Name: Buckle 'Broad Iron' Peterson

Age: 45

Race: Hum... Human?

Appearance: Tall and broad at the shoulders, with sunken brown eyes and a balding scalp of greying dregs. Wears tattered and well worn clothing, giving him the appearance of your average cow poke.

Gender: Male

Personality: World weary, indifferent and cold.

Biography: Buckle 'Broad Iron' Peterson occupies a dying trade. In his youth he was a gun-for-hire with a healthy chunk of local renown to his name. The jobs were plentiful and paid well, whether it was killing an escaped convict, or slaughtering said escaped convict's former companions, Buckle always delivered. He wasn't the quickest drawer in West, but he wasn't the slowest either, and his "I don't care if you shoot me, I'm still going to put a hole in your head" attitude more than once called the bluff of his bounties. However, as the years went by, the jobs became fewer and the rewards got smaller. He went from shooting criminals to watching over a bar's unruly patrons, or herding cattle for an ageing farmer.

For years he etched a miserable existence from performing mundane jobs, that were more about helping the weak than bringing down the strong, and for a while this suited him in a way. He enjoyed being able to make a difference in peoples' lives; he didn't mind if it meant shovelling sh*t for three days under the hot blazing sun. But time waits for no man, and as his crown started to shine light at him when he peered into a mirror, he realised that his life was slipping him by. He tried to imagine himself carrying on like this, until he was taken by a pox, a fever or plain old age. What his mind showed him was horrible, and he could not conform himself to it.

Milking cows one day for old Mr. Crotson down by Perbal Ranch, Buckle caught a rotten flap of newspaper blowing around in the wind. It seemed to him that the elements had done their worst to every part of that paper, except one small article that was titled: Trouble in Paradise? After reading what he could from the blurred text, Buckle threw down the bucket of milk he carried and ran on home to his shack way down on the prairie. Gathering his trusty Colt Model 1860 New Army, it's holster and his well-worn powder flask, he headed towards town intending on getting himself reacquainted with horse riding. Buckle didn't think much of the paranormal, but easy money was easy money, and he needed to bust his way into a comfortable retirement one way or the other.

Equipment: Colt Model 1860 New Army, Bullet making utensils (including powder flask, percussion caps and .44 balls.

Abilities/Disadvantages: He's a quick drawer with his weapon, and strong enough to shoulder his way through a solid wooden door, but he ain't as fit as he used to be. Running will tire him out quickly, and a lifetime of smoking tobacco has left him with a nasty cough. His weapon also needs to be preloaded before he fires, which involves a lengthy process of first filling the chambers with gunpowder, the .44 ball and a percussion cap before it can be fired.