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Do not post if you are not Urux or Shanara. Please and thank you. 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. WIP Character List Puck | 25 | F | Outlaw Wynslo Ainesworth | 27 | M | Black Smith & Bar Owner Lourren Clarening | 26 | M | Hotel Owner Celina Clarening | 22 | F | None Cherie Tonkin | 22 | F | Lady in Waiting Sylvia Fern Painton | 24 | F | Black Wolves Girl Montague Westall | 27 | M | Gunslinger Edited at July 29, 2024 02:25 AM by Shanara
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Darkseeker
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┏━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━┓ Cherie Tonkin ┗━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━┛ Age 22 Gender Female Occupation Lady in waiting Her family helped build up the community she lives in and they are very wealthy Appearance Pale, milky white skin - never seen a day of work in the sun. She has baby blue doe eyes that look too large her face. They are shrouded by long blonde lashes that catch white in the sunlight. She has a soft round face with rosy cheeks that give her a youthful look that is likely to stay around for a while. Her hair is naturally curled, sitting down to her lower back, it is usually pinned up into an elaborate hairstyle. The colour is a strawberry blonde. Personality Demure | Soft spoken | Naive | Gullible | Warm | Caring | Friendly | Gentle Other Owns a pet dog, a small cream mutt that she rescued from the street a few years ago. She takes him everywhere with her. His name is Caramel. —————————————————————————————— ┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓ Montague Westall ┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛ Age 27 Gender Male Occupation Gunslinger Appearance He has heavily tanned skin from his outdoor lifestyle. Weather has taken its toll on his skin, wrinkling his features so that he looks at least five years older than what he truly is. His hair is black, grown out to just above his shoulders, usually pulled up into a low ponytail that can sit under his hat comfortably. Running along he side of his neck and cheek on the right is a harsh scar, ~ 20cm long. His eyes are a deep amber, set in hawk like sockets. His gaze can be a little confronting to those that don't know him. Personality Charming | Rugged | Well-travelled | Solo | Rough | Insensitive | Guarded | Morally questionable Other He is a part of a collective group of gunslingers and bounty hunters called the Black Hounds. His main camp is with this small group of people. He has a large black Percheron mare that he uses for transport, her name is Freesia. She had long strong legs with heaby feathering towards her hooves, originating at the hock. Her main is partially braided in spots as well as her tail - this was done by Sylvia Painton. —————————————————————————————— ╭── ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ──╮ Sylvia Fern Painton ╰── ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ──╯ Age 24 Gender Female Occupation Black Wolves Girl Appearance A lightly tanned skin tone from working outside. Her hair is a deep brown that reaches her shoulder blades, thick and almost pin-straight apart from slight waves towards the tail end. Her eyes are a flitting hazel with green dominance, with a thick darker ring towards the outside. Her eyes are lined by thick dark lashes. Personality Skeptical | Frustrated | Fiery | Restrained | Talkative | Unusual | Opinionated Other She was rescued by the Black Wolves during one of their bounty hunts, they took her in and made her feel safe after her ordeal - but now they restrict her to camp and use her and the other women as personal maids. She seeks freedom. Edited at July 28, 2024 05:41 PM by Urux
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Name: Puck Gender: Female Age: 25 Role: Outlaw Personality: Quiet | Introverted | Hates Attention | Repressed Stubbornness | Untrusting Other: None at the moment ~~~ Name: Wynslo Ainesworth Gender: Male Age: 27 Role: Black Smith and Bar Keeper Personality: Stoic | Friendly | Independant | Protective | Stubborn | Dominant Other: Owns and runs a bar and a smithing shop. He is acquainted with Puck. ~~~ Name: Lourren Clarening Gender: Male Age: 26 Role: Hotel Owner Personality: Arrogant | Entitled | Over Protective | Hostile | Demanding Other: Sibling to Celine. ~~~ Name: Celine Clarening Gender: Female Age: 22 Role: Doesn't have a real job, but helps her brother around the hotel. Usually at the front desk. Personality: Effervescent | Extrovert | Spoiled | Meddler | Locquacious Other: Sibling to Lourren. Edited at July 29, 2024 02:26 AM by Shanara
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Darkseeker
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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? Edited at July 27, 2024 07:39 AM by Urux
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The steady clanking of a hammer was the only sound besides the consistent crackling of coals and woods splitting in the fire. It was dim and hot inside the workshop. He furrowed his brow in concentration at the amber metal. Sweat streaked his forehead. "Damn thing," he muttered. Frustrated, he throw the metal back in the kiln. He took off one of the thick gloves and wiped his forehead with a sleeve. He glanced back at the kiln before walking away for a moment as the dull blade heated. It had been a custom request for repairs, but the metal was tough. It wasn't the normal iron he was used to working with. He grabbed his pistol from the table and tucked it behind him in the waist of his pants. The sun was already glaring down, he sheilded his eyes for a moment while they adjusted to the sudden brightness. With his hand still held above his head, he checked the streets. They were overall still pretty empty. The town was small and had few visitors, so it was no surprise. It had been a while since any groups had ridden through. Which meant business was poor. He needed this order. He needed the money, especially with the bar running so slow. He ran his hand up the back of his neck, tousling his hair of the sweat. He put his head back and closed his eyes in the sun. With a sigh he turned back and went into his shop. Mindlessly, he continued to beat the blade into shape. It was just starting to form an edge thin enough for him to grind when he heard the sound of hooves on the hardened dirt. No shoes, he thought. He didn't bother looking up from his craft. He knew who it was. Only one person rode here on a horsewith no shoes. "Is it ready?" a quiet voice said from behind him. He shook his head. The voice sighed. "Wynnie. I thought you were supposed to be the best around." He paused mid swing. "I told you I hate that name." He turned around and faced them. A smile slowly creeped onto his face. "It's good to see you." Wynslo leaned back on the table. "Where the hell have you been all this time?" He could see the faintest hint of a smile on her lips beneath the shadow of her hood. ~~~ She'd been riding for hours, but finally the town she was looking for was finally in view. She gave her horse a soft kick in the side, pushing the stallion into a trot. The town was tucked into the side of a crumbling highway from the old world. She never understood why those had been neccessary when horses could travel nearly every type of terrain. A few pillars formed a make-shift gate way into the town. Wooden cabins scattered the area with only a few other signifigant building being located in the back. She rode to the back, passing the run down and unkept bar. She shook her head at the mess. The town was quiet, a few folks wandered the street, but none paid her any mind. She steered her horse to the back side of the bar where a post stood by itself. She slid off the saddle. Her legs ached and her feet stung with the sudden pressure of her own weight on them. She'd been riding for far too long. She looked over the stallion, checking under his saddle pad to see if she'd given hinm an saddle sores. Like always her trusty companion was fine. A little slick. with sweat and salt, but fine. After loosly tying him up, she gave him a loving pat on his rump before walking into the small stone shack. The heat immediately smack her face as she entered. "Is it ready?" she said softly. When he shook his head, she frowned and sighed. Crossing her arms she continued with a slight tease. "Wynnie. I thought you were supposed to be the best around." He paused mid swing. "I told you I hate that name." He turned around and faced her. A smile slowly creeped onto his face. His hair was a little shorted than when she'd seen him last and his beard was more like an unkept scruff. She made a mental note to nag him about that later. His brown eyes gleamed in the fire light. "It's good to see you," Wynslo leaned back on the table. "Where the hell have you been all this time?" She tried to suppress her smile and bowed her head a little lower at first. She lifted her head slightly. A few strands of her hair shifted in front of her view. She brushed them back before shrugging. "Just serving the community. Few hits here, few hits there. You know," she said in a cool tone. "Puck. That ain't good enough. 'N you know it." Wynslo crossed his arms. She sighed. She knew where this was headed. "You can't just disappear without sayin' anything. Especially when I have half your gear." She listened silently as his forehead creased. "I know, I know. You do as you're told, when you're told. But com'on Puck, it's me." "Wyn, I didn't have time. You know how he gets. Besides it wasn't even a kill. He just wanted me to grab somethin'." She hadn't lied, but she wasn't exactly going to tell him the truth. She pushed her hood back slowly and pulled her braid out from under her cloak. Nonchalantly, she started to unbraid it. "And somehow I don't believe you." Wynslo turned back to the blade. He raised it to look at it better. She watched quietly, inspecting his work from afar. The blade was still dull, but the shape was there. The small blade was only a few inches long, but she could see the delicate curve in the tip. She walked to the far corner and leaned on the stone wall. She waited for him to finish, watching silently. He didn't ask any other questions about her travels. He knew Puck would never tell him the details. Edited at July 29, 2024 02:27 AM by Shanara
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Darkseeker
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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. Edited at July 28, 2024 04:51 AM by Urux
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Puck watched as Wynslo worked on her blade. Her eyes were dull, and her lips curved into a slight frown. She wasn't upset with the boredom and waiting, she was just relaxed. Wynslo, was red in the face with sweat glistening his forehead. His off-white shirt was giving away his uncomfort with sweat stains creeping down his collar to his chest. Puck shift in her dark corner crossing her foot over her ankle and putting her weight on her right hip. She had barely moved the entire time she'd stood there. It wasn't uncomfortable for her to be still in one position for several hours. That was part of her job. Wynslo was working on polishing the blade and adding in his final details. Her impatience was beginning to show now as she anticipated the blade's finish. Wynslo held the blade, angling it towards the dim light of his fire and grunted. Puck quickly pushed from the wall. Wynslo was surprised by her appearence. He'd nearly forgetten she was there at all until her silent arrival at his side. The girl was far shorter than him coming up to his bicep at best. Her eyes looked over the blade with unintrest. Maybe, it's not to her standard, he thought. He was about to ask why she snatched it from his hands. She played around with the weight, twirling and spinning the blade between her fingers. She brought it close to her face and looked at the detailed etching. A small detail he knew she'd appreciate. He waited silently for her approval. Puck Took the blade and drew her finger along the edge. "Good," she said. Her voice still seemingly unimpressed with the fine workmanship. Wynslo drew in his brows unsatisfied with the response. "That's it? Just 'Good'." "Yeup." She started to walk away. Wynslo caught her quickly, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Payment is a thing, remember?" "Relax Wyn. I'm grabbing my revolver. Trigger is loose. I need you to fix it," she glared back at him unmoving. He released her shoulder quickly, drawing back his hand and shoving it in his pocket. Of course she knew to pay. He grinted his teeth together. "Fine," he said in a deadpan voice. Puck walked around the corner to her horse and drew out a pistol. The engraving matched the ones on her blade. All of her tools matched this signature style. It was her requirement and why she only worked with Wynslo. She shoved the knife in the hidden sheith on her forearm and carried the revolver back to Wynslo. He had a grim look on his face. The fool was overthinking something again. She didn't ask, just handed him the weapon and placed herself back in her corner. Wynslo glared at her and began taking apart the gun. It didn't take long for him to tighten the trigger. It was an easy enough fix. Hell, Puck could've done it herself. What is she getting at here? He reassembled the gun and checked that all the bullets were out of the chamber. He pulled the trigger and held it out for Puck on one finger. It swung from his finger for a moment before it's weight was gone. Puck pointed at a wall and pulled. Only an empty click. She grabbed her bulllets and shoved them back into chamber wheel before tucking it out of sight. She motioned for Wynslo to follow as she made her way to the horse. Beneath the saddlebags and tucked partially beneath the saddle, she pulled out a drawstring satchel. She emptied the contents into her hand and held it out to Wynslo. "That's too much," he pointed out. Puck glared at him still holding her hand out. Her frown deepened. "Just take it. You need it more than me. Fix up that ugly ass bar or something." "It's not ugly-" "Just used. Yeah I know. Fix it," she cut him off. "Don't you need a bit of coin for travelin'," he asked. Puck shook her head. Her dark blonde hair rustled in the slight breeze. It wasn't often she left her hair undone and the long strands were moving into her view. she was starting to get annoyed with it. Wynslo stared at the coin, momentarily glancing at the burn mark just barely showing on her wrist. He gritted his teeth again and took the coins. He was about to say his thanks when a gunshot rang through the air. He tensed and went to reach for his gun. Puck was quick to move. Her hood was up covering her hair and face, as she crouched on the ground. Slowly she crept up to the corner of the bar building. Wynslo stepped up behind her. Puck glanced at him before turning her attention to the group across the street. She cursed under her breath and drew back slightly to make sure she was concealed behind the building. The two listened to the commotion for a moment before Wynslo stepped out from the alley way. He drew out a cloth and wiped his hands of the black soot. He threw on a welcoming smile and went to the front of his bar. Puck stayed behind. When she was sure he'd be alright on his own she slipped to the back of the building and climbed to the roof. She kept her footsteps light, the soft leather sole helping to cusion her footfalls on the wood panneling. "Howdy fellas. Ya'll in town for a drink?" Wynslo asked the burly tanned man. he noticed the scar along his cheek, but kept up his pleasantries. "What can I get ya?" Edited at July 29, 2024 02:27 AM by Shanara
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![](showimage.php?loc=../uploads/avatars/315026_5466.png)
Darkseeker
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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. Edited at July 28, 2024 02:11 PM by Urux
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![](showimage.php?loc=../uploads/avatars/314944_7797.jpg)
Neutral
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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. Edited at July 29, 2024 02:28 AM by Shanara
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![](showimage.php?loc=../uploads/avatars/315026_5466.png)
Darkseeker
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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. Edited at July 28, 2024 07:44 PM by Urux
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