Saddle up for DIGGING BANDITS,
a competitive Wild West board game of treasure hunting and treachery!
Expect direct conflict and strategic card play: block paths, steal loot, and
collect WANTED posters to eliminate the competition. Will your mix of luck
and cunning lead you to find the GOLD and cash it in first, or will you
outlast your rivals to be the last bandit standing? Only the desert knows!
Well now, young'un, gather 'round and let this old geezer tell ya a tale. They call me Old Man Pickles, but back when I was spry as a jackrabbit, folks just called me Pickles. Got the name from a childhood escapade, see. One day, while playin' with my Pa, we were makin' pickle relish. Now, being a rambunctious young fella, I tripped and fell right into the barrel! Came out smellin' like vinegar and lookin' green as a gourd. Pa laughed so hard he cried, said I was his "little Pickle" from then on.
Life was good back then. Me and my Ma and Pa lived in a cozy cabin outta sight o' civilization. But one day they went into town for supplies and never came back. Left me alone with nothin' but memories and a belly that rumbled louder than thunder. When I grew tall enough to shave with a rusty blade, I took to wanderin'. Spent most days roam'n them dusty plains, hotter'n Hades itself.
One scorcher of a day, somethin' brushed against my leg. It was a tattered map, wrapped 'round my shin like a desert serpent. I picked it up and saw the faded ink, the markings of X's and cryptic symbols... a treasure map! Followed that map 'til it led me to a scraggly ol' tree where a tiny pup, no bigger than my boot, was hidin' from the sun. Right then a breeze snatched that map right outta my hand - whoosh! Gone like a ghost.
I stayed there a while, hopin' the li'l pup's mama would show up, but nothin'. That little fella was diggin' by the roots, so I named him Diggy and decided he needed me as much as I needed him. We became partners in adventure, settin' out to find what that map promised. Every day, me and Diggy chased whispers through canyons, climbed mountains taller than giants, and faced down rattlesnakes meaner'n a saloon brawler.
But time, it ain't nothin' but a river keepin' on flowin'. Me and Diggy, we got older, slower. Our walks got shorter, our bones achin'. We spent more time by the fire, sharin' stories 'bout the good ol' days. But even with my knees creakin' and Diggy's fur turnin' gray, I knew somethin' was missin'. One last adventure. We couldn't put it off any longer. The sun seemed a little lower in the sky these days, and my old bones needed rest more often than they used to.
So I picked up Diggy, cradled him on my back like he was a precious nugget of gold, dusted off my trusty pickaxe, and headed out into the sunset, hopin' to find what that map promised all them years ago. That, young'un, is a tale for another day… but remember this: the real treasures ain't always the ones you find buried in the ground. Sometimes they're the friends you make along the way and the memories you share under the wide-open sky.
Gang
I, Old Man Pickles, have spent nigh on 42 years ridin' these dusty trails, and I've seen my fair share of outlaws, scoundrels, and scallywags. But none as infamous as the db Gang - Jesse Aims, John Holiday, Willy the Kid, and Bella Moon. They're the kind of folk who'd steal the silver from your teeth for fun, always on the lookout for the next big score.
This mornin', I watched 'em gather 'round to lay their wanted posters to rest. The sun beat down like a brandin' iron, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke and sweat. I was sittin' there, mindin' my own business, when I saw 'em dig up an old, crumpled map. It was all torn and tattered, like it'd been buried in the sand for years.
Next thing I know, they're squabblin' over the map, their eyes shinin' like gold nuggets in the sunlight. They claimed it was a treasure map, leadin' to a golden fortune buried deep in the desert. Now, my eyes ain't as sharp as they used to be, but that map looked awfully familiar.
I reckon they'd stop at nothin' to get their hands on those riches - even if it meant betrayin' one another or turnin' in their own kin to the law. I watched 'em ride off on their own separate ways, each one bound and determined to find that treasure. Who'll find it first? Only the desert knows!
Quick-firin' Jesse Aims - now there's a name that carries weight across the wild frontier. He's quick on the draw, faster than a rattlesnake in summer, and his aim's as true as the sunrise. Folks say he can hit a coin from fifty paces.
Aiming at things
Chewing on the same toothpick
Westerns where the bad guy wins
Rainstorms during a gun fight
Tight pants (puts them on anyways)
Cold coffee
doodad
Bandits Block
Explosive Willy the Kid is the wild card of the db Gang - crazy as a loon and twice as dangerous. He's got a love for dynamite that's as big as the desert, and if there's a barrel of TNT in reach, you can bet Willy's gonna find a way to blow somethin' sky high.
Things that explode
The sound of frying eggs
Classical music
Safety regulations
Inflammable objects
The smell of gun powder
doodad
DB Double-time
Sly Bella Moon is a master of charm, using her beauty and silver-tongued ways to get whatever she wants. With a smile that could melt a man's resolve and a wink that seals deals, she's got a way of making folks do her bidding without them even knowin' it.
Having the upper hand in a deal
Coach racing
Cabbage rolls
Bad cards
Feeling bloated
Romantics
doodad
Card Cache
Cunning John Holiday, coin-obsessed grouch, small in stature but quick as a jerboa. He'd lift a man's wallet before they even knew it was gone, always with a pocketful of silver and a grin as sneaky as a shadow at midnight. In the Wild West, it was said: never trust a man with a shimmer in his eye and a coin in his hand.
Coins
Guns bigger than himself
Keeping things clean
Being tossed
Overcomplicated plans
Whiskey that burns like a desert wind
doodad
Money Magnet
