Wushu Skidoo

A pair of wingtip shoes leap out of the indestructible auto, slide across what remains of the bar, and wall-run up to the balcony. The man inside those shoes vaults over the railing as a goon closes in on the blonde from either side. He drops into a negativa stance and sweeps one thug's leg out from under him. Before that one hits the floor, the man twists into a headstand and scorpion kicks the other in the face.

The Alfa Romeo spins like a top, smacking down the last of the thugs and coming to rest right below the balcony. The woman in the fedora catches both the blonde and the wingtips with ease. Before they hit the upholstery, the car peels out. It flies through the whole in the wall like a bullet leaving the chamber.

Moments later, a black blizzard swallows the sky, the town, and any chance of pursuit.

I thought I'd do something special for this 23rd Skidoo. Plus, it's been a while since I've done some seriously over-the-top, wire-fu action. Weird. So, I whipped up something that combines my two favorite pulp genres: wuxia and noir. Get ready for some swing dancin', stunt drivin', two guns blazin', b-e-a-utiful violence!

Not so long, long ago...

She was the daughter of Chinese immigrants, raised on a steady diet of western dime novels and Shaolin kung-fu. She first picked up a gun to defend her home from looters after the grea t quake of 1906, but to no avail. She left San Francisco and vowed to never be powerless again.

He was a sailor and a petty criminal who spent decades plying his two trades from Sao Paulo to New Orleans. Along the way, he discovered a deep love of music and a deadly talent for capioera. The dawn of the Jazz Age lured him back the States, where he hoped to find the freedom of the high seas on dry land.

They were brought together by a road shaman who told them that their destinies share a common path. Together they criss cross America, teaching their martial, musical, and mystical skills to anyone who dares to learn.

Now, the dustbowl has claimed the Midwest and the Roaring Twenties are history. Some of their students have strayed from the path, becoming mercenaries for corrupt officials or using their strength to prey upon the weak. The rest walk a lonely road, beset on all sides by the harsh realities of a broken world and guided only by their own codes of personal honor.

Dustbowl Xia

"The gun is an extension of your hand. Swing it like you're throwing a punch. Channel your chi into each bullet and you can do impossible things."

Take the flying swordsmen of Chinese pulps and replace "sword" with "gun." There ya go. They fly through the air with a pistol in each hand, one named Smith and the other named Weston. Powerful techniques derived from Shaolin kung-fu allow them to shoot around corners and knock bullets out of the air... with other bullets. (Go watch Desperado and Wanted, then slap on a veneer of Chinese mysticism.)

Now, a word on the "flying" bit. Xia don't actually fly. As long as they keep control of their chi, they can float down the side of a cliff or glide from rooftop to rooftop, but telekinesis it ain't. If they loose their focus (say, because an enemy grabs their foot or kicks a table into them), they'll drop like a rock.

Roomsweepers

"Jazz is life. It moves my body and quickens my mind. When I fight, it guides my hand. When I flee, it lifts me over every obstacle."

Mix capioera, parkour, and swing dancing into one crazy, freestyle approach to unconventional movement, and you've got yourself a Roomsweeper. Where the Xia rely on deep focus, these cats are all about improvisation. They adjust instinctively to any opposing force, usually by dodging around it, sliding beneath it, vaulting over it, or redirecting it elsewhere. (Come to think of it, there might be some Taoist philosophy buried in here, too.)

Music is vitally important to them, so much so that most moonlight as singers or musicians. (Please note: trombones make swanky improv weapons.) I encourage you to have some high-tempo jazz, swing, or big band music on tap during your game session. The soundtracks from Cowboy Bebop and Read or Die will do just fine.

Road Shamans

"My car is my soul. It carries me along the ley lines of this great continent. It is freedom. You'll see. Someday, everyone will own one."

Their religion is the syncretic love child of Siberian shamanic traditions and good, old American techno-fetishism. Road shamans believe that their automobiles are like the windhorses held sacred by Mongol warriors and Tibetan mystics. Just as the soul is perfected through good deeds, so are a road shaman's wheels. They also believe that roads are the veins through which the Earth's life force flows. By traveling along these ley lines, they become more attuned to the world. All good things come to those who drive.

Thus, they are itinerant do-gooders who wander America, helping people with their problems... as long as those problems can be solved by crashing a Ford Model A through a second story window. Or skiing it up on two wheels and then driving straight up the side of a building. They're not just stunt drivers, they're friggin' medicine men!

Pick Me Ups

Rival gangs have set up shop in a small town. The sheriff looks the other way as long as they only kill each other, because he doesn't want innocent people getting caught in the crossfire. When a dust storm traps the heros in this viper's nest, it's only a matter of time before each side tries to bribe, bully, or con them into taking out the other. Oh, and did I mention that the sheriff is a student of gun-fu? (Yes, this is basically the plot from Yojimbo and Last Man Standing. Classic.)

During the Great War, the son of an American real estate mogul picked up a little Chinese black magic. (For inspiration, read this and this.) By manipulating the dustbowl's ley lines, he's managed to exert his influence over many small towns and even corrupt the soul of a road shaman. That poor bastard's windhorse has become a hulking leviathan, covered in plate armor and rusty spikes. It prowls the dustbowl like something out of Mad Max's nightmares.

"Gabriel's Trumpet" is in town for one night only, but it's gonna be a helluva show! The musicians in this fiendish jazz ensemble can use their instruments to topple buildings, slice a man in half, and stop bullets in mid-flight. (They're the guys from Kung-Fu Hustle, but with jazz instruments.) Trouble is, they consider it a public service to destroy the most corrupt and depraved towns of Babylon... and tonight they've set their sites on yours!

Next Up: Incan Space Elevator of the Mesoamerican post-apocalypse!