The Young Gun Tournament

[RDL Yuknon]

Groooooan.

The ugly creature opens his sharp-toothed mouth and reaches his gnarled hands upward. He feels the constant pang of hunger clawing at his gut, like an uninvited house guest that never seems to grow tired of making your casa his casa.

And so, to rectify the aforementioned issues of his hunger, the little goblin named Yuknon grabs a hold of the low-hanging ceiling fan in his bedroom (which would be small and cramped for a household dog, if household dogs hadn't all been cooked into deep-fried dogs a decade or two ago). While trying to remember what dog tasted like, Yuknon pulls himself up to his feet with another groan.

He grabs a slab of half-eaten lake fish, hoping that it didn't go bad over night, and stumbles through the small hole that is his front door. Chewing on the unpleasant leftovers from the night before (still better than rat-on-a-stick), Yuknon remembers the drinking. Way too much drinking. He curses softly to himself, knowing that today is no day to be caught with a hangover. He has to go all the way down into the Dust Town Warrens.

Heading down a long hallway on the second story of the repurposed Red Dragon Inn, the stumbling goblin checks the inside pocket of his leather vest. "Good", he thinks, as his fingers brush against a folded up piece of parchment hidden within his vest. "I ain't drop't in th'latrine." He is just beginning to consider making a detour to Grushmok the Witch Doctor's shop on the third floor of the Rhy'Din Defense League's fortress to see if he has anything for a cave-wine hangover when he turns a corner and runs straight into the legs of a rather tall RDL guardsman named Franco. Yuknon lets out a surprised 'eep!' and bounces off of the guard, falling square onto his ass.

Always assume the worst. That's the only lesson worth learning in what's left of the world these days. That and never drink cave-wine. Grunting, Yuknon pulls a small pistol quickly from his holster and points it upward with a shaking hand. Not being particularly bright, even by goblin standards, it takes Yuknon a full moment to realize that he isn't at the feet of a flesh-craving zombie, but rather one of his own comrades.

"Yuk-jack, what the feck're ye doin'?", the large, surly-dispositioned guard growls down to the goblin at his feet. The goblin lowers the gun and holsters it with one smooth motion.

"Yuknon. N-name's Yuknon, m-meat-bag", the goblin squeaks up to the man, the defiance in his words certainly not evident in his quivering tone.

"I don't care'f yer name's Drakhar'emself, short-green. Ye ever point'a gun at me again, ye'll be blowin' yer nose through yer own arse", Franco levels his warning. Yuknon, being remarkably uncourageous (one of his better traits), gulps. To send his point home, Franco gives the goblin a good kick to the head and continues on his rounds. As far as the RDL soldiers went, Franco isn't the worst. But after being kicked in the face, Yuknon doesn't feel that way. Plus, Franco called him short-green, and the mouthy goblin really hates that nickname.

Scrambling up to his feet, Yuknon decides that the sooner he finishes his work today, the sooner he can climb back in his hole and be away from the humans. Humans. He fears them, and they hate him something fierce, simply for being a goblin. Sure, he isn't a soldier, but he has his uses! President Imperius himself chose Yuknon to be the mouth of the soon-to-open Arena! He is going to be the voice of the Duel of Guns! Yuknon, the Goblin. Not Franco, with his stupid accent, or Marshall with his rat-breath.

Puffing his chest up, the goblin tries to ignore his left eye as it begins to swell shut from the blow he took. He makes his way through the safest place in Rhy'Din, striding along like a short King. "Goin' down to the Warrens!", he barks to the elevator-handler once he boards the mobile platform. It takes twenty minutes for the half-orc stationed at the crank to lower the shaky platform to the Dust Town Warrens, deep below the earth and the Red Dragon Fortress. Yuknon is forced to endure the sound of the dumb thing's labored grunts and breathing all the while.

Finally, the elevator reaches the Warrens and the scrap-metal door opens with an ear-grating protest. Believing it polite to tip such a hard-working monster (or because he is a trouble-making narcissist), Yuknon flicks the bones of his fish at the orc, then scurries away from the elevator before the half-orc can reach him. Still, the brute makes a grab for him. If not for the chains that hold the worker inside the elevator, and Yuknon's magnificently low altitude, he may have been caught. Whistling merrily, the goblin leaves the pissed off half-orc behind and bounces purposefully across the crowded "garden" of the Warrens to where the Public Cork Board lies.

Funny that they call it the "garden". The only things that seem to sprout there are beggars and thieves. Other than the standard hoodlums, the Cork Boards are really the only reason that anyone goes there. Without radio or television or magic, this is the only place that your average cave-dweller can get word from the Rhy'Din Defense League on news.

Yuknon weaves between the legs of those milling about the garden, sneaking past barrels filled with anything that will burn. Humans need the fire to see down here. 'Cause humans are inferior, he reassures himself.

Several man-made cooking pits are roasting skewered rats for stew, and a priest seems to be trying to feed as many of the needy as possible. He must be new here. No priest can handle the homeless horde for long down here. Two shady-looking thugs are sharing what smells like cave-wine from a bowl made out of some animal's skull, while they play a game of craps. As Yuknon passes by, he hears one of them mutter, "... sometimes, feel like my boy and I had it better out in the ..."

Yuknon just keeps walking, ignoring as many of the cave scum as possible. A one-eyed, black-haired elvish prostitute winks at him, which frightens the goblin a little. "Elves're just too damned creepy. Thankfully, ain't many left these days", he rues as he continues to make his way towards the Cork Board, avoiding eye contact with her. Most of the loiterers know better than to stand in his way. After all, he has the RDL badge pinned onto his leather vest, and nobody wants to draw the ire of President Imperius and his people.

It's not long until Yuknon is staring up at the Cork Board. He fishes the parchment out from within his vest and unfolds it as carefully as he can. He beams his broken smile down at it, pride filling him as he reads it another time. Then, he checks his pocket for a nail and pulls it out, ready to pin the notice to the Cork Board.

It's at this point that the goblin realizes that he's too short to reach anything but the bottom of the board. He glances around, trying not to look embarrassed, sure that the cave scum are watching him. After all, he is a BIG man in these parts. He is Yuknon, the Mouth of Imperius! The Mouth of Imperius doesn't pin notices to the bottom of the Cork Board. He pins them at the TOP!

"Please, Master Short-Green", the one-eyed elvish prostitute says seductively (which only creeps Yuknon out even more), having snuck up behind him like elves tend to do. "Allow me to give you a boost."

Yuknon freezes in place for a moment, the hooker's very offensive words striking him like another kick to the face. "You're so kind", he hisses up to the elf after a moment, while simultaneously raising his left hand towards her.

BANG!

The goblin blows smoke away from his pistol and gives it a fancy twirl on the end of his finger before he re-holsters it. The elf grasps at her stomach, the light already beginning to fade from her surprised eyes. The others standing by scatter at the gun-shot.

"Only s'much abuse a mate's big's me can take inna single day, knife-ear. Only s'much 'fore someone's gotta pay. And t'tell ya the truth, it ain't much't all", Yuknon explains to the dying elf, still seeing red over her insinuating that he is short. He grabs her and violently pushes her up against the wall in front of him. She falls down against it and dies moments later, gurgling incomprehensibly. So, the leather-clad goblin promptly uses her torso and shoulders as a step ladder. Grinning broadly, he pushes up onto his tip-toes, moving his left boot up to her forehead to give him enough height to reach for his goal.

Finally, triumphantly, he pins the notice to the TOP of the Public Cork Board. Then, he hops off of the dead prostitute and begins to walk away, ready to call it a day and go back home to nurse his hangover.

Grooooooan.

The dead elvish woman begins to rise from the dead behind Yuknon. Damn. He hasn't been outside of the fortress in too long. He forgot how quickly they can turn. The zombified elf reaches out for the goblin, trying to push up from its slouched position.

BANG!

Yuknon sighs after planting a round in the zombie's forehead. Once more holstering his gun, he curses his lack of foresight. Now he'll have to fill out a report before he can take a nap. It takes him nearly four minutes to even write his own name. He HATES reports.

"Could be worse", he guesses, after putting some thought towards the matter of the piss poor quality of his life. "I could live in Dust Town." That's enough to cause the mad little goblin to giggle on his way back to the elevator. He hopes that it's not the same half-orc manning its crank this time.

That guy really has it in for him for some reason.

[RDL Yuknon]

The following notice has been nailed up to the TOP of the Public Cork Board.


Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

The ever wise, ever benevolent President of the Rhy'Din Defense League, Lord Imperius, has decreed that the old Arena of the Red Dragon Inn is to be re-opened and will once again host blood sports for public entertainment!

This means you, fellows of Fort Hope Dust Town! Become a gun-fighter, become a legend! Those who earn Lord Imperius' eye and the rank of Pariah will be paid FIVE TIMES the pay of a regular worker. That's right! FIVE TIMES the pay, just for gun-fighting in a public Arena! Do it for the glory, do it for your family!

Or, if getting shot at is not your thing, come and watch the fights, every Wednesday from 9:30-1:30am [EST] (starting March 26th) and enjoy some cheap Brains to drink and free Ruel to eat! Free food and entertainment, every Wednesday, up in the newly re-opened Arena!

What's more?

We'll be hosting the Arena's first Tournament on Saturday, March 29th! Be one of the first sixteen gun-fighters to sign up and become part of the first ever...

Young Gun Tournament! Sign up below!

Participation as a combatant is open to all. Protective gear, guns and ammunition will be provided for free (though we will not compensate your family should you die!) All games will be hosted by the Master of Ceremonies, Yuknon! He will have the final say in any debate or argument.

Rejoice! The Rhy'Din Defense League is bringing the world we once knew back to us, one step at a time. Re-opening the Arena and city-wide sports is a major step forward in reclaiming what we've lost.


[Stamped by the official seal of the Rhy'Din Defense League]



((for more information on The Young Gun Tournament and its format/prizes, or DoG in general, check out the website! The full schedule for Season One of Duel of Guns has been added to the website, as well.

Note: The timing for regulation and tournaments is still a work in progress and may change before the season begins.))

[Kate Palmer]

Whatever, f*ck it. I'll do this.

[Charles Blackstone]

Im in for this

-Charles

[Delilah Benjamin]

-Del Benjamin

[Crisis]

My babies could use a firing range. Lots of targets

-Violet

[Frostfyre]

In.

[RDL Yuknon]

Another piece of parchment has been nailed up next to the sign in sheet.



The Young Gun Tournament Awards

All Gunslingers: 1 WoL to be added to your permanent record for attending.

All Duelists: 1 WoL to be added to your permanent record for each duel that you win in the tournament.

Tournament Champion: The title of Young Gun until the next Young Gun Tournament, in addition to two bonus WoL beyond what you earned otherwise in the tournament (with a limit of 6 total WoL earned.)

Losses will not be counted against any gun-fighters' regular dueling record.

[Ace]

I reckon I'll sign up for this here Tournament.

[Vernon]

You chumps are fu*ked,

Vern -- the first Marksman in Duel of Guns history will join this tournament.

Records show it to be true. I even bested your "Great Lord Imperius." He was my only challenge that night.

Vern,
Your future First Desperado.

[Maligned Wanderer]

Food.

I'll show.

Cait

[The Fisher]

Keekekekeke!

[Kate Palmer]

Hey Vern. I hear we're comparing how great we are, right?

Hey, hey Vern. Guess what. I not only beat Imperius tonight but I beat you.

Signed -
Higher ranked than Vern, current tournament victor.


Take your kiddy sh*t back to middle school.

[RDL Yuknon]

Another update is nailed to the board, with the tournament results.


What a tournament! After three intense rounds, Kate Palmer came out on top against another gunslinger named Cait. Kate Palmer is your first ever Young Gun! Congratulations!


Round One
Kate Palmer .def. Lord Imperius, 5.5-4.5 in 8 rounds.
Vern (Vernon) .def. Ace, 5-2.5 in 7 rounds.
The Fisher .def. Delilah Benjamin, 5.5-3.5 in 9 rounds.
Cait (Maligned Warrior) .def. Frost (Frostfyre), 5-3.5, in 7 rounds.

Round Two
Kate Palmer .def. Vern (Vernon), 5.5-4 in 7 rounds.
Cait (Maligned Warrior) .def. The Fisher, 5.5-2.5 in 9 rounds.

Final Round
Kate Palmer .def. Cait (Maligned Warrior), 5.5-3 in 7 rounds.


((As posted on the website, I've awarded all duelists who participated with one WoL. Standings are updated.

If you see ???s next to your name on the standings in the ammunition category, then that means that I need you to PM me to let me know what ammunition skills you want to take for your character. They'll need to be updated on the standings before you can use them.

If you have questions about anything, please send me a PM. Thanks for coming out!))

[Vernon]

Look again chickadee.


Still undefeated where it matters.

-Vern.
Your future first Desperado.