'On A Deadline' - A Weird Western Tale

Introduction: I'm playing in a short Western Horror rpg. The game will be divided into three acts, and we will be playing the same characters, with several years between each act. In Act 1, the characters are part of a small Wagon Train attempting to cross the Rocky Mountains. The Caravan has hit bad weather, but so far, has suffered no long-term ill-effects. 

The Caravan itself consists of six wagons. The Caravan-Master and his crew (including a Chinese labourer named Weng Xun), a supply wagon, a young Farming Family and their supply wagon, a wagon consisting of a mixed bag of travellers (including an escaped slave and gambler, Xavier LaFayette, and Billy Blaze, a gunfighter who's been hired on to boost security). Bringing up the rear are several members of a Mexican farming family, the Mendez' (Father, Mother, Oldest Son and Trusted Farmhand - the rest of the family are staying with an Uncle and Aunt and will be called for once the Father and Mother are established). The Mendez family has two passengers, a frail and sickly elderly indigenous (Nahua) man and his teenage granddaughter, Tēcuani. The Nahua man is some sort of sorcerer or priest, and he is instructing his granddaughter when he is able.

Over the last several nights, the teenage girl has gone out foraging and found suspicious scraps of ragged clothing which have an odd odour about them. Her grandfather has advised her to burn them and avoid touching them if she sees them again. The foraging has been strangely poor.

On the previous night, a young girl has stumbled across the Caravan out of the snow. She's told the people that her family are still out there and given some idea of where before passing into unconsciousness. Several members of the Caravan, notably Billy Blaze, have expressed a desire to go out looking for the girl's family.

The Wagon Master has given them a day to do it...

    It's dark, and many hours before dawn, but the wagon master has said he'll hold off for a day before pushing on, and every hour before dawn is an hour extra we have to find the Girl's family. 

    Despite the snowfall earlier in the evening, the Girl's tracks are easy enough to find; half stumbling, half staggering, occasionally leaning against a rough-barked tree or tumbling through bushes and brambles. Her directions, too, seemed clear. I hope this will be quick and easy, but I know it will not be. 

    There are three men with me. The Man Billy seems kind, but many things seem one way in the wilderness and different in the cities and towns. The Black Man as well. He talks a lot, and wears colourful clothing underneath his furs. He reminds me of a pet parrot my uncle once had. Also, the Chinaman. He helps me with my grandfather. He, too, seems kind, but maybe that's because my grandfather and I are the next lowest compared to him in the eyes of the others on the caravan. The wagon master treats him like a dog. He never speaks. Maybe he thinks he is a dog.  He follows along behind us, as though we aren't supposed to see him. 

    Hours pass, and the trail continues strong. It is daylight now, so we try to make quick time. Ahead, the path becomes rocky. It will be harder to track here, so we need to move as far as we can while the light holds.

    The light did not hold.

    Clouds kicked up, and while no new snow fell, a biting wind blew up which racketed off the stones and threw loose snow-flurries into our eyes, but that is not the worst. What I took for uneven, rocky ground are piles of stones. This is a burial ground. I hiss quiet as possible to the Parrot Man to be silent. He seems taken aback but does so. I warn everyone to watch where they step.

    As we proceed, it becomes obvious that the darkness here is not just created by thick cloud cover. We are on the borders of Mictlān, the land of the dead. And my job now is to make sure I keep us all on this side of that border.

    It seems we have been seen. 

    As we began to advance, I began to hear noises from the trees around is.  What I took for wind was the flapping of wings. What I took for glittering starlight was hundreds of glittering eyes staring back at us from the branches. I tell the others to keep moving and mind their feet as I wait behind for them to pass me by. I offer up what I hope are the correct greetings and beg leave to pass by, presenting as sacrifice the dried meat I've been keeping for the journey, crumbling it into pieces. 

    We are nothing to be concerned about, I tell them, we are just passing by. 

    The others seem nervous. Good. Hopefully, fear will breed caution in them.

    They recognize than night has fallen far earlier than it should have. I could tell them, but what would that gain any of us. Better to keep moving and not stay here longer than we have to. As we move among the rocks , I flinch every time I hear stone clatter on stone. The Man Billy and the Parrot Man are not so good at moving quietly, but the Chinaman's feet are as quiet as his mouth.

    They know that, with the day cut so short, the prospect of return by the time specified is unlikely. The Parrot Man says, "We are on a deadline," and I agree. But perhaps not in the way he meant it.

    After a short period, we find the place the Girl described. There is a narrow, rocky crevice where the travellers took shelter from the wind. Against one stone wall, someone appears to have built a kind of rough shelter... from a distance, it looks like the piled up wreckage of a smashed and splintered wagon, covered in snow, with a small chimney improvised from a coffee cannister.  A weak thread of oily grey smoke winds its way out from within.

    We can see an area on a large flat rock where someone tried to build a fire, but most of the sticks are sodden and damp from the snow and sleet. 

    I am done. I have guided the men to the others, and now they must do as they will, while I plot our passage back.

    Stupid, Stupid... STUPID! 

    The Man Billy has come out, and tells me the Girl's parents are alive, but her father is very sick. But he also showed me that they have eaten human flesh. Can it be possible that they are so ignorant of the land they stand on that they would take death into their own bodies? Invite Death into themselves? And then I remember who I am talking about and I know they would. They are so blind. They stumble around like babies and cry injustice when their own stupidity affects them. 

    His face looks sad. I think he thinks he has scared me. 

    The Chinaman walked around and found some bits and pieces of the traveller's goods, and I am busy trying to gather them together. We are within the realm of the dead now. I have guided us to this place, and the stupid people have dragged us across the border. Soon, death will come for us, and I do not know the form it will take. I look to the mountains and shudder as I imagine them crushing our bones. I hear the wind and imagine it turning into flakes of obsidian and flensing the skin from our meat. But this is far... far from the kingdom of Mictlāntēcutli, and I do not know the names of the ones who rule here, nor do I know the rituals to appease them. I shall have to hope the others can do something... for I shudder to think of the cost should I be forced to help. My hands begin to trace the movements and my lips begin to twitch involuntarily, shaping the words. I pray I am not called to speak them.

    My hopes are dashed. I had hoped that things might not have advanced too far, but the dead have already begun rising. We are in their realm now, and we have intruded. The shelter has collapsed, and it looks as though the Man Billy has saved the Girl's mother. This is good. The ruined shelter will provide wood for a fire. My hands twitch and form shapes and my mouth yearns to pronounce the words.

    I know the rituals and I know the sacrifices, but I do not know if I am ready to know the sacrifice that comes after.

    We are intruders in Mictlāntēcutli's house. We have butchered his people and we travel with those who have taken from him without making the proper gratitudes. We will receive no mercy there. 

    But, if I may call upon my patron, he may yet offer us a way out. I can take the hearts from the dead-alive men, and burn them, hopefully, that will be enough. I can then mix my living blood and the ashes of the scorched hearts and let Tezcatlipoca know which of us may be guided out. It is my only hope, but my heart flutters in my chest like a trapped bird at the transgression of it. 

    I am under no illusions. I plan to invite my ruler into the house of another King, sacrificed that king's subjects to do so, and depart, having compounded transgression upon transgression. 

    And yet, for all that I should be filled with terror, my blood sings of the joy of it. I am dizzy with the lure of unspeakable folly. I feel as though I stand atop a vast mountain top and can see the four worlds arrayed to all sides of me, with no other thought but to cast my body to the winds and surrender myself to the razor-sharp rocks below. 

    For a second, the wind stills.

    Above me, I see the moon, white as a polished skull. 

    Below my feet and to every side, the rocks have gone white as bone and the shadows have fallen dark as ink.  There is a scurrying sound as though of a thousand thousand bones rattling together and I know whoever reigns here sees us and knows what we have done... what we are about to do... 

    My three guardians - the Man, the Parrot and the Dog - stand around me, ready to do battle.

    It begins...