

You hear a squelch and a pop, and hazard a quick glance up at the womanly terror. Her body glows, coated in the bio luminescent grease of the hundreds of fire flies she rubs on her skin. A dull yellow light dances over the water as the tree begins to positively glow in the mist. In unison the corpses mouths hang open, a dull and garbled speech mixing with the husky promises in your mind.

"Bring me the corpses of the four, Hunter. With each gift I shall grant you a blessing from my waters. You shall eat my fruit, and be a wraith stalking those in my woods. You shall taste of my bountiful harvest, and know no fear from the monsters in the dark. Bring me the four, and I shall mold you into something great. This I ask of you. Their poison spreads through the land, and claims the hearts of your kin. Free yourself of the shadow that already creeps to your feet."

Perhaps it would have been better to toil in prison, than enter this massive graveyard called Hell's Bayou. Do you dare speak to her?

Choices -Voting closed - 3 voters

VOTES

"Who or what are the Four Hunters?"

1/3

"What poison are you talking about?"

1/2

"Who or what are you?"

1/1

No, it's time to leave this cursed glade

0

Despite the weltering heat, your mouth feels all too dry as you lick your lips. This was far more than you'd expect to see or hear on your first day in the bayou.

"Who, or what are the Four?"

The...woman thing eyes you carefully, seemingly surprised at your response and no hasty retreat. Even without meeting her gaze you can feel her leye you hungrily.

"The Four, the riders. Enforcers of the councils will, and breaker of men. The Pale Rider, The Black Rider, The Pestilent One, and their sister rider The End."

The, Four Horsemen? THE Four Horseman?! You'd laugh if not for the absurdity of this place that has already settled the unknown in your bones. This thing is asking you to kill the bringers of the Apocalypse.

"Suppress your doubts fleeting thing, what I ask of you is not an impossibility, though for your current state perhaps. I am nothing but patient and...gracious."

"And what even are you?"

"I am one of nature, in all her beauty and resplendent rage. I've seen your kind grow and seen them wither. I am eternal. I am all and nothing. A child of the mother and a guardian of the deep glades of the earth. This place is not of me or my sisters, and it gnaws and bites and chokes. We do what we can to stem the tide. Your kind however, though blind and motivated by greed have some good left in you. Those who do not hang from my boughs. There are many yet who will join them."

There isn't much of a response to that, and all you can do is nod. Before you can speak however you feel a slight tug at the reaches of your consciousness, as if something was yanked from your grasp.

"I know not of these poisonous lands, nor where they have come from. I only awoke after the event. I can give you no more on it."

That answered your final question, before you could even speak it to the creature. You feel cold, chilled to the bone despite the heat.

Choices -Voting closed - 4 voters

VOTES

Accept her request and dare to look upon her form

3/41

Leave from here, return or not this is beyond you

0

Slowly, carefully you raise your eyes to woman thing, doing your best not to drink her in. Her feet are cracked bracken, splaying out in roots like stumps rather than human toes. Halfway up her shins the bark lessens, creeping like veins over the milky white skin that forms her plush thighs. Fronds of fern cover her womanhood and creep slightly up her her taught stomach. She holds her hands clutched in front of her ample bosom like a nun in prayer, golden blonde hair framing her face flecked with streaks of green. Though her whole body glows with the light of dead fire flies most striking are those eyes, that leave after images of a loving hunger whenever you blink.

"Bold of you child/lover/destroyer/rapist/conqueror to meet my eyes."

The words she calls you overlap and echo in your head as she stares through you and beyond. You've nearly forgotten the sounds of the swamp due to her lingering eyes, all consuming in your vision.

"I can feel your acceptance Hunter, I can feel your desire to please. Go forth and strike fear in those who can't feel. Bring me their heads so I may hang them from myself like a necklace. Hunter...name yourself so I may not forget my champion/enemy/husband/king"

Your name?

Choices -Voting closed - 3 voters

VOTES

Henry

1/2

Noah

1/1

William

0

"Henry. My name is Henry"

That's what it was before you became just Prisoner 613, which is still an unlucky number. You'd nearly forgotten it after your time behind bars but now here in Hell's Bayou perhaps you could be a man again. You could shape an image here, and be something. Though the dull itch at the base of your skull fought to remind you of the cost. The woman tree looks you over a few times, ever so slightly licking her lips.

"Henry~. Be strong for me Henry. You'll see much here and endure more my child/food/god."

Slowly you lower your 1858 back into your pocket after carefully letting the hammer drop.

-----

Quest Accepted: Nature's Wrath

Some form of creature woman has asked you to kill the Four Horseman. Though this task is beyond you now, this lofty goal promises great rewards. You can find her at The Hanging Tree, the path to this place now known to you. Perhaps she wouldn't mind the company in your spare time.

-----

Piercing pain stabs through your temple for a moment, a deep white blindness covering your eyes and drowning out the Bayou. Slowly your vision returns to you in a hazy cloud, and you see yourself back knee deep in the Still Water swamp. Farther than you had been but no glade in sight. Your left hand is held in front of you, and slowly you unfurl it to reveal a small glass bottle filled to the brim with the ever glowing light of trapped fire flies.

Equipment Gained: Firefly Lamp

An ever present light in the dark, the Firefly Lamp removes any negative modifiers to melee and point blank shooting rolls in the dark. Some creatures may react favorably to the sign of The Hanging Tree.

Closer to your destination now you feel you can make it with this last push!

Encounter roll: 1D100 (1,3 Critical Travel Failure.

Reader Posts- Closed - be the first to post.

Dice: 1d100

70 = 70

Sloshing through Still Water swamp as fast as you can manage you feel you must be coming close to Outskirt Outpost. With the crushing atmosphere of this place you can see the need for safe havens like these, and you're still in the Northern Kansas Bayous. No telling what horrors lie deeper the closer you get to Louisiana. For the first time in the last hour of walking you see the water ripple in front of you, and your eyes settle on a white head that sits just above the surface of the water.

A bone white Alligator. Though Alligators are common and rightfully feared in Hell's Bayou, they've quickly found themselves at the bottom of the food chain. By some manner of luck this oddly colored creature has manage to make it to adulthood, though its eyes seem oddly intelligent. Carefully you hang your 1858 by your side as the animal eyes you with interest. Just a step too close and you could find your leg ripped off in a death roll, sending you to join the reed covered corpses that occasionally peak from beneath the water.

Choices -Voting closed - 5 voters

VOTES

This thing seems oddly smart by the way it looks at you, speak to it maybe?

3/5

+ Be sure to show off your Firefly Lamp

2/4

"How ya manage to last this long here?"

2/2

Best to avoid a giant gator

0

Moving slowly you pull the Firefly Lamp out from your left pocket, raising the shining golden bottle out in front of you like a peace offering. To your surprise rather than stare at you like an alligator would, a look of surprise crosses its face as the eyes perk up. It's stranger still that the Alligator actually stands up on its hind legs much like a person and begins to undergo some form of change.

You rub your eyes once, then twice, as you try to make sense of what you're seeing.

Standing in front of you is no longer a Gator, though the resemblance is still very much there. This place had to be getting to you already, or perhaps The Hanging Tree did something to you. You nearly turn and just walk into the darkening swampland before the thing actually speaks.

"Ou gen mak pyebwa a!!"

You can't understand a word, both of the language and the heavy accent she brings with it. Before you can even react the creature...(girl?) is shaking your hand vigorously with both of hers. The scales on her hands are softer than you could imagine, though lukewarm. By her body language she's being quite friendly, enamored with you almost. This is all too much.

Choices -Voting closed - 5 voters

VOTES

Talk to it? Does she understand you?

3/4

+ Introduce yourself to lady you barbarian

2/42

It might be time to just lay down

1/1

Roll for CHA check, 1d100 BO3 DC 25

Reader Posts- Closed - be the first to post.

Dice: 1d100

18 = 18

Dice: 1d100

40 = 40

Dice: 1d100

60 = 60

Before all the Bayou expanded your father told you your family was from the southern states. Though you never grew up there due to the spreading corruption you were nothing but a southern gentleman deep in your blood.

"I'm Henry little missy, can you understand me?"

The Alligator Girl seems to be enraptured at the fact you even spoke to it, rubbing a stray tear from her eye as she nods rapidly.

"Ou te pale avek mwen, jis yon pov nan men! Chanpyon nan pyebwa a pale ak mwen '!"

Whatever she said it seems you were right in your attempt to be smooth, as the girl now shakes your arm near out of socket. Though a full foot shorter than you, you worry she'll peel it straight from your torso. It isn't hard to see just how athletic the girl is. Carefully you extricate her arms from yours, and quickly pocket your revolver. The Still Water swamp seems much more welcoming if these are the creatures that inhabit it, though you can see a few...human bones hung on her necklace. Perhaps The Hanging Tree saved your skin from joining those that lay beneath the water.

You realize now how close you are to Outskirt Outpost, the sounds of guitars and muffled voices carrying through the bent trees.

What should you do with the Alligator Girl?

Choices -Voting closed - 10 voters

VOTES

Try to figure out her name

6/9

+ Boop the snoot

3/51

+Headpat her.

4/51

Bid her farewell and keep moving

1/3

Carefully, slowly, you reach your hand out to the near reverent girl and lightly tap the alligator skull/head thing that sits over her brow. She looks up at you with watery eyes, and nuzzles herself against your hand. What was just a light tap on the snout has become a patting of her head that elicits and odd yet pleasant growling noise that sounds far more like a gator than a little girl.

"Do you have a name you little marshland belle?"

"Mwen rele Nephtalie!"

Some of that sounds less like gibberish and more a name to you. Nephtalie sounds name like in whatever culture it is she hails from. You're a bit at a loss for what to do from here however. You've learned her name, and without any effort at all managed to acquire her trust.

What to do from here?

Choices -Voting closed - 7 voters

VOTES

"Well, it was nice meeting ya. But I'll haft to keep moving. Farewell."

3/4

Point in the direction of the outpost. "I'm heading there, but I'd be happy to talk to you again. We can work on the communications thing some more, Nephtalie."

3/4

Bid her farewell and keep moving

1/2

Ask if there's anything you should know about the outpost.

2/21

You might as well finish your trudge through this hellish mire, though Still Water swamp has been good to you so far. A short journey and you'll be at Outskirt Outpost. Headpatting Nephtalie again lightly, you readjust your tussled shirt and look at her saucer like eyes. You'll be honest, they're quite striking with that sharp red that clashes so brilliantly with her albino scales and deep brown skin.

"It was nice to meet you Nephtalie, but I needta keep moving. I'd be honored to have the chance to speak to a pretty lady like you again though."

You point to the direction of the Outpost that you're headed in, and Nephtalie follows your gaze if slightly. She seems to much rather wish to look at you with those large expressive eyes of hers.

Nephtalie, if that truly is her name looks up at you with wonder as she idly gnaws on her knuckles, a slight deepening creeping to the color of her cheeks.

"Tounen vin pi bone chanpyon! Mwen ka ede ou nan kelkeswa fason mwen ka jere!"

Having started your walk back her words cause you to turn and look at her though you don't understand them too well. You don't see the girl, rather just an Albino Alligator that seems to be smiling if its face was truly capable of that.

-----

Outskirt Outpost is a surprisingly dry area set on the high ground of a worn down hilltop. A simple single lane affair with branching alleys, the largest buildings are by far the Saloon and Hunters Guild. The Guild were the first faction to form in the Bayou, and by far the strongest. Their reach was far, but not as deep as they would have liked. By what rumors tell only one Hunter had ever managed to reach New Orleans and he wasn't affiliated with the Guild. Still, if easy jobs and plentiful company were your wish the Guild Hall would be your best bet.

Alongside these buildings was a rickety looking gunshop, wiry moss hanging from the eves over the door, and what could only be described as a very unhygienic surgeon storefront. The other buildings were nondescript and likely unimportant in the overall picture of things. You draw no eyes as you meander down the street, taking in the sights as best you can. Things feel safer here, despite the few bullet riddled corpses laying deep down darkened side alleys.

Where should you go first?

Choices -Voting closed - 7 voters

VOTES

Hunters Guild

3/5

Saloon

2/4

Though the soft music drifting out the Saloon gently caresses you, promising drink and merry, you think you'd be better off going to the Guild Hall. A chance at some money, and a possible companion for a job would be good.

The Guild Hall is a simply constructed affair, full of a few Hunters who look like they know what they're doing, and many more who surely don't. A grizzled man behind the front desk looks you over, a seemingly permanently smoking gun resting next to a quill and inkwell.

"Welcome to the Guild Hall, Greenhorn. Name's Abraham Solomon. I'm the Outskirts Guild Master, and your immediate contact for any bounties, postage, artifacts, and misery. You just step through the Quarantine?"

How do you want to approach this man?

Choices -Voting closed - 3 voters

VOTES

Straightforward and respectful, a no nonsense hunter

1/2

Rough and tumble, better start on making an image now

1/1

Roll for Charisma. 1D100 Bo3 DC 50

Reader Posts- Closed - be the first to post.

Dice: 1d100

67 = 67

Dice: 1d100

Options: Sum. Threshold: 50.

31 = 31 (Fail)

Dice: 1d100

Options: Sum. Threshold: 50.

52 = 52 (Success!)

You just stepped off the proverbial boat, and there was no way you were going to try and become a desperado in the eyes of this grizzled veteran.

"Yes sir, made my way here through Still Water swamp."

At that the man raises an eyebrow, looking you up and down before writing something on a stained pad tied down to a plank of wood.

"Not every day the new guys don't go straight for the road. There's quite a few bandits on it despite our attempts to keep it clear, but it's the safest bet. Either you're suicidal or just that confident. Good first impression either way Greenhorn."

The man stands up, offering his hand which you shake in just the manner your father taught you. Firm but not too firm, with full eye contact. Abraham Solomon flashes a smile at you, which looks all too threatening on the scarred veteran.

"Let me show you around the place quick, most of the new blood arrives in the early morning and you're here near evening, so I think I can spare a few moments."

Tucking his still smoking gun into a worn leather holster, Abraham motions for you to follow him through the building that had turned out to be larger than you thought it would be.

"Now first things first, the Guild is a faction, and we only offer our services to prospectives or those who we owe a favor. You thinking of joining up with us?"

Choices -Voting closed - 5 voters

VOTES

Thinking about it, but I figured I'd hear your pitch first. What do I get out of it and what other alternatives do I have?

4/5

Yes

0

No

0

"Can't deny I wasn't thinking about it Abraham, but I figured I'd hear your pitch first and get an idea for the alternatives."

Abraham nods, stopping his walk to turn and face you. He looks you up and down once, then grins again.

"Keep walking, I can tell you as we do. Over to your left is the armory, nothing great in there but better than what most of you step in here with. You can exchange favors for weapons and ammo, along with some of the more simple armor pieces you'll find in the Bayou."

From you can see through the barred windows most of the weapons look to be simple repeaters and coach guns. Despite their age and rusted look they surely pack more of a punch than your 1858. Abraham stops by the window, leaning against it.

"First up then we'd have the Bandits. Less an organized faction and more a hodgepodge of every ner do well and black sheep in a loose group. They raid, murder, rob, and rape. Stay away from them as best you can. Following that would be the Army. They don't take kindly to Hunters unless they're government sanctioned, and even then they think you're better off dead in the waters than getting back out. Steer clear of them unless you have a fistful of dollars."

Abraham turns and begins walking again, a thin trail of gunsmoke following him wherever he walks. In just a few moments you've followed the man into some sort of common room, Hunters of all kinds gathered round tables and stiff drinks while discussing jobs, lost friends or just the weather.

"This here is the common room, a place to plan jobs and get drunk. Upstairs is the rooms for those who can pay or are owed. You'll find slightly better quality than the Inn down the street, though I won't deny the folks here are characters. Speaking of characters, there's a few other factions you'll find out there though much smaller."

You sincerely wish you had something to write on right now.

"You've got the Voodoo Cult, a group of former Haitian slaves that can do some weird shit. They tend to live in much deeper parts of the Bayou though you can find them out here. Any questions before we continue?"

Choices -Voting closed - 3 voters

VOTES

How do they treat outsiders?

2/3

Weird how?

1/2

Why do you leave a trail of gunsmoke wherever you walk?

2/2

What are the animals like around here?

1/1

What's the pay like? How can a man make cash around here? And what's there to spend it on?

1/1

"A couple of them actually. First, what do you mean by weird shit?"

Abraham laughs, not so much at you but to anyone who will listen. The crowd in the common room doesn't even listen, surely this must be common for when he talks to the Greenhorns. Abraham sets a hand on your shoulder as he looks to you.

"You'll learn quick science doesn't hold much ground out here. You'll see strange things, and likely do stranger. It can only really be described as magic, and the Voodoo Cult has it in spades. It's why my gun here never stops smoking."

Abraham pulls out his revolver, a massive Colt Walker that still tickles your nose with the scent of freshly spent powder.

"Got into a draw with some of them a few years back, an after putting a round in each of them one of those crazy boys cursed me with his dying breath. I think he fucked up the incantation because now my gun just smokes. The Smoking Gun if you will."

-----

Legendary Sidearm Found: The Smoking Gun

-----

"It looks like you got some more questions, so take a seat and we can jaw for a few." Abraham kicks back on a well worn wooden chair, motioning the barkeep over with two dirty glasses of amber liquid. It would be almost like home in here, until you stepped outside. A relaxing Saloon, well polished floors from years of walking and dancing. You feel suddenly homesick for things you were all too eager to throw away for a few dollars.

"The Voodoo boys ain't all too bad, long as you keep your distance from them and respect their territory. On occasion you'll even work with some of them on jobs. Speaking of jobs most of what we offer here is hunting work unless you have a skill to make use of. Pays decent enough to keep a roof over your head and stay fed unless you're willing to take a more dangerous one a bit deeper into the Bayou."

Abraham gulps down half his drink, wiping the sparkling drink from his mustache as you looks at you.

"You've been through Still Water, so you've seen some of the worst on offer already. I doubt you'd have much issue if you made it here alive."

You've got one starting talent, what is your skill to make money?

Choices -Voting closed - 4 voters

VOTES

Gunsmithing

3/32

Reading and Writing

2/2

Born Hunter

1/1

Marksman

1

Fishing

0

Gunsmithing Learned. Level 1 Talent. 0/5 to next level, successful checks raise this by 1. Critical Successes instantly move you to the next level, and something special can happen.

Ply your trade now or keep looking over the town?

Choices -Voting closed - 5 voters

VOTES

Finish up the tour and keep looking around town

4/5

Offer to Abraham now

0

"I can do some smithing, but I'd like to finish up this tour before I get embroiled into any jobs sir."

Abraham nods sagely, pounding out the rest of his watery beer and rising from his seat.

"Well, that's as good a plan as any I've heard today. You've seen most of the Guild Hall other than the members area, which unfortunately I can't take you to partner. I've gotta head back to the reception desk anyways, someone has to keep those damn Greenhorns from doing something stupid. Come see me for jobs sometime boy, we've got quite a few lately."

Abraham slaps a fifty cent piece on the table, his tattered cape hugging onto his back as he walks away. The barkeep walks over to you, his portly figure jostling with each step.

"Looks like Abraham left you enough for another drink on the house. What's your poison Hunter?"

"Just a beer, whatever he was drinking."

The barkeep nods, setting one of the multiple glasses he already had down in front of you. All told your first day has been rather easy, even with the encounter with The Hanging Tree. Just saying the name sends shudders down your back, and briefly the image of the bark woman grinning at you hungrily flits through your mind.

The Guild Saloon is comfortably loud, Hunters of all sorts enjoying their reprieve from the waters of the Bayou. Most of them seem to be Greenhorns like yourself, off in their groups as they plan jobs or what to do with the remaining daylight. One however catches your eye, a scarred woman with a pile of shot glasses on her table.

You take a quick sip of your beer, the liquid more water than alcohol.

What's your next plan?

Choices -Voting closed - 8 voters

VOTES

Head out to find the local gunsmith, see if they need some help for a quick buck

2/5

Take a look at the job listings

2/3

Head out to peruse the shops

2/2

Ask the woman for one piece of info in exchange for a favor

1/1

Regret buying beer, should've taken something stronger

1

Finishing your beer, which you're starting to wish was something stronger, you rise from your chair and adjust your clothes. Passing a glance at the strange woman who stares dourly at her glasses, you head back past the front desk with a wave from Abraham and out onto the open road. It seems like you've just interrupted a duel, two men from the Saloon stand at opposite ends of the street with hands over their pistols.

You might have a moment to talk them down if you wish, though you aren't sure of the cause of this. Duels were quite common in Hell's Bayou, as was murder, thievery, and rape. To most everyone else this was just another day.

Speed vote, only a minute to decide!

Choices -Voting closed - 3 voters

VOTES

Stay and watch

2/2

Interrupt the duel (CHA)

1/1

Keep walking

0

You thrust your hands into your pockets, intent on seeing how this plays out. The man to your left is yelling something about his share of the money as the clock ticks down. The Hunter could only be described as a classical cowboy, high boots, a tilted hat, and a belt buckle that you think was custom made to be that large. In fact it's almost funny how how damn stereotypical he is, right down to the drawl and faded cowprint that looks to have been painted on.

The man at the other end of the street however is very clearly an experienced Hunter by the way he carries himself. Head down, quiet, and intent on ending this quickly. His response was soft spoken, though carried far more weight than the blustering buffoon.

"We promised you money if you got the pelt, which you failed. Don't do anything stupid John, you don't even have a reputation on the line."

John, seemingly uncaring for the words trying to talk him down was still all bravado, trying to rile up the crowd to watch him "give some justice to a bandito" though no one gave him the time of day.

His showboating lasted just a moment too long, the clock chiming the hour for six, and with nary a movement the Hunter whipped up what could only be described as antique handgun. The crack was followed by a horrific tearing noise as the round split the air, then shattering John's sternum. The cowboy crumpled like a used up newspaper, tilting forward in slow motion before slumping across the hard packed dirt.

The other man was quiet as he walked up, the odd saw toothed weapon is his hands unfurling with a sching with the flick of his wrist. Faster than you could track the serrated teeth buried themselves across John's back and skull, crunching loudly as the weapon pierced bone and sinew, silencing the mans crying.

"Hunter."

With a start you saw the man looking at you, tilting his hat once before yanking the blade backwards in a shower of gore that flecked his dirty clothing.

Choices -Voting closed - 5 voters

VOTES

Speak to the strange man

3/4

+Ask about the pelt he was talking about.

3/4

+"So, not looking to start trouble, just curious. What's this about a pelt?"

2/4

Continue to the gunsmith

0

You nod your head back, wishing you had a hat to tip as you walk up to the man. He's built like you, though a head shorter, and his quiet mannerisms do little to stem the aura of intimidation around him. This is clearly a very experienced Hunter, which makes you wonder what he's doing on the outskirts of the Bayou.

"Pity you had to see that Hunter, John was foolhardy but didn't need to die this way. Still a duel is a duel."

The man flicks his wrist again, a spray of dark crimson dotting itself along the ground as the masterwork of weaponry folds back in on itself. Picking your jaw back up, you clear your throat.

"It was an impressive showing nonetheless, what was all this talk of pay and a pelt?"

The Hunter cocks an eye at you, tilting his head ever so slightly.

"Interested Greenhorn? I would say you'll likely die in the mire but you seem to carry yourself like you know how to take things slow around here. It was a hunting job my group posted, we need the pelt of a Wendigo. Ugly bastards, but not too much to deal with. John tried to turn in a Dire Wolf pelt, then got uppity when I wouldn't pay him."

The Hunter speaks to you in a low voice, almost reverent as he rolls the body over and places two pieces of silver over the dead mans eyes. Reaching into a leather pouch on his side he begins to reload the strange flintlock handgun.

"If you're interested come see me at the Saloon. I'll be in town a few more days."

With nary a chance to respond, the man turns on his heel with the scent of fresh blood following in his wake. The other Hunters around you don't even seem to care for the corpse, walking around it like it was just an unpleasant stain on the road. A brisk breeze caresses your shoulders, the smell of the swamp mixing with John's soiled clothing and leaking fluids.

Choices -Voting closed - 6 voters

VOTES

Might as well carry on to the Gunsmith

5/6

+To a passerby, nodding at the corpse. "I just got in, what's the reason that people aren't looking to get his guns or anything else of value off him, now that he won't be needing it?"

2/4

Make a stop at the Saloon, perhaps take him up on the offer

0

Before you move to the gunsmith you stop one of the passing Hunters, nodding down at John's corpse.

"Why is no one looting him, he's at least got a working gun. Not like he'll be using it anymore."

The man you looks you up and down once, then flicks a thumb down at the corpse.

"Good on you Greenhorn to not just go grabbin. See the silver on his eyes? It's an old practice that was revived when the Bayou started expanding. Means whoever put that there respected him and paid his toll. No silver and he's fair game, bandits in particular won't really care but anyone with a little sense wouldn't want to make this place any worse. Last thing we need is a wraith in town."

You look down at the corpse, not quite daring to wonder what a wraith would be. It seems this place was much more superstitious than those outside the fence had thought. With a passing thanks you continue through the town towards the Gunsmith, a rusted bell ringing out as you open the door and step in. The darkening building is small, every corner of the room stuffed with all manner of weapons and firearms, the thick smell of gun oil invading your nostrils.

"Welcome to my shop Hunter, people around here call me Father. Used to be a priest down near Baton Rouge before all this went to hell. Stopped believing in god, started believing in good old lead a lot more. What can I do you for."

Choices -Voting closed - 6 voters

VOTES

Offer your services

3/4

+If he doesn't need our help gunsmithing is there anything he needs that he can't get easily? We're green, and willing to work for our keep.

2/3

Peruse the wares

2/2

"Name's Henry, Father Guns. Just arrived here in the Outpost and was wonderin if I could ply my trade. I can fix up guns pretty well, or get you something you need for it. I just arrived here and need to start earning my keep, figured I could do what I know."

Father looks at you and laughs, a hearty belly laugh that sets you at ease.

"Now that's a surprise, someone who can do more than shoot and die. Yeah I could use a little work on a few of the guns I don't have the time to get to. As well as that, if you feel like going to Still Water tomorrow I could use the saliva of one of those damn Bullhoppers."

You raise an eyebrow at this, and Father chuckles a bit.

"That new eh son? You'll get used to the weird shit soon. Bullhoppers are huge frogs, so big they'll swallow a man whole. They're all just bluster though, few rounds of .44 in that soft belly and they roll over quick. Just be careful, bastards are quiet even if you can hear their croak for miles. Saliva makes a damn good varnish though."

Choices -Voting closed - 8 voters

VOTES

Accept the job and do a little tech work now

6/7

+"Anything else I should know about what's out there?"

5/6

+"I came in through Still Water, Some weird stuff there. Was a Tree that gave me the willies, and this gator i coulda sworn was smarter than it looked."

5/6

Just the tech work

1/1

"I'll take the job and do a little work tonight, but first, what else can you tell me about the things out there? I already came in through Still Water, and saw some odd things. A weird tree covered in bodies and a Gator that seemed to understand what I was saying."

Father half grins at this, setting a rusted double barrel in front of you. Whatever make it was, the serial numbers and manufacturing stamps had long since been filed or worn off.

"You can work and talk I hope?'

Gunsmithing roll, 1D100+10. DC of 45, Superstitious bullet can apply on even rolls. BO4

Reader Posts- Closed - 1 poster

Dice: 1d100+10

68 + 10 = 78

/dice 1d100+10

Dice: 1d100+10

81 + 10 = 91

Dice: 1d100+10

88 + 10 = 98

Dice: 1d100+10

52 + 10 = 62

Choices -Voting closed - 8 voters

VOTES

Proc Superstitous Bullet at the cost of one round? Turns this roll into a Nat 100

4/61

Save your ammo

2/21

You look the weapon over, noticing quite a few pockmarks and dangerous failures in the action. Reaching into your pocket you can feel one of the loose .44 rounds burning with a strange heat that clench in your hand. It melts like mercury, flowing between your fingers and changing to an ethereal mist that vanishes with the slightest gust of air. Something comes over you, a strange feeling of your hands working on their own.

Across the room and just at the edge of your vision a duster wearing woman winks at you once before vanishing.

-----

Lady Luck met!

-----

"Damn son, I think you should own this shop and not me. Watching you work is like finding god again..."

Father trails off as you disassemble the firearm, your hands a blur as you procure tools from the wooden box set next to the register. File off the rust, grease the springs, tighten down the hammers, sand the wood. This was easy work for you.

Father talks as you work, telling you of all manner of creatures that inhabit Still Water swamp, and frankly you are surprised at your luck not to run into any of them.

"Ropers, Mansuckers, Bullhoppers, Shepard Vines and Noose Vines, the occasional Dire Wolf or Wendigo. Mostly the weak stuff but the less spoke of mutants will sometimes come up here for an easy meal. Watch out for the mushrooms as well. I've been told some of them can talk, and nothing good could come from that."

It took less than ten minutes to make the shotgun look as though a master craftsman had built it only yesterday.

Father pushes ten dollars to you from where he sits across the counter, lifting up your work to appraise it. The weapon snaps open on its hinge with a very satisfying click, the pristine bore catching the light.

"I'll be damned son. You've got a real knack for working on firearms."

Gunsmithing Leveled Up. Level 2 Smithing. 0/10 for next Level. +20 bonus for Shotguns due to your first work of art.

You feel...oddly drained after that ordeal even though it was only a few moments.

Choices -Voting closed - 7 voters

VOTES

+ buy a bullet

5/7

Head to the Saloon, try to find a room for the night

5/5

Stay and talk to Father more, perhaps work on some more guns?

1/2

"Father an odd request for you, but can I purchase a .44 round?"

The man eyes you suspiciously before smiling at you once more.

"I won't question why just one, you seem good enough and whatever gets you to fix more guns for me is good in my book. Take it, it's on the house."

You pocket the .44 round, letting it jingle with the others as you leave behind a still stunned gunsmith looking over your masterwork. Ten dollars richer for only one gun, though you think that was solely for the sake of what you managed to do with a rusted and bent double barrel. You pass by the still body of John, now being gnawed on by rats the size of cats. The sun has hid itself behind the trees by now, deep orange shafts of light bathing the Outpost in a warm glow that despite the location sets you at ease. Soft guitar playing and bass singing emanate from the Saloon as you approach, stepping over the passed out drunk lying in a pool of vomit in front of the door.

The tune is pleasing, if dark.

Various Hunters are in varying states of drunkenness, and the woman behind the bar motions you over.

"What can I get a nice Hunter like you hon, a room? A drink? Here at the Dead End we pride ourselves on our service."

What do you want?

Choices -Voting closed - 8 voters

VOTES

A Beer, and a room if there's one you're letting.

5/6

+Ask if she has any work available.

2/4

Got a job for room and board? Say bouncer for the night?

1/3

+ no more beer, make it Absinthe

1/3

ey bb you want some fug

2/2

"Some beer, or Absinthe if you have it. A room for the night if one's open, I can pay unless you got some work I can trade you for. Bouncer perhaps?"

The woman laughs, a perfectly pitched ringing that seems to set the Saloon at ease even more.

"Darling, no offense but we like the bouncers with a bit more brawn than brains, though you do cut an imposing figure. Count your first drink as free Hunter, I can tell you just got here. The room on the other hand is going to be twenty five cents a night."

The turns around and rummages under the counter, the sounds of clinking bottles reaching your ears as you struggle to not stare at her rear end.

Roll for Willpower, 1D100, DC 50 BO4

Reader Posts- Closed - be the first to post.

Dice: 1d100

59 = 59

Dice: 1d100

99 = 99

Dice: 1d100

40 = 40

Dice: 1d100

7 = 7

You blink, sincerely wishing for that drink right now. The way her hips sway and the slight jiggle of her ass are a test. You can tell by the sly look she gives you when she thinks you aren't paying attention. Perhaps trying to wrap you around her finger? You're made of stronger stuff than that, so you move to look around the Saloon. No one really stands out, except for the strange Hunter from the duel, who nods at you when you meet his eyes.

A light clink brushes your ears from behind, as the strong smelling light green Absinthe is poured out for you.

"Here you are sugar, we call this Fairy Dust. Dead End's very own brew made from Bayou wormwood and actual fairy blood. Which is green for some reason."

You have a hard time believing the story but the alcohol burns down your throat and sets your stomach alight in ways you didn't think a drink could. Despite the day, the brush with death, and an encounter with a tree adorned in corpses you think you could start to like this Hell's Bayou.

Anything to do before you turn into bed?

Choices -Voting closed - 8 voters

VOTES

Talk with that one hunter about wendigos, not that we plan on hunting one, but if we get unlucky might as well know how to kill one before we run into one.

5/6

+Do a small prayer to god before turning in to sleep.

4/51

+also get his name.

2/31

Nothing comes to mind

2/2

You grab your glass, now half full of the pungent green alcohol that has already started to give you a buzz. The Hunter sees you coming, kicking a boot out under the table to push the opposite chair out for you.

"Stranger, good to see you again. Interested in that Wendigo hunt?"

You shake your head, seating yourself on the well worn wood that creaks with every movement. The saw toothed cleaver is leaned against the wall, flecks of dried blood and muscle tissue hanging off the brutal weapon.

"Not as of yet, but I'd like to learn about them at the very least. Best not to run into one without preparation. What's your name or should I just call you Stranger too?"

The man laughs through his mask, still quiet as he has been since you met him.

"They call me Gehrman. Not sure when that started or why, but it's what I've gone by since. You must be Henry. Abraham spoke of you as the Greenhorn with a decent head on his shoulders. As for Wendigos, they don't much like gunfire though you'll put a hundred rounds in them before they go down. Your best bet is to behead them, but be warned to do something to slow them down before you get close. They're quick bastards, and intelligent too."

Gehrman kicks back, his muddied boots on the table as he sips his whiskey right from the bottle, through his mask even.

"Not all of them are out to kill though, I've heard tales of some that will talk or even offer help. The female ones are...needy though if the drunken ramblings of Hunters are to believed. I wouldn't put much faith in a boasting drunk."

You finish off the glass of Absinthe feeling quite strange as you do. Perhaps she wasn't lying about fairy blood.

"Tell me Henry, what are you here for? Fame? Adventure? No one comes to Hell's Bayou without a reason."

Choices -Voting closed - 8 voters

VOTES

"Ran into some trouble, and this was the best option left for me"

5/6

"Avoid judge's daughters, they are nothing but trouble and do not care if they get you sent to jail."

2/31

"It's either this or i die, so hoping luck'll be kind to me."

1/2

Evade and give him a generic answer

1/1

Answer truthfully

1/1

"Ran into some trouble, and outside the fence this was really the only choice left."

Gehrman nods once, seemingly satisfied.

"Vague, but I don't blame you. If you're one of the prisoner types they get mixed reception from some of the dumber Greenhorns. Anyone worth their salt here doesn't care where you're from as long as you can shoot straight and think on your feet."

Gehrman takes another long drink of his whiskey, smacking his lips twice before stretching out his arms.

"Job'll be open for a few days Henry, you can find me here or the Guild. Recommend you get some rest now, only the Greenhorns think the night isn't worth fearing."

Tomorrow will be a new day in the Bayou, one with new challenges and new fears. With each passing hour the swamp exhales a humid breath of rot and decay, expanding its hellish acreage little by little. Men fight like monsters among the cursed creatures of the swamp for a chance to survive and prosper, and here you are...stuck in the midst.

Next: Chapter Two: Second Day's Light →