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  1. Oleander is a recent addition to Montana, and who knows how long she's going to stay. Would love to plot and post with anyone who's interested, and I'm excited to see what you and your characters may bring to the table! Key points to Ms. Wilkes below. Oleander is on the run after killing her husband. Her husband's family has sent a private investigator after her, though Oleander doesn't know this. (Yet! Maybe you are the investigator! Or maybe you have a bounty hunter around who has heard of this wandering widow and the price on her head? Most likely an ongoing plot device, but maybe they had an interaction without either of them realizing it? Maybe the bounty hunter did? Who knows!) She's spent many a night in barns and basements in exchange for menial work. She'll keep her head down and do what you tell her. Was it a nice night, or not-so-nice night, that's up to perspective. (Maybe that was one of your characters! Did they have a good time? What would you like!) Eventually Oleander might leave that life behind, and who knows for what...Maybe your there's some persuading to be done!
  2. "A ride to where?” The words seemed to come to Oleander’s ears as if through water. Warped and wading through the air. Wrapping around her eardrums and waiting there for much too long. Oleander had to close her eyes just to listen. “A ride … a ride to …” Damn, the name of the town. The name of the town had disappeared amongst the rubble. Probably slipped out when she was hoisted out from underneath the beams. The words flew right out of what scrambled mess was her mind as something was placed into her hand. Suddenly her vision was pinpoint sharp as the woman with Oleander handed her food. Food. Now that was a friendly sight. Oleander’s fingers clamped down on the biscuit and salted meat and not a moment later was it being stuffed into her mouth. She shot the woman a thankful look. Oleander’s stomach cramped with hunger and satiation all at once, and yet it set a weight in her that kept her from floating up into the air. Or at least that’s what it felt like. “Tell ya what, ya help me get these horses settles an’ we’ll take one’a the spare teams an’ go lookin’ for that mule’a your’n.” Oleander nodded and looked over the woman’s shoulder, back to the horses. Oh, the horses. What a fond sight they were. Oleander slid in next to one of them with ears back and whites showing. Its nostrils flared as she approached and she met its deep gaze, placing one hand along its muzzle, the other along its withers, feeling its breath shift under the harness. “This. This I can do for you.” Her breath slowed with the horse’s. She nodded to the woman. “Good horse. Lead the way.” @Bongo
  3. More than one person had shrugged Oleander off. All they could give her was a blank stare, a shake of the head, or an agitated huff. As if whatever pesky animal she was griping about was the only thing on her mind. As if she was ignoring the collapses houses, holding bodies (both alive and dead) in their bowels. As if she wasn’t aware of just how many other animals had run off in blind terror the first moment they could. But Oleander was very aware of all of these things. And if that old mule had run off without her, Oleander wasn’t sure how long either of them would make it. Both she and the old ride had seemed to be keeping each other going. One person seemed to understand. Oleander found herself whirling when she heard a set of feet plod into the frozen earth behind her, and she whipped around, causing what braid was left in a shoddy plait to free itself and cling around her face. Her muscles immediately tensed, but as soon as she looked upon another woman, full of life and sincerity, Oleander let herself breathe again. “A dun,” she croaked. “It’s an old dun mule. Regular sized.” The woman had mentioned a doctor. That’s right, the doctor was still in town. “No, no, I’m fine. I just want the mule. I’ll … the doctoring is for later. I just need the ride.” And need the ride she did. As soon as she could, she would high tail it out of here with directions to Kalispell. It seemed this woman with the stagecoach would help make that happen. Now, where did those herded steeds get placed? And had that damn old thing even been part of that rescue mission?
  4. Whitefish hadn’t promised much. Oleander had been warned of that when it was first pointed out to her on a map of the local area. “You could try and make it out to Kalispell before the next big storm hits, but if you’re really just looking for any kind of place like you say, might as well go for Whitefish.” They had said. And that really was all she had been looking for. Her last safe haven had been with Felix, the old veteran. In fact he had given her his old mule, Twiddles, on account of “she hardly did much anyway.” What Twiddles did do was at least march her scrawny nag body over to Whitefish and allowed Oleander to scrounge a bed from a pitying passerby. Oleander had gone to bed that night expecting some solace. She was woken up not a few hours later by screams and a warm, threatening glow bleeding through the windowpanes. Leaping out of bed to assess the blaze, Oleander was quickly met with it as it licked along the sill. Blizzard winds had brought the embers slamming into the side of the shed, and soon enough the shed was collapsing. That’s what she told people when they pulled her out a few days later. Somehow they had placed her in the church along with the other women and their children, but instead of huddling with them Oleander had picked herself a corner seat in a far removed pew. It gave her a good look over the rest of them, as well as a place to clear her head and allow her to shiver and chatter her teeth in peace. The best part of her perch was it had the best window that looked out onto the main street of Whitefish … or what was left of it. She watched as the horses plowed their feet through the paths, the wagons groaning along behind them. More and more continued to emerge from the silhouettes of what once were buildings. Oleander, like many others, seemed to suddenly become possessed and rose to her feet, surging out to meet the rescue teams. The orders to have those from Whitefish disperse to let the wagons through fell on deaf ears, and suddenly Oleander found herself tugging on the sleeve of anyone who would listen. “His mule. Twiddles. His … my mule. Has anyone seen the old nag?” She drifted from person to person, hardly waiting for an answer. Her mind was more frayed than she had realized. Apparently midnight infernos would do that to a person. Tagging @Players and anyone who wants to jump in!

About Sagas

Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.

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