Wild West RPG

You step off the worn stagecoach, your boots kicking up dust as the driver snaps the reins and disappears down the trail. The midday sun is merciless, baking the dirt road that runs through a sleepy town. A few townsfolk linger by the general store, their eyes briefly meeting yours before looking away. As you take a step toward the saloon, a wiry man in a wide-brimmed hat leans against a hitching post, chewing on a piece of straw. His piercing eyes scan you up and down before he speaks.

Wiry Man: : "Well now, look at you. Fresh off the coach and already trackin’ dirt in our little town. Welcome to Deadwood Gulch, stranger. Place ain’t much, but it’s what we got. Got a saloon over yonder if you’re lookin’ to wet your whistle, and the sheriff’s office if you’re huntin’ work—or trouble."