Plot Basics

A broken society. After wars, famine, natural disasters, civilization is in shambles. As people came back together, they rebuilt their lives making small towns and cities. For those who remember and are still alive, they are tiny and insignificant to the once glorious world they lived in and the ruins are there to prove it. Once massive temples and shining buildings seemed to touch the skies. All that's left are the decaying rubbles and stories that seem more like myth with every passing day. Outlaws run rampant through the territories as a new standard to living is set in place. Some folks have taken up the responsibilty of keeping order and peace, even fewer succeed. In this new world, you know few and trust fewer.

The harsh sunlight glowed over the thin canvas of the lean-to shelters scattered around the small dusty clearing. The sound of grazing horses quiet under the soft hum of insects permeated the air. A few people sauntered back and forth between tents, murmuring gently to each other. The women were begining to prep what ever scraps were left over from the day before to create a hodge podge breakfast for the group.

One women stood with her back to the rest, a small glisting silver chain encrusted with small clear jewels wrapped around her ankle, the other end laced around the largest wagon in the camp. The cottage style wagon had been bashed together with scrap wood that was scavenged at their last camp prior to their sudden exit from that town. Two large white shires stood near by, their halter equipment already in place, ready to work.Sylvia's eyes were hooded and dark bags under her eyes gave away her exhaustion. She had been working throughout the night in preperation for the move.

After the men had returned the previous night, there had been an uproar. A job gone wrong. An outright battle had occurred in town after their attempts to demand protection money from the local merchants had turned sour. Red Springs was the town, and the Red Coats did not take kindly to being bullied into giving up their money. This particular town had an organised policing system that some communities opted to neglect. The Black Wolves were not prepared for the level of escalation that followed. In fear that they may have been tracked on horseback to their encampment, Rackham had made the executive desicion to uproot and move on. Rackham was her master. The leader of the Black Wolves who had killed the previous leader by slinking into his tent at night and slicing his throat. Ever since then, Sylvia has been chained to this man.

She picked up the linens she was folding and headed for the wagon's doors, she placed them inside quietly. Everything was so quiet for the women of the Black Wolves under Rackham's orders. She sat upon the steps outside the wagon, where the driver and passanger could sit, and waited.—————————————————————————————

Meanwhile, Montague was gathering together his small bag of belongings and strapping it onto his mare, a beautiful black beast with enough power to flatten any man. His lean-to was packed and already fastened to the saddle of Freesia, all that was left was his guns. Carefully, he slid is rifle onto the strap on the side of the saddle before tapping his hands at his belt, making sure his handguns were in place.

The man was dressed in a simple white lace-up shirt, overlaid with a black leather vest, the cuffs of the shirt were pushed up to his elbows, showing his muscular forearms. Upon his head was a battered leather wide-brim hat, tilted slightly forward to accomodate his long hair that was pulled back into a band behind his head. Standard riding boots, adorned with twirling stitches clad his feet as he stepped up onto his horse.

"Good girl." He patted the side of the mare's neck, his voice was low and gravely. Flicking his small saddlebag open, he fetched out a small rolled up stick and raised it to his lips. Retrieving some matches, he struck one alight and lit the stick on fire. Gentle herbal smoke emitted from the end before he inhaled strongly. Breathing out, the smoke billowed out from his lips as his leader gave the command to move.Their destination was Hope's Trail.—————————————————————————————

In the town of Hope's Trail, a small woman flittered around outside of the hotel, a small parasol in her gloved hands. Although her attire may once have been a pristine garment, the long dress she wore was dusty and nicked in some places - clearly snagged from the old times. It was a pale navy with small white adornments across the straight neckline and trim of the skirt.

"Oh I do wish they return soon." A woman beside her spoke, Cherie smiled delicately towards her friend.

"I am sure they will, Erica." Cherie was in fact, not sure. Erica's father and brother had ventured out, miles past the town in search of goods to bring back and trade. They had been gone for weeks. When people don't return for weeks after they should have, they are most definitely dead.

Erica sighed. "They better bring something good back with them!" Her tone was sharp and clearly the young woman uncaring about her familial attachements and was more invested in whatever pricey possessions they could give her. Cherie winced ever so slightly at her friends blatant dismissal for her family's safety.

"Perhaps they may." She added gently, turning her eyes towards the doors of the hotel before taking her friend's arm and entering.

Just as they moved the door to open, taking one step in. The sound of hoof steps and a wagon became detectable.

"They're here!" Erica exclaimed, ripping herself free from Cherie's grasp and turned to dart back outside to the town's main road. Cherie glanced up at the other occupants before turning and racing after her friend, parasol forgotten in the doorway.

Erica sprang out into the road as the newcomers came into view. In the front a large wagon drawn by two huge white horses, and on the side of the hotel a man on a tall black mare trotted steadily keeping pace. At the wagon, an older man with blonde hair held the reins to the white steads, beside him a younger woman with dark hair stared coldly ahead. The man on the horse had his head tilted down, averting his gaze from the sun and obscuring his face.

Erica began pacing up along the side of the newcomers, her eyes scanning them carefully before she spotted the hat atop the mans head and she smiled.

"Emmett! You're back, I can't believe you took so long!" She called out as she strode up to the man with confidence, standing in the way of his horse.Montague started, his head lifted as Freesia baulked, the woman was blocking her path. The great mare huffed and shook her head. His eyes glinted in the sunlight as he rose his head to look at the woman, a scruff of facial hair now visible that it was no longer cast over by the shade of his hat.

"I ain't no Emmett, ma'am." He grunted out, pulling slightly on the reins of Freesia to prevent her from moving. He looked up past the woman in front of him and looked directly at Cherie who was standing on the steps to the hotel, looking at her friend, lips pursed and brows furrowed with worry. How could her friend just run up to strangers like that?

Cherie felt her body tense up as the stranger in black gazed at her, his eyes were like an animal's that had found its prey. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing hitched. She began to panic. Who was this man? Why was he here? What did he want? Erica was too close to him. What should she do? What could she do?

Then, the man looked away. Eyes flicking forward to the woman before him.

"I apologise, ma'am. I don't know no Emmett. I think you're mistaken." His voice was quiet, head returning to tilt down to the withers of his horse. Erica frowned, looking up at the hat upon his head. It was battered, a rope tied around the top. A plume of brown and white feathers poked out from the rope. That was Emmett's hat.

"What did you do to him!" Erica exclaimed, flailing her arms towards the man. Freesia reared her front legs from the ground, lifting only slightly before they slammed back down onto the ground. Her deep brown eyes widened as the woman grew closer to her side, clearly this horse was not the friendly type.

"Whoa! Whoa!" Montague gritted his teeth as he yanked on the reins to calm his horse. Erica did not stop her approach, she struck this thigh with her gloved hand. Then again, and again.

"You killed 'em didn't you!" She wailed, creasing her features into something that resembled sadness but wasn't quite right. Cherie's heart flew back into over drive, this woman is an idiot. Without thinking, her feet began to carry her towards them. Slow at first, then she began to run. From behind her, where he was lurking in the entrance to the hotel, Caramel poked his head out and began to follow his owner. All the while, her friend was slapping at the man and his horse, wailing and hollering. Surely the whole damn town would hear now. And indeed, she could see a few men poking their heads out from the cabins across the way, heads tilted in confusion.

Montague muttered under his breath, trying to pull away from the woman, each step that Freesia took away, the woman only advanced.

"Listen woman! I said I don't know no damn Emmett!" He raised his voice, his irritation clear. The wagon in front slowed to a halt and the blonde haired man twisted his body to look behind them at the commotion, first he studied the woman, then up to his right-hand man.

"Erica! Stop! Are you crazy?" Cherie called out to her friend, only a few more steps and she'd be there. "Erica! You don't know that!" Cherie was so close, she reached out her hand to grasp her friend's hand before it could strike down on the man again.

Then a gunshot. Cherie yelped, jumping back from her friend, her hands drawn close to her chest. She heard her dog bark sharply beside her. Her eyes scrunched shut as she waited for the pain in her body, but it didn't come. She inched her eyes open. First she saw Erica, standing in shock, but she was unharmed. Then up to the man in black, he wasn't holding a gun. No. There are a man behind him now, seated on a bay stallion. In his hand he held a pistol, his arm aimed for the sky, the smoke trail lingered in the air. The silence was palpable, hanging in the air like a fog.

"Now, listen here girly." The man was younger, his blue eyes glinted with delight as he looked down at Erica. His hand lowered, the pistol was aimed at her head. Erica's eyes were so wide it looked like they could pop out of her skull. "He said he don't know. So he don't know. Alright?" His voice gave away the enjoyment he was getting from seeing the woman before him shaking in her floral dress, the barrel of his gun pointing straight between her eyes, the polished iron glinting in the harsh sunlight. He cocked the gun. Cherie opened her lips, her eyes going wide.

The man in black snapped his head around to his partner, baring his teeth and letting out a low snarl.

"Knock it off, Samson!" He spat, flicking out his wrist and slapping the hand that held the pistol upwards. It fired. Another ear-splitting gunshot rang out around the town, this time the bullet smashed into the nearby hotel. High enough into the roof that it couldn't have hit anyone. But the panel of wood it hit split into two with a sickening crack. One side of the panel swang down, hanging by a nail precariously.

Cherie stook still, shaking. She reached out an arm and gentle grasped her friend's upper arm.

"C-C'mon Erica. Let's go." Her voice was quiet, careful. Erica did not protest as her friend began to guide her back towards the hotel, Caramel close at their heels. Erica was shaking, worse than Cherie was.

Cherie threw the smallest of glances over her shoulder as they walked away.

—————————————————————————————

Montague clicked his tongue and moved Freesia up to the wagon, ignoring Samson who was swearing him to hell. Rackham looked him up and down before he jutted out his jaw towards the next building down. A sad excuse for a bar. Withholding his annoyance at the task that was now assigned to him, he gave Freesia a small nudge and they began heading for the bar. The people outside stared at him, their eyes shining with malice and distrust. Not unusual.

Montague flicked the edge of his hat, a small cloud of dust blooming from it, he wrapped Freesia's reins around a discarded piece of wood that jutted out from the ground beside the bar. Soon after Samson on his bay strode past the bar, continuing to move around the town. Moron. Then his view was blocked by the wagon pulling up beside him. His eyes lifted to Sylvia, first the shining chain that wrapped around her ankle, then up to her face. He did not give her an inkling of an idea that he felt bad.

Rackham turned to Sylvia, his lips drawn back as he growled his demands to her. Montague clicked his tongue and placed a hand on the neck of Freesia, his head cocked towards the men at the entrance to the bar. He continued to stare until the first one started and began to move away - not too far from his precious liqour, but far enough. Soon his friends followed. He waited for Rackham to disembark before walking into the bar behind him, his right hand gently raised to hover of his pistol. The bar was dark and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the harsh change of lighting. Just as they did, a man spoke out from behind the bar.

It took Montague a moment to realise the the man was speaking to him, not Rackham. That was unusual, not unheard of but, usually Rackham declared himself flamboyantly. His hand left the pistol. This time he didn't, instead his leader walked up to the bar and pulled out a chair quietly.

"Uh..yes sir." Montague began, shaking his head slightly to take him out of his stupor before pulling up beside Rackham. "Anything that's strong, that'll do us just fine." He lowered his head as he spoke, a hand coming up to remove the hat from his head, placing it on the bar beside him. He stared at it a for a moment, who was this damn Emmett anyway? Crazy lady. When he lifted his head to look at the bar keep, he split his lips into a crooken smile. His teeth weren't in best condition, but certainly not the worst in this wasteland. No dental care here, at least any that isn't extremely painful or extremely expensive. His incisors were slightly misplaced, the smallest of gaps between the front two, almost unnoticable. His canines were likely to distract from other oddities, long and pointed.

"Sorry about the ruckus out there, we have some new hot-heads joining us this season. They're a certainly trigger happy." Montague lilted, his voice lightening from the tone he used outside, the gravel was still present. As he spoke, he began removing something from his pocket. He flicked it between his fingers and stuck a match, holding to the end until it burned enough to inhale. He flapped the match out, placing it on the counter. Her smell of a herbal concoction emitted from the cigarette. Montague inhaled deeply, feeling the calming effect almost immediately. Then exhaled, pushing the smoke out the side of his lips as to not hit his leader or the barkeep.

"Nice place you got here, could do with some work though. Or the people some money." Rackham piped up, drawing Montagues eyes for a moment away from their new quarry. Then again..he looked back towards the man, his brows ever so slightly furrowed, only just forming a small crease between them.

As they spoke, he lifted his hand, abandoning the cigarette to his teeth. He reached back to slick any fly away strands back into the smooth black of his pony-tail. One piece never really stayed though, it poked out from the from, falling down across his face, stopping just short of his nose. Montague eyed the barkeep, taking in his clothes, the sweat that stained them. Surely barkeep was not that laborous. Muscular, must do something hardworking, honest. Montague gave a small chuff of a laugh at his own thought before glancing back to Rackham.

—————————————————————————————

Sylvia, left to watch the wagon and its precious contacts, watched the men enter the bar before the rest of the Black Wolves moved past them with Samson. Who knows what they were planning on doing to this poor town.

Her chain clinked quietly as she stood, it extended from a small iron loop in the floor of the wagons entrance, it seemed to grow in length as she decended. Freesia gave a low huff as Sylvia placed her hand on her neck, patting down to her withers with a small smile on her face. At least the horses could not be cruel to her. She lifted her head and glanced around, not the most impressive town they have stopped in, but she had seen worse. At least these people were trying for a semblance of order and honesty.

Sylvia turned around to face the town, watching the young woman in the blue dress with her crazy friend push their way into the hotel, a small dog following at their heels. She raised a brow, only a townie would have such a small useless mutt. Then she looked up. The sun glared at her, making her pause and raise a hand to shield her eyes. She looked at the damage to the hotel, her head tilted slightly before she took a step forward and snag. Her ankle didn't move, it caught and almost tripped her over in the dirt. She let out a small gasp before taking a step back towards the wagon. Freesia scraped her front hoof against the ground, whining gently, trying to turn her head to look at Sylvia.

"I'm alright, girl." She tried to reassure, giving the horses neck one last pat before she slunk back towards the wagon, defeated. As she climbed up the side, the reminder of her former glory move beneath her clothes. Lithe, toned muscles still graced her form, always hidden beneath this ridiculous dress. She pulled sharply at the chain and it sprung up from the ground where it was sprawled out. It shot back towards her, the length shortening greatly until it was only just long enough to wrap around her ankle and give her a few inches of movement before attaching to the wagon. She sighed and leaned back against the wooden doors, closing her eyes.

Puck watched from above as the girl in chains pet the horses. She squinted her eyes in disgust at the sight. Chaining up a lady like that, she thought. Who the hell were these men? Normally she was in some way informed on gangs moving about. Then again she had been gone for a while from this area. Her last job had taken her a whole two weeks journey from here. Puck was tempted to go down and free her, but she knew better than to step out there in plain daylight. When most of the men had seemingly settled inside, Puck slid down from the roof. As much as Wynslo would chew her out for leaving without saying anything again, it was time to go. A group this size would lead to trouble if she was caught.

She used a pallete crate to help herself down, not thinking the weathered wood would give out underneath her. The crate cracked and crumbled beneath her. "Dammit." She pulled herself from the mess. She might've been lightfooted and good at her job, but when not in the mental state she often moved carelessly.

She dusted off her sunfaded, red pants. They hung loosely around her legs and bunched at the bottom where her boots met her shins. She kept meaning to find new ones, but Wynslo could use the money more. She braided her hair and tucked the strays behind her ears before pulled the hood over her head. She tugged at her shirt sleeves that had been dirt stained after years of wear and headed back for her horse.

The painted stallion stood lazily at his post. Her bags were all still there. She checked over her shoulder before tightening the breast strap and saddle bags one last time. Her stallion swung his head towards her in protest. "Sorry ol' boy. We gotta get movin'." She stroked his split colored face. He had a dark brown face and body for the most part. on his right side of his face was the bright white patch that stopped just above his eyebrown. His right eye matched the brightness in an icy pale blue. She loved his face. The white patches scattered around his body with the most prodominant section being on his right flank. His main and tail matched his darker side in think black hair. She pulled herself into the saddle with a small jump. Backing him up slightly by pulling up on the reins. "Let's go, Bollin." She gave him a squeeze with he calves to encourage him forward.

~~~

"Well, sir, I thank you kindly." Wynslo bent down behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He started to pour each of the men a glass and shrugged. "We're small and not many pass through, so money is short 'round here." He slid the glasses to the men and shoved the bottle back on the shelf. "Was a bit odd to hear commotion so suddenly though. You folks looking to stay in town for the night?" he asked.

He'd began picking up a glasses and polishing them with a cloth. He inspected the group of men. They were covered in dirt and looked well worn. These men had seen action more than once. He glanced back to the two who spoke to him. He decided it was best not to try and ward off the group. The last thing Wynslo needed was to start something with Puck around. She would certainly get involved and create a mess. This town had seen enough heart ache, he didn't want to add to it.

Internally, he was wishing he'd gone and changed his shirt, but he didn't quite trust the men to keep from ransacking his bar. So he'd have to be content in his current fit. He continued to polish his glasses mindlessly as he mentally gauged the group in front of him.

Sylvia shifted her shoulders against the rough wood of the wagon doors, grumbling slightly as she couldn't find a comfortable position to remain in. That was when she heard the creaking and snapping of wood. Her spine straightened and her eyes scanned around. At first, she thought it may have been that panel of wood on the hotel, falling to the ground, but no this was closer. The sound did not seem to come from anything in front of her, and she doubted whatever had made the noise did not want her attention. Who knows what animal, person or creature made that noise in this world.

She pursed her lips, tempted to call out. Before she could get the first syllable out, Sylvia shook her head and leaned back against the wagon again. This time, keeping herself alert, eyes scanning like a predator trying to locate its prey. Oh how she wished to be that predator again.

—————————————————————————————

Rackham chortled, his voice and laughter have always sounded like a wealthy mans, robust and fleeting. He used to be a very wealthy man, Montague supposed, just not in the stereotypical way.

"Well, yes. I can see that there aren't many people crawlin' about round 'ere." Rackham nodded his head towards the barkeep, taking the glass of whiskey in front of him and taking in the smell before he sipped.

Montague was still closely studying the barkeep, head tilted to watch him where he hovered just off to the side, polishing his glassware. He didn't trust the newcomers, that much he could tell with ease. His hand found the glass in front of him, he clocked his head back and downed the glass in one before slamming the glass back down onto the bar. Rackham waved his hand gently in the air.

"Do not worry, sir. We aren't here to take up your housing, we're going to set up camp not too far from here, I reckon you'll be seeing a far bit of us." The leader angled his head towards Montague, now it was his turn. He wished he could've continued on through town with that idiot Samson.

"Yes..well. Small towns like these," Montague raised his empty glass, shaking it slightly to the barkeep to request another as he spoke, placing it back down on the bar. "They don't have a lot of protection from the nasties that lurk outside their walls." He cleared his throat. "Y'know, we've protected towns like this before from terrible things." He darkened his voice. "So, we can do the same for you. As long as there's coin involved." Montague didn't mention that most of that coin would end up back here for drinks anyway. "Safer town, means more people visiting, more people stayin'." He looked up at the bar keep, watching to see if his gentle ploy had worked.

Rackham didn't wait for the response. "Say, why don't you bring Sylvie in here to tell her story, huh?" He looked over at his second-in-command and his eyes glinted with a malice Montague was well used to. He rose from his seat, stretching his arms in front of him, keeping his cigarette between his teeth.

Once outside, Sylvia started at the appearance of Montague before she reclined again, ignoring him.

"C'mon Sylvia, boss wants you in there to give a show." He raised an eyebrow. "And please behave, I can't be bothered chasing you down again, Rackham will have you strung up this time, I'm sure of it" As he spoke, he reached up to grasp the wagon end of the chain. Revealing a small ring that he tapped at the chain and it unfurled from the hook. He leaned over and wrapped the free end around Syvlia's other ankle. Raising it up to hide it under her long dress.

Syvlia did not move while he hobbled her. Instead, she just followed him. It was too damn hot to run anyway, she had no clue where she was, she would be dead in days if she tried to leave now.

"The usual?" She questioned, her captor nodded his head as he lead her back in. Wrapping his arm with hers as they re-entered the bar. Sylvia forced a small smile onto her lips.