'Twas a week after Christmas
And all through the joint
There were things in the shadows
And I really can't rhyme
But the cops are all crooked,
and people are all scared,
and if anyone's gonna do anything about it
it's gotta be us.
1935. New Orleans.
Things are tough in town, hell, things are tough all over with the Depression bearing down on everyone. Things getting desperate. Crooked cops, crime bosses, corrupt politicians, that's all usual and expected.
But you hear things. Sometimes you see 'em. Things aren't right in town. Probably aren't right in the world.
There's a job to do. And you know the best jobs, the ones that stay done, are the ones you do yourselves.
So, Deadlands Noir. Let's see if this one-shot gets interest. I'll run a short game if I get enough folks interested and making chars.
In case anyone gets confused about chargen, ask me, or take a look at the pregened archtypes.
Also, I'd like it if your chars know each other. Best pals or "Hey, I remember what's-his-name.", it's up to you. I'll even cough up a reason - you're all patrons at The Old Absinthe House.