The Doom Saloon

I crawled my way into The Doom Saloon
In an attempt to cauterize my wounds
I did a terrible job and they became powerfully infected
I found myself atop a stolen Roan
Quite convinced that I would never see home
And all on account of my lack of common manners

I prayed for courage, I prayed for love
I prayed for guidance from the heavens above
I prayed to know divine protections
But now I’m praying for a quick death in Texas

The saloon doors stopped swinging
The piano player stopped playing (hey-hey)
In the shadows I could hear archaic Spanish phrases (hey-hey)
The preacher stood up from his table, in his right hand he held a bible (hey-hey)
And in his left, the business end of a Winchester rifle

I suspect it was my introduction to the Deadlands RPG in 1997 which started me down a path into westerns and old west gunfights. I dabbled with a few rules and even did a homebrew one however, I have not played any old west in a great span of time and I cannot see myself returning to the fold.

Space is becoming tight within the mountain anchorage of Father Georgi and I may well end selling these.

A collection of resin old west buildings

close ups below