When it comes to roleplaying I am definitely a “D&D guy”. I've yet to run a Hill Cantons session where I have felt even the slightest bored (it helps having some of the most creative and unruly players I have ever encountered). And I have rare to never felt that old urge to abruptly change gears and dump the campaign.
But that pining for bright and shiny new things still rides into my head over and over again. I have found it's best just to give in every once in a while. So here I am dusting off my copy of second edition Boot Hill and preparing for a one-shot to be held virtually on Google Plus hangouts next Tuesday night at 8:30 CST. (Back to finishing up those reportbacks from the Border War.)
The place: Cantones de los Montes, a tiny shithole town nestled in the foothills of the Guadaloop Mountains (conveniently near the Territory border). A dusty, seedy white adobe and timber collection of buildings housing some of the meanest sons-a-bitches this side of the border.
The time: late spring 1876 (or 42,952 in other, forgotten ways of measuring the passing of years.)
The set-up: A nameless drifter floats into this mean little corner of the world. The surly locals don't take a shine to the new feller and beat him within an inch of his life. Turns out they messed with the wrong hombre as said drifter is blood-brothers with the Nefarious Nine, some of the coldest killers, goat-rustlers and wife-stealers around. The Nine—who strangely only number five—saddle up and ride for town a shootin' and a hollerin'.
NPCs of note in the Cantones
“Captain” Claude Evo, burly, hirsute local cattle baron and kingmaker. The Captain never lacks for a bolo tie.
Frank Stripes, former doctor run out of his Mississippi practice for unwholesome phrenological studies with the craniums of dead convicts and vagabonds. Every once in a while--deep into his jug of corn liquor--he will slip up and introduce himself as “Phillip”.
“Two-Fisted Patch” Drogo, former riverboat bare-knuckles boxer now foreman for the Captain.
“Cherokee Carl” Berry. The leanest, toughest midget in the Territory. Has a fondness for dynamite.
Earl Dandy. Impeccably-dressed gambler noted for his outlandishly tall stovepipe hats.
And many more to be announced when the repitilian part of my brain can conjure up more bad puns and in-jokes.