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Tales from the Delve: The Wild 5
The dust devils danced like wraiths across the parched plains of Middlefell, their spectral forms twisting and swirling against the unforgiving glare of the twin suns. The Wild 5 rode through this desolate landscape, their Musket Horses snorting plumes of alkali dust with every stride. They were a motley crew, these dispensers of justice, bound not by blood but by the strange and potent magic of The Delve.
Leading the pack was Clay "Deadeye" Dalton, a man whose gaze could pierce the haze of the most cunning lie. His weathered face was a roadmap of hard living and harder choices, etched with the lines of a thousand gunfights survived. Beside him rode "Whispering" Willow, her silver hair whipping in the wind, her hands never far from the pearl-handled revolvers she carried. Willow was the soul of the Wild 5, a woman whose intuition was as sharp as any bullet.
Behind them came "Boulder" Ben, a mountain of a man whose booming laughter could shake the very ground they rode on. Boulder was the muscle of the outfit, a gentle giant with a heart of gold and a fist like a sledgehammer. Then there was "Quickdraw" Quinn, a wiry youth with eyes that missed nothing. Quinn was the fastest gun in The Delve, his reflexes honed to an almost supernatural edge.
And finally, there was "Doc" Holliday, the brains of the operation. Doc wasn't a doctor of medicine, but a doctor of law, a scholar of the arcane rules that governed The Delve. It was Doc who understood the workings of their strange weapons, guns that roared with righteous fury when wielded by the innocent, but merely sputtered harmless smoke when held by the guilty.
They rode towards the town of Salvation, a dust-choked hamlet clinging to the edge of a vast, shimmering portal that led to another universe entirely. Word had reached them of a strange happening in Salvation, a disturbance in the delicate balance of The Delve. A horseshoe trader, a man named Silas Crowe, had somehow gained control of a Law, a fundamental rule of reality itself. And Silas, watched over by an unnerving murder of crows that seemed to anticipate his every whim, was twisting that Law to his own dark purpose.
Silas had decreed that no man could wear a hat within the town limits,...
Leading the pack was Clay "Deadeye" Dalton, a man whose gaze could pierce the haze of the most cunning lie. His weathered face was a roadmap of hard living and harder choices, etched with the lines of a thousand gunfights survived. Beside him rode "Whispering" Willow, her silver hair whipping in the wind, her hands never far from the pearl-handled revolvers she carried. Willow was the soul of the Wild 5, a woman whose intuition was as sharp as any bullet.
Behind them came "Boulder" Ben, a mountain of a man whose booming laughter could shake the very ground they rode on. Boulder was the muscle of the outfit, a gentle giant with a heart of gold and a fist like a sledgehammer. Then there was "Quickdraw" Quinn, a wiry youth with eyes that missed nothing. Quinn was the fastest gun in The Delve, his reflexes honed to an almost supernatural edge.
And finally, there was "Doc" Holliday, the brains of the operation. Doc wasn't a doctor of medicine, but a doctor of law, a scholar of the arcane rules that governed The Delve. It was Doc who understood the workings of their strange weapons, guns that roared with righteous fury when wielded by the innocent, but merely sputtered harmless smoke when held by the guilty.
They rode towards the town of Salvation, a dust-choked hamlet clinging to the edge of a vast, shimmering portal that led to another universe entirely. Word had reached them of a strange happening in Salvation, a disturbance in the delicate balance of The Delve. A horseshoe trader, a man named Silas Crowe, had somehow gained control of a Law, a fundamental rule of reality itself. And Silas, watched over by an unnerving murder of crows that seemed to anticipate his every whim, was twisting that Law to his own dark purpose.
Silas had decreed that no man could wear a hat within the town limits,...
