Inside the tavern two groups sit at two tables. They know each other well and hate each other. Finally, someone calls someone yellow, a shot rings out - and no one knows who fired first (it was the drunk, trying to reach for money coin for another drink)

Chaos ensues.

The bartender ducks down, the piano player runs out of the room, the women folk vanish and flee, and only the old drunk, Old Man Franks, remains, drinking his drink.

You may not leave the room, there are seven tables, one patron in the open (kill him and you get punished) and the piano. Bullets do travel through wood of course. You have one gun, the same kind as last time (cap and ball) with 6 rounds, and a hunting knife.

Just to make it interesting, the reward will be split between the survivors. So, if you really want to take all, everyone else has to die.

The Lynch Mob (in joke as well):

Daniel Lynch as Caleb Grayson [Alive]
Ryan Bingham as Sammual "Angel Eyes" Stoat [Alive]
Christopher Schillinger as Miguel Angel ''El Burrito'' Jesus Solano [Injured]

The Miners Gang:

Vincent Quattrocchi as "Jimmy Kipling". [Alive]
Zeke O'Brien as Robert Parker. [Alive]
Solomon Koroma as Nathaniel James Shire [Dead]

BEGIN ROUND 1: The three best writers will survive, the three worst will have a coin flip (by me, here) to determine if they live or die, or are injured.

Please note: Failure to post within 24 hours of the start of each round = loss of turn and a double coin flip to kill you.

Caleb "Preacher" Grayson, nicknamed because only the collar of his brilliant white shirt was ever visible under his black duster, drained his glass of moonshine and tossed it aside, opening his duster and drawing his revolver. He had been sitting between Angel Eyes and El Burrito at their table by the bar as all Hell broke loose. The noise and havoc felt just like old times - burning Georgia in Sherman's March to the Sea. And then all was silent as the bar emptied, just one patron standing dunbfounded in the open. Caleb vaulted the bar to get some cover and assessed the situation. Three little shits to kill.

Caleb corrected himself. Men were killed. Dogs like these three got put down.

He concentrated on his own business, assuming El Burrito and Angel Eyes could look after themselves. He'd watch their backs if things got ugly, but for now, he concentrated on what he could do to prevent necessitating that. Caleb popped his head over the bar, levelling his revolver and easing the hammer back. He pulled the trigger back slowly and gently, careful not to throw off his aim. The revolver roared, kicking back like a mule as a short flare jumped from the muzzle.

The shot travelled true, tearing through one of their bellies and splashing his blood across the floor. Only a lunatic like Caleb would notice the vaguely-floral pattern the gore left. Probably tore his liver in two. The poor boy could sit screaming for a good ten minutes. Probably less, in Caleb's experience. He cycled to another target, noting where they were going before ducking back into cover of the bar. Caleb crawled along to a new position, watching the Miner Gang moving around in the mirror behind the bar.

Caleb noted a position, cocked his revolver and popped out of cover again. He raised his gun to shoulder height, lining up an execution shot. He fired once again, absorbing the recoil by bending his elbow. He ducked as soon as the gun fired, watching another Miner drop as he returned to the shelter the bar offered. He shuffled along the bar to the dubious cover the barrels offered.

Requests:

- To live

- Death or Crippling Injury of any two Members of the Miners Gang (One shot in the Gut, one shot in the chest)

Robert had his eyes on the Lynch Mob during the entire time the Miner's were drinking. He kept his own revolver placed onto his lap, just in case the Lynch Mob decided to start shooting. Which they did.

"Sheeeeeeeeee-it." Robert mumbled as he stood up when the Lynch Mob did.

Pulling back the hammer of his revolver, Robert pulled down on the revolver's trigger. At the same time, Robert kicked his chair towards the Lynch Mob; in an attempt to confuse them for a moment or at least trip one. Pulling back the hammer of the revolver, Robert flipped the table they were sitting over onto the side; causing there drinks to crash to the floor with a "bang".

Standing up, Robert aimed at a random member of the Lynch Mob; who were standing in the open like a bunch of fools. Pulling down on the trigger, Robert ducked down behind the heavy wooden table. Hearing a scream of pain a few seconds later, a wide grin came across Robert's face.

He hadn't had this much fun since defending Georgia from that devil named Sherman. Ignoring those thoughts, Robert took a deep breath and leapt over the piano. Grabbing the underside of it, Robert pushed upwards; causing the piano to tip over onto it's side; providing excellent cover from the nasty little things called bullets.

Requests

To Live

For one of the Lynch Mob to be wounded or killed.

''If Yosemite Sam and Tony Montana had a love child it would be Solano.''

The five foot 4 one hundred and fifty five pound mexican who was sitting closest to the the bar when the chaos broke out and may or may not have inticed it. Without a regret of calling one of the Miners gang yellow he spat out his cigar and drew his revolver at first sight of trouble.

Ay ay ay

He exclaimed as he kicked the table over for cover and fired 2 or 3 rounds at the miners while grayson made a break for the bar, without a moments pause the red white poncho and sunbrero slid for it himself oping angels eyes would not succumb to the fire fight. (hint, hint)

Putas, you are all putas!

El burrito yelled as he got to the bar and stood duct in its corner, noticing a sawed off shotgun at the preachers range he kissed his madonna, and picked up the nearest bottle under the bar. Flinging the bottle towards the miners while ducted as a distraction Miguel got up for a moment to fire.

Bya Condios (or however you spell)

He said boldy as he fired at one of the Miners gang, semi covered by the bar due to his short mexican stature, he droped back into cover with only the top part of his sunbrero visible.

Signor Grayson, theres a shotgun at the bar.

request

- To be alive in cover
- Some miners dead or injured

OOC: No mention of the time of the day, but I'll assume it's night, like the last Hellhole contest.

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The tension in the tavern was palpable that night - so palpable that Jimmy Kipling had his revolver out and held beneath his duster long before the first shot was fired. There was no doubt there would be bloodshed tonight - if not initiated by the group at the table across the room, then by himself. He hated these bastards.

It isn't long before the first drunken shot rang out, however - and when bullets start flying, Jimmy isn't the one to just sit there and make an easy target. He jumped to his feet, revolver emerging from his duster and chair clattering to the ground, adding to the confusion as all hell broke loose.

And then he's running for dear life as he sees, across the room, the glint of revolvers been raised in his gang's direction, telltale clicks of revolvers been cocked. When he'd been out rabbit hunting as a kid, he experienced first-hand how hard it is to hit a rabbit when they're zigzagging, so that's what he tried to do now: hunched over low and zigzagging in an unpredictable manner to throw off the opposing gang's aim, grabbing a couple of lanterns off the wall in the process.

Next he hurled the lanterns towards any opposing gang members in sight, both to add to the confusion and to engulf the corner of the tavern where the Miners Gang were huddling behind cover in darkness - thus making them far more harder to hit.

While the members of the Lynch Mob scrambled aside (or else risked getting hit by the lanterns which are flying straight at them), he is is afforded at least a second extra to aim, lining up the nearest Lynch Mob member in his sight; felt the jolt of recoil in his wrists as he squeezed the trigger before tipping over a table and crouching behind it, cocking the revolver for the next shot.

It was hard to say if he hit for sure through the tongue of smoke which erupted from his revolver's muzzle, but he hoped he'd at least wounded one of those bastards.

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Requests:
- To be alive, and preferably uninjured
- Preferably one Lynch Mob member dead
- The part of the tavern the Miners Gang is in currently to be engulfed in darkness
- To be currently crouched behind an overturned table

Nathanial James Shire admittedly wasn't one of the fastest gun slingers in the old west. Nor was he the strongest, or even the smartest. He was an unusual tale of gun fighting, beer drinking, hunting, and spiritual rituals. But that didn't matter know. All that mattered was that someone had shot at him, and they would have to pay.

The entire bar in a matter of seconds had turned into a fiesta of gunfire, and he did what he always had to do in situations like this. Make the causers of his trouble pay. His hands went from his cigar and beer to his revolver and knife, and immediately started to rush towards the bar, blindly firing a round at the Lynch mob.

The gun fire all around him, he glanced at one of his fellow miners madly tossing lanterns at the other side of the room, and his other friend tossing a piano over. One of Lynches gang, the fool that he was, popped out of cover to fire at one of his fellow miners. Shire sent a bullet whizzing into his chest.

Requests:
-One of the gang to have been shot, dying and or dead
-To be in cover, not dead.

It was a refuge from the hell outside, but what most of the patrons couldn’t see was that the demons had posted up around them for the night. Sammual Stoat was a serial murderer and rapist, he had been eyeing up the cute blond in the corner until the shit hit the fan. His hunting knife is still stained from the blood of his last victim; he doesn’t bother to clean it because it’s always bloodied. He had soft blue eyes which is why the boys in the gang called him Angel eyes. They were a stark contrast to the type of human being he was though, something like a wolf in sheeps clothing.

The first shot rings out and Stoat dives for cover like his life depends on it. Little does he know it was the drunk in the middle of no man’s land between the two violent gangs. The shot was what they needed to kick things off. Bit like the shot heard around the world at the start of the American Revolutionary war. Stoat grits his teeth as rounds skip and slam through tables, bottles, and chairs and he has to laugh to himself, “If you can’t laugh at death, you have no reason living he shouts to the other members of his gang.”

He pulls the pistol from his waistband, its a Colt Single action army pistol, he calls it the Hand of God because it’s taken more lives than most people come to realize. He cocks the hammer back and watches as Robert stands up to kick the chair over and as soon as he does Samuel fires and quickly recocks the hammer back on the "Hand of God".

The first round clip’s Robert’s shoulder but when Stoats fires off the second, it strikes home slamming through Robert’s thigh tearing through his femoral artery. As Robert collapses from the impact Stoats recocks the pistol and fires again sending another piece of .45 caliber lead from his Colt Army pistol through Robert’s head.

Requests:
Robert Dead or badly injured
Myself in Cover with 3 bullets left and my hunting knife.

Please remember to count your shots so you don't do more than 6 - if you do, you die

Daniel Lynch as Caleb Grayson is immune
Vincent Quattrocchi as Jimmy Kipling is immune
Ryan Bingham as Sammual "Angel Eyes" Stoat is immune

That means of the posts I saw, these were in my opinion the best written ones.

Now for the coin toss.

Christopher Schillinger as Miguel Angel ''El Burrito'' Jesus Solano
Coin flip 1. Alive
Coin flip 2. Injured.

Zeke O'Brien as Robert Parker
Coin flip 1. Alive
Coin flip 2. Uninjured

Solomon Koroma as Nathaniel James Shire
Coin flip 1. Dead


So far what we have here is a lot of panicked and missed shots, one dead miner and one hurt Mexican.

The shot to hit Nathaniel James Shire was a shot from Caleb Grayson, catching him in the chest and bleeding him out internally in a matter of moments. Miguel feels the sharp pain of a bullet slicing through skin and exiting out the back of his head - having gone in through his left cheek and out the back of his neck - just missing vital bloodlines and nerves. However the injury has left a penny sized hole which a small constant stream of blood is leaking, making him cough, in addition to being unable to talk as well, since air is escaping in and out. As of yet, the wound is non fatal and not likely to become life threatening through infection since it was a clean through and through.

BEGIN ROUND 2! 24 hours to post.

Five rounds remaining.

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Through the smoke lingering in the air from the first volley of shots, Jimmy thought he may have seen the Mexican take a hit; an eye-blink glimpse of a moist gunshot wound to the face before Miguel had ducked back behind the table he was using as cover. Jimmy felt a flicker of smugness, never been particularly fond of Mexicans, and especially not ones who thought it was a good idea to roll with the Lynch Mob and who called him a "puta"; the young gunslinger had no idea what the hell a puta was, but Miguel's tone suggested it wasn't an endearing term.

But then the smugness faded as he realised the Mexican wasn't done yet; somehow he'd survived a face shot and was still standing, so Jimmy decided to finish him off. He slowly raised from behind the thick table he, himself, was using as cover.

Now that he'd thrown the lanterns across the room, Jimmy's position was engulfed in darkness thus making him virtually impossible to see (or so he hoped) by the opposing gang, and even if they took a shot at him the shot would be questionable... they'd be shooting at nothing but a vague silhouette, or a flicker of motion. Not having to worry so much about incoming rounds allowed the gunslinger to take his time as he aimed his shot at the Mexican, then eased back on the trigger...

Bang! The round flew true, smacking into the table Miguel was crouching behind, hitting the area of the table Jimmy had seen the Mexican disappear behind; the gunslinger hoped the round had penetrated and finished the Mexican off.

But he didn't have much time to worry if the bullet had penetrated, because he had to keep moving, in case incoming rounds started penetrating his table. So he kicked off his boots - they would make too much noise as he moved, and if the rival gang members heard him it would somewhat diminish the advantage darkness had offered him - and began crawling. As he crawled through the darkness he saw one of his fellow Miners slumped over and not moving. He could only hope that his round had killed the Mexican and evened the score...

Progress was gradual, but at least while crawling he knew he would be very difficult to spot in the darkness, to be heard, or - on the off chance the Lynchers figured out his position - difficult to hit. Time seemed to drag its feet as slowly he crawled forward, but finally, he'd made it - he was now in a pretty good flanking position (as good as he could get into without leaving the safety of the darkness), and he clutched his Remington New Army Model with sweaty hands as he searched for his next target....

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Requests:

- Miguel Angel ''El Burrito'' Jesus Solano dead
- To be (preferably unseen) in a flanking position with a good shot at the Lynchers

OOC: Whoops, I forgot, Miguel ran to the bar. So, in my above post, just replace 'table' with 'bar'. My character's shooting at the bar (presumably wooden bar?) and hoping the bullets penetrate.

Robert knew he had to do something. The Injun had already been shot while trying to bum-rush the man behind the bar. Which, truth be told; was actually kinda funny. Mainly because it was so stereotypical.

Keeping a hand over his mouth so he wouldn't laugh, Robert poked his head out of his piano-cover to see what exactly was going on. The Miner part of the bar was engulfed in darkness. Robert saw some members of the Lynch gang look around, trying to figure out what was going on.

Grabbing a nearby bottle, Robert opened it and took a quick swig of it. Wincing a little as the whiskey burned his throat a little, and then his stomach; Robert popped the cork back into it's little neck.

Still gripping the bottle of whiskey in one hand, Robert stood up to fire off a shot at the Lynch Mob. However, in his spate of "Hey, lets be cool and drink some whiskey during a firefight" Robert had forgotten to pull back the hammer of his revolver. A loud "Click" sound escaped from the gun.

Around the same moment, the man behind the bar stood up to fire at him; after hearing the click. Cocking his arm back, Robert threw the bottle of whiskey at the man behind the bar. Ducking down behind cover as the bottle flew through the air; Robert cocked the hammer and leaned from the side of the piano.

Robert watched as the bottle smashed the man in the face. Shards of glass dug themselves deep into the man's face and eyes. Robert heard a scream of pain as the man clawed at the glass, driving them deeper in his face while he attempted to pull them out.

"HOLY SHIT I DIDN'T THINK THAT WOULD WORK!" Robert shouted, feeling a little giddy that throwing a bottle of whiskey at a man would work as well as he planned it to be.

Robert aimed his revolver at the man and fired; sending the bullet flying forward and hitting him square in the neck. The man moved from clawing at the glass to grabbing his neck as he fell backwards.

The man behind the bar crashed up against the many bottles of alcohol. Pulling back the hammer of the revolver again, Robert aimed at pulled down on the trigger. The bullet impacted the man square in the chest; sending blood spurting up from the wound.

Ducking behind the cover of the piano, Robert circled the cylinder of his revolver to check his ammo. Two shots left. Nodding his head slowly, Robert rolled the cylinder to a spot right before there was a bullet. Pulling back the hammer, Robert waited for another chance to strike.

Requests

To be in cover (again) behind the piano.

For Caleb Grayson to be dead.

((OOC: Four Shots Remaining at start of post.))

Caleb ducked, instinctively protecting his head as a shot pipped El Burrito. He glanced up at the mirror as one of those bastard miners tossed the lamps across the room, pitching their end of the bar into darkness. He swore, loud, foul, and inventively. That made life difficult. Those dogs would be damned hard to see in the dark, though admittedly it suited cowards like them to be slinking around where good folk couldn't see 'em. Caleb decided to rectify the situation.

He carefully lifted the lamp down from on top of the bar, careful not to expose himself to fire. Caleb glanced up, identifying the outline of the stairs in the mirror. Caleb judged his shot without leaving cover of the bar and hurled the lamp as hard as he could. He heard it shatter, parrafin splashing over it's flame and igniting, setting the piano, parts of the floor and stairs ablaze. More importantly, it illuminated the whole bar again. Tossing the lamps away would not work this time.

"Guess that's shed some light on the subject," Caleb sneered, cocking his revolver as he spotted one of the miners freeze, suddenly lit up as he crawled across the floor. That mirror behind the bar turned out to be worth it's weight in gold for this fight.

Caleb rose and took his aim at the man, gripping his revolver in both hands. Caleb squeezed the trigger slowly and gently, feeling the glorious kick of his Colt as it put a bullet into the miner where he lay. Never one to take chances, he cocked his weapon again and squeezed off a second shot, the report of his revolver playing the part of the Banshee's Cry. Caleb did not stand idle and pat himself on the back. He dropped into cover the second he'd squeezed off the second shot. Caleb glanced up into the mirror behind the bar again. The miner he'd just shot was dead or dying, face-down in a growing pool of his vivid red blood. Dead on his belly like the dog he was.

Caleb grinned his sociopathic grin, his face splitting almost ear-to-ear with that skull-like smile. One bitch to go, in the burning end of the bar.

((OOC: Two shots remaining.))

Requests:

> Survival, in cover of the bar.

> Jimmy Kipling dead, two bullets to the chest.

> A fire at the Miner Gang's side of the bar, illuminating it and presenting a danger to any surviving Miners.

''If Yosemite Sam and Tony Montana had a love child, and that love child got shot in the face it would be Solano.''

- three rounds left

Bang, the bullet smacked against the banditos cheek and exited out his neck. the pain only slightly numbed the booze previouly ingested and blood ran down to his poncho, six cylinder LeMat fell from his fingers along with him. The mexican stereotype plunged to the ground on his back bleeding and muttered something along the lines of santa maria or cunyo, two inches to his right hand his pistol layed on the ground and the three seconds of shock was now over.

The banditos pain was at total war with his survival instincts, the survival instincts won. Miguels hand quickly found his pistol and thumb brought back the hammer. his knife was tucked in his boot, as he tried to get up in the crouch position and a bitch called hope entered his his mind, possibly because the sunbrero fell off.

As he got up bleeding the pain was further numbed due to the adrenaline rush not felt since he last fought the federales down south, he came to America with dreams of murdering innocents and raping white women. No one was going to take that from him.
El Burritos left hand reached for the top of the bar, getting a grip Solano pulled himself further up. The right arm with his revolver came next layed down on the bar top and last his head with only his eyes and the bridge of his nose uncovered.

The sunbrero was on the left side of the bar and a bullet than exited it, Solano did not notice. what he did notice was a bottle of whiskey flying and were it was coming from. Two things now entered his find, what a waste of booze and kill that gringo miner bandaho son o' bitch puta bastard. his arm extended and hand steady in that direction he could make out a large object and a person, he fired at the person. Again clocking back the hammer and still aimed and ready in the same direction El burrito fired another round wiht only a second in between. The man, his enemy fell and so did Solano back in cover and on his back again.

The pain from his almost fatal injury was there but not on his mind as much even though only a minute or more had past since the bullet hit him. El Burrito only had one round left and if god would save him the first time maybe he would a second. With his left hand he pulled out the knife in his boot and started to slowly crawl toward the bar were he entered.

Requests

-Robert parker dead or shot twice
-to be alive and going towards the the exit

kind of request

Since Ryan got banned can me and danny split the ammo he had left?

OOC:Not to be a dick, most bars have more layers and harder wood than a table I don't think a bullet would penetrate.

OOC: Not sure how much penetration bullets had back in 1866, but since Jackuul said in his initial post that "Bullets do travel through wood of course" I took that as him implying the bar isn't fail-safe cover, either.

Either way, I couldn't find much info on the penetration ability of Remington New Army Model revolvers, so I guess it's up to Jackuul's judgment.

Sorry about that delay. Next round in 24 hours. Prepare yourselves.

Yeah I am just going to assume I am dead, if I am not I am dropping out anyways so Chris and Lynch feel free to use me as a human shield or for ammo or a hunting knife.

OOC: Thank you Ryan, thank you so much. Also YJ this is Schillinger.

((OOC: Cheers Ryan.))

So....

I'm canceling this and awarding the remaining players 50GP each.

Life fucked up.

I am Ryan Bingham do I still qualify for it since I was technically still alive?