# [Dust Devils]Wyrd West One Shot - On the Trail of Bastards



## Paka (Apr 7, 2004)

*The Adventure: * 

Little Pyramid is your home, a town on the border between Upper Rosetta, Lower Rosetta where the Norse hold law. The pyramid that gives the town its name is no bigger than an outhouse, has been worn away by time, said to be a general from Rosetta who was peppered with arrows from the native tribes. The glyphs are worn away by dust and time. 

Some bastards came through town last night, shot up Kef's Saloon, raped a girl and robbed the pyramid that gives the town its name. Y'all are the posse that's been rounded up to catch the varmints. 

Let me know who you are and why you volunteered to go after the bastards. Make their deeds and their history as much a part of your own as you care to. 

We'll be using Dust Devils which is a really neat Indie RPG that'll allow us all to make up great characters in just a few minutes. 

*The World: * 

The following was taken nearly verbatim from an old thread here that really blew up and got rollin' but I only ran a one shot in the world and always wanted to head back west. 

After years I tracked down the poem at the end of this message. I'd read the poem in an anthology, maybe during high school or even junior high. It stuck with me. 

It is a wild west where every mythology I loved as a child meets in the dust. Six guns meets Set. High noon for Horus. 

Then I had an image of a battered brass scarab belt buckle, holding up a worn pair of jeans. The buckle is also an amulet, keeping the rattlers away from his horse while on the trail. Whose horse? I don't know. I don't know yet. But I know his dusty boots are engraved with cats chasing snakes and the heels are worn. There is a leather band with hieroglyphs around a black hat. 

What we know as the Mississippi is the Nile's Brother. The Brother bisects the great states of upper and lower Rosetta with its gambling boats in the shape of great hippos, red-stone pyramids and Bast-run brothels. 

North and South Rosetta are at odds, last month a fight broke out in their congress and all augurs seem to see nothing but plagues and Angels of Death in their tea-leaves. The Pilgrim-slaves of Lower Rosetta seem to be biding their time, waiting for something. 

Texas is a state afire with a range wars between the cattle barons. The Wooden Horse Ranch in Troy County has gained the enemnity of many of the most powerful barons. Rumor has it the blood is being spilled over a woman. 

The northeast has been settled by great lodges of Norsemen with runes carved in the bullets of their six-guns and totem poles adopted from their neighbors with Odin atop Thor atop Loki atop Fenris atop a Turtle. 

The east was settled by the army of a Roman emperor from the old country who has since fallen to his brother's knives. The senators of the Republic await the coming war between upper and lower Rosetta greedily, hoping to gain more land. 
Injuns are inspired by Arthurian legend, with one chief recently rising to unite the nations and the White Buffalo Woman giving him a warclub to destroy his enemies. 

There is also this hazy image of Little Pyramid, a town on the border between Upper Rosetta, Lower Rosetta and where the Norse hold law. The pyramid that gives the town its name is no bigger than an outhouse, has been worn away by time, said to be a general from Rosetta who was peppered with arrows from the native tribes. The glyphs are worn memories. 

The Exodus maybe parting one of the Great Lakes rather than the Red Sea. Sly Uli makes his way back home after the war through old Mexico. 





*The Inspiration: * 


I Am a Cowboy in the Boat of Ra 
Ishmael Reed 

'The devil must be forced to reveal any such physical evil (potions, charms, fetishes, etc.) still outside the body and these must be burned.' (Rituale Romanum, published 1947, endorsed by the coat-of-arms and introductory letter from Francis cardinal Spellman) 


I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra, 
sidewinders in the saloons of fools 
bit my forehead like O 
the untrustworthiness of Egyptologists 
who do not know their trips. Who was that 
dog-faced man? they asked, the day I rode 
from town. 

School marms with halitosis cannot see 
the Nefertiti fake chipped on the run by slick 
germans, the hawk behind Sonny Rollins' head or 
the ritual beard of his axe; a longhorn winding 
its bells thru the Field of Reeds. 

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. I bedded 
down with Isis, Lady of the Boogaloo, dove 
deep down in her horny, stuck up her Wells-Far-ago 
in daring midday getaway. 'Start grabbing the 
blue,' I said from top of my double crown. 

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. Ezzard Charles 
of the Chisholm Trail. Took up the bass but they 
blew off my thumb. Alchemist in ringmanship but a 
sucker for the right cross. 

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. Vamoosed from 
the temple i bide my time. The price on the wanted 
poster was a-going down, outlaw alias copped my stance 
and moody greenhorns were making me dance; 
while my mouth's 
shooting iron got its chambers jammed. 

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. Boning-up in 
the ol' West i bide my time. You should see 
me pick off these tin cans whippersnappers. I 
write the motown long plays for the comeback of 
Osiris. Make them up when stars stare at sleeping 
steer out here near the campfire. Women arrive 
on the backs of goats and throw themselves on 
my Bowie. 

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra. Lord of the lash, 
the Loup Garou Kid. Half breed son of Pisces and 
Aquarius. I hold the souls of men in my pot. I do 
the dirty boogie with scorpions. I make the bulls 
keep still and was the first swinger to grape the taste. 

I am a cowboy in his boat. Pope Joan of the 
Ptah Ra. C/mere a minute willya doll? 
Be a good girl and 
bring me my Buffalo horn of black powder 
bring me my headdress of black feathers 
bring me my bones of Ju-Ju snake 
go get my eyelids of red paint. 
Hand me my shadow 

I'm going into town after Set 

I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra 

look out Set here i come Set 
to get Set to sunset Set 
to unseat Set to Set down Set 

usurper of the Royal couch 
imposter RAdio of Moses' bush 
party pooper O hater of dance 
vampire outlaw of the milky way


Using the Dust Devils RPG


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## Paka (Apr 7, 2004)

*Character Concepts*

_E-mailed to me by the player:_

My character is Emuish้r้ Ramose, aka Sharp Sh้r้ (pronounced "Sherry") Lionheart, madam of Little Pyramid's premiere house of ill repute and temple of goddess worship, Bast's Cathouse.  The sign outside depicts a cat fighting a snake, with all the lewd innuendo such a picture could evoke.  Her temple/cathouse is full of well-cared for cats of both kinds, and as the high Priestess of Bast in Little Pyramid, Sh้r้ feels fully authorized to use her lapis-handled revolvers to defend all her pussies from anyone who'd raise an unkind hand to them.  As a result, all her kitties are happy, and so are those who pet them...and make their donations to the Goddess.

It was one of Sh้r้'s girls who was raped by those bastards who shot up Kef's Saloon (Kef and Sh้r้ are business associates, symbiotes if you will).  As everyone knows, no one touches one of Sh้r้'s girls roughly and gets away with it-- she's as quick on the trigger as some of her clients.  Thus, she will insist on being part of any posse rounded up to get revenge on the rapists.  After, Bast is the protector of women as well as cats, known to her enemies as She Who Rends for good reason.

Description:  Sh้r้ is a little bit past her prime but still very attractive.  Her black (dyed?) hair is in the familiar Egyptian shoulder-length blunt cut with bangs, and she wears the traditional eye makeup.  Usually she is dressed in a man's pinstriped black and grey suits, very well-tailored, with worn-down boots and the low-slung gun belts, replete cat-head belt buckle.  Her trademark  top hat with the rattlesnake around the brim rarely leaves its rakish angle on her head.  Picture Angelina Jolie meets Calamity Jane.


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## Paka (Apr 7, 2004)

*Character Concept*

_E-mailed to me from the player:_

I call myself Khat. (1) I'm a scar-faced, thin-lipped wench that most 
folks know to leave well enough alone. People say I started out as a 
vengeful twinkle in Daddy's eye, a neo-Sekhmet conceived to bring down 
those as done him wrong. (2) He was Mayor of Peoria (3) before he got run 
outta town, and that never sat with him, see. If anybody knows who Mama 
was, they ain't talkin' and I don't much care: I grew up with Daddy, on 
the run in the scrublands. Folks've said he weaned me on scorpion venom 
and fresh blood, but that's just bull. It was goat's milk and 
whatever else he had. Problem is, a course, Daddy weren't no saintly Ra 
turned on by the fickle. He's as crooked as a broke-backed sidewinder with 
a forked tongue to match, but I didn't know that then. Not until after 
I rode alone into Peoria at a fresh fifteen years and shot down the 
sherriff (4), the mayor and a few other folks and rode out again, sour and 
cool as fresh lemonade. While towns up'n'down rounded up wranglers, and 
the price on my head went up'n'up, Daddy was busy bustin his old pals 
outta jail and puttin together a new gang. We lived it large, crackin 
more than a few heads, til the day I thought ta ask: 'So what did these 
folks do to ya, Poppa?'

'Nothin at all, Baby Girl,' he said, 'That score's settled and then 
some. This here's New Business.'

That didn't sit right by me. I grew up an outlaw, sure, but it's one 
thing to be on the lamb 'cuz the bad folks are out ta git ya and a whole 
other thing to be the bad folk through'n'through. I sold my Daddy out, 
tipped his hand to th'authorities, but he got wise and ran me out too. 
I got me an amnesty for turnin coat, an I decided to live small for 
awhile. I came to roost in Little Pyramid, and I been servin drinks at 
Kef's a few years now. Then them varmints came through, makin bad trouble, 
and I dusted off the ol' pistols and put my apron down.

Not only they mess up some good folks in my new lil life, which is bad 
'nuff, coupla them boys... they ran with Pops.

Khat's kitty: brace of pistols, inlaid with vultures in mother of 
pearl. Whip. Mean right hook, and a sucker punch from her conscience.



1. A homophonic pun on the English 'Cat'; also the Khemetic-language 
word for the part of the soul-self which is the physical body, or 'the 
part that rots.'

2. I'm treading waters that mix game and real-life Significance, here. 
Sekhmet, vengeful destroyer, Eye of Ra, bringer of plagues and 
protectress of those who fight them is my patron Goddess (or First of a few, 
anyhow). But with the Egyptoid influence in your Wyrd West, why not?

3. Name chosen arbitrarily, with no attachment.

4. But I didn't shoot no deputy....


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## Paka (Apr 7, 2004)

_E-mail from another player: _ 

Caelius is obviously Roman, or at least he's part Roman, with that nose and square jaw and green eyes. But, his cheekbones and straight black hair point to some injun blood. Also, he's pretty red-skinned, but it could be all the time he spends in the sun tendin his land. He looks to be about 30 years old, but it's hard to tell, he's so weathered by what must've been an outddor life before he came to Little Pyramid. 

Cae came to Little Pyramid about three years ago, bought a small plot of land on the outskirts (in full with cash!), and set up a small farm. Over the years, he has kept almost completely to himself and doesn't even seem to be a resident of the town most of the time. He tends to his crops and his chickens and comes to the town market when he needs supplies or has a surplus of eggs or corn to sell or trade. He lives alone in the small house and doesn't bother nobody. He's got an injun-lookin horse and a small pack of mutts. He don't attend no temple--Eqyptian or Norse; no one's seen him praying to the Four Directions either. Maybe he prays to Roman gods or none at all. 

For all that he normally keeps to his lonesome, once in a blue moon, he comes to Kef's, sits at the bar, and drinks himself unconcious. He doens't talk or make time with the ladies; he just drinks. Well, that's not totally true. When he's drunk as a skunk, he sometimes talks to Khat a little. What he says, though, only him and Khat know. All in all, he's an odd one. 

The rest of the story: 

Caelius was born of the unlikely but loving union of a Roman soldier and a Cherokee woman. When he was born, he got a Roman name from his father but not much more. When he was a small boy, his father was stationed elsewhere, and he left his half-breed son behind. Cae grew up in his mother's tribe and eventually was given the name Small Eagle in deference to his Roman heritage. However, he was always known as a person reluctant to take sides, indecisive, of a divided mind. He was sometimes called Snake With Two Heads--usually behind his back. 

Although his mother's people accepted him, Cae never felt that he was a part of their culture. He went through all the rituals: he sweated, he drank the Black Drink, he ate the sacred mushrooms, he kept vigil in trees, and he hung from the hooks. Never did he feel the spirits. Never did the hawk or the wolf call his name. Deep in his heart, he knew that this was because he was a man of two peoples and had never chosen which path he would follow. If he wasn't happy, at least he was safe and had his own life. 

All that changed because of Wolf Craving Blood and Bold Dog. Bold Dog was the new chief and Wolf Craving Blood was his brother. They incited other villages and clans to make a real war against the Romans. They wanted to kick them off Turtle Island once and for all, back to their lands of goats and olives. Their raids against the Eagles become more violent and more frequent. Finally the Romans grew tired and set out to exterminate all the Cherokee. When the scouts alerted the village that a large force of Romans was coming, Caelius was paralyzed with conflicting feelings. He couldn't help either of his peoples kill the other. At the last minute, he fled. He took off into the woods. When the battle was over, he returned. The village was devastated. His lodge was mostly burned. In the rubble, he could see that his mother had died defending her other children. She had earned great honor in her last moments. He buried her as properly as he could, although he did not remember all the songs that should be sung to the departed. He was 15. 

After this, Cae went west, telling himself that he was seeking freedom. During his travels, he lived as he could--by stealing mostly. He stole a pistol from a sleeping mail carrier and made himself into a good shot. He came to the great prairies of the Pawnee and the Lakota and, recently, the Egyptians. Out there in the dust and sage of the Shoshone, in a town barely fit to be called such, Cae met another traveller, another outlaw. This man was a red-haired Norseman as mean with a hatchet as he was with a pistol. He went by the name Red Gun. After a night of cards and drink and talk, Red Gun took Cae under his wing. Together they robbed their way across the plains and badlands. Injun, Egyptian, Norseman--it made no difference; if you had valuables you were fair game for the pair. On top of being partners in crime, they were also partners in the bedroll. 

Caelius and Red Gun were together for several years. They swore to each other every oath you can think of and then some. They told each other only death would part them. But there came a morning when Caelius woke up alone and cold in his bedroll. Red's horse and pack was gone. Next to Cae pack was his share of the gold from their latest robbery. And that was that. Red did a good job of covering his tracks. 

Caelius went a little nuts for a while. He stayed out in the badlands searching for Red sometimes and other times just wandering in a fog. He didn't care if he lived or died or about anything. How long this went on, Cae doesn't know. Eventually he came to his senses. He decided he couldn't keep up a life of crime; it wouldn't feel right without Red. He decided to settle down in the first town he came to. That town was Little Pyramid. Even though he's gotten over Red as much as he can, Cae has sworn to himself that if he ever sees Red again, he's going to make him tell him why he left. And then he's going to kill him. To shoot him right between the eyes. 

Cae had settled into a sort of life in Little Pyramid. It was a lonely life, but he didn't much want to socialize anyway. He had his crops and his dogs. It was a quiet life that suited him fine. And then here comes Red again to mess it all up, to take all the feelings that Cae had put in jars on a high shelf and smash'em all over the floor. Red come through Little Pyramid with a gang of sunovabitches shootin' things up and rapin' a girl and robbin' the pyramid. Well, he wasn't gonna get away with it. He's gotta pay for that. And for somethin' else.


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## Paka (Apr 8, 2004)

_E-mailed to me from a player:_

I might do a nicer, story-version of this, but in brief:

Chickasaw Jack

Jack probably ain't Chickasaw.  He isn't even all Injun.  His daddy was squarehead and his momma was Injun.  (No one knows what tribe, no one much cares, neither.)  He growed up real handsome, and there ain't a boy been born since Thor hisself who's biggern' stronger.  Only problem was, he got slowed up along the way.  His daddy turned to that crucifixtion cult and never did take too kindly to him.  Downright hated the poor bastard after his momma died.

Boy kinda stood out.  A little too red for Valhalla if ya kinnit, and 
that began to itch on his daddy more and more each day since his little bit of Injun pussy passed.

Jack's daddy took it into his head--with the help of the local 
preacher, mind--that the red in Jack's flesh was a hint of the little red pitchfork man runnin' all over inside little Jackie's soul.  Daddy took it into his head--still not by his own self--that maybe beatin the boy would save his soul.

Came time when Jack was old enough to choose to be born again in Jesus' waters.  Little Jackie wanted his daddy to like him so much.  He thought for sure this would be the way.  So he done it.  Only he got held down  too long under the under and he ain't been right since.

Still, everyone's got use for a strong halfwit who aims to please hard like he do.  , it makes the boy so damned happy when he gets somethin right.  And it aches him powerful bad when he s up.  He'll go on a tear, moanin and rockin and beatin hisself upside the head with them big ham-fistsa his till you stop him.

Anyway, he's still a handsome fella--though he don't know how to use it none--and he's strongern' ever.  Bigger, too.  He kicked around for a while from one cuss usin him to another, till he come to Little Pyramid an the sweet arms of Bast.

Mostly alls you need is to have a big er like that in the taproom and ain't noone not completely ed outta his gourd gonna  around.

When a man lets his whiskey get aheada his sense, all one-a them pretty ladies need to do is point Chickasaw at the poor fool.  Then you just gotta step the  out the way.  It's like Rover been starvin for a week an someone hid prime rib inside Little Sue's dolly.  Ain't a pretty sight.

Ain't nothin hardly human in it.

Which brings us to the dead whore.  The girls is always kind to Jack.

The new ones don't know his head's all ed up an all they see is  that face the body like one-a the Einherjar(http://www.pantheon.org/articles/e/einherjar.html) come a-courtin.

Even the older girls take a likin to Jack, though.  When he ain't worryin a fella's head off his shoulders like a kid tryin to pull off a green 
twig, he's a sweet boy.  So when the one whore who been nicer to him than alla t'others turned up dead?  Well, Chickasaw Jack been askin the ladies whose turn it is to dance.

And waitin sure ain't his game, so if I was you, I'd say the  away from that big bastard.


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## Morte (Apr 8, 2004)

*leans back on the rocker, cuts a wad of backy, and settles down to listen with a big smile*


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## Paka (Apr 20, 2004)

_Shere's wonderful player, Paula, e-mailed me the following just before the game, more background.  We were on the verge of playing before sitting down at the table, so I was glad that we played just after this, right when the iron was hot.

As it turned out, this NPC was a big part of the overall plot:_

Sigrid Meritmiuwset (means "pretty little girl kitty") is not the slightest bit Egyptian.  A tall, platinum blond stunner with blue eyes, fond of fancy dresses, long, curled hair, and stylish hats, she is as different from Shere as Bast is from Thor.  (Picture Darryl Hannah as a Wild West whore)

Sigrid arrived in Little Pyramid 13 years ago, at the age of 11, when her father traded her in payment for his bar and gambling tabs at Little Pyramid's whorehouse. This was well before Shere had control of prostitution in Little Pyramid (she was a working girl herself at this time), so Sigrid did not have the easiest time of it, having been used as rough trade for the first 6 years of her life.  Shere bonded with the child early on, and helped her through the most difficult parts of the business, all the while accumulating enough money and influence to challenge the current owner of the bordello.  

When Shere was able to oust her former employer and take over, Sigrid was 17 and Shere's lover.  This fact is an open secret among the girls in the whorehouse, now ennobled into a Temple, but as far as Sigrid and Shere know, not known by anyone who is not a devotee of Bast.  Both Shere and Sigrid stopped plying their trade once they took over the house, although Sigrid occasionally had liaisons with some of her favorite regulars, much to Shere's bemused annoyance.  Still, theirs is a mostly happy relationship. Sigrid runs the nitty-gritty financial aspects of the bordello and the Temple, dealing with the mundane housekeeping and upkeep aspects as well, while Shere does the front-end work of public relations, dealing with clients, liaisons with other local businesses, and keeping the patrons and girls in line. She's pretty soft-spoken, practical, and feminine, not aggressive, brash, and charismatic like Shere.  

Sigrid's Devil is the fact that she secretly longs for a "normal" life.  She wishes she had been able to marry a man, settle down, and raise a nice Norse family.  Once her alcoholic, degenerate father traded her into a life of prostitution, any chance of that happening was shattered; in her eyes and the eyes of society, she is "ruined" forever.  She has created with Shere a life that is as close an approximation of her dream as she could construct, with Shere as her "husband," the girls in the house as her "children," with her running the household, but still likes men too (still, rarely but sometimes, sleeps with them, which she keeps from Shere as much as possible) and still wishes she could be a regular lady of a regular house.  She has never told this to Shere, who would not remotely understand this urge whatsoever and would feel deeply betrayed.  Usually,  Sigrid's Devil is dormant, unless she meets a man who appeals to her fantasy of "husband material," or Shere really ticks her off. 

HAND 2
EYE 4
GUTS 3
HEART 4

Beautiful as Helen of Troy
Smart as a whip

Figurin' 3 (by this I mean finances)
Seducin' 2
Ridin' 1
Sweet Talkin' 2
Housekeepin' 3

Devil: 1


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