10:13 AM, 26th of June, 2502.

The little quiet town of Primafrontier, one of the very first towns to be formed in Ravage after the 12 major cities settled. It was formed by the poor of one of the bigger cities, seeking their own place in life away from the larger picture. And so they made it. A simple little town of families, law abiders and decent businessmen. It seldom got more nieve than Primafrontier.

The town itself was mostly built with Slakestone, cheap and easy housing with wooden shutters. The saloon was their primary form of income from weary travelers stopping to drink or take it nice and easy. They had an apothecary who doubled as a doctor for the bigger incidents and if anyone needed a cure for poisoning or a broken leg. They had a post office that would recieve from the Bridgeington postal service, still the best service in all of Ravage. They had a small farm too, your average selection of cattle and a couple of fields of crops that needed water very often. Whilst Ravage was a dry as hell desert, it did get the occasional spot of rain.

In this sleepy little town, a man could find himself a good drink and good company. A man could settle and relax... or, a man could seek out why so many of the buildings seem to have bullet holes cracked into them as of late...

If there were three things I hated, they'd be boredom, insects, and loneliness. In that order. Which is why sitting alone, at my desk, in an office that desperately needed a fumigation was essentially hell for me. Across from my flimsy wooden desk was the desk of my late business partner and friend, Eric King. I began thinking of the adventures we had, and tears welled up in my eyes. I needed some air and a stiff drink.
The Primafrontier Saloon was fairly less depressing than the rest of the town. The interior was lively and full of song and the smell of whiskey. The bar was crowded and I took a seat next to a man sobbing into his gin. I told the bartender to get me the cheapest ale he had and began speaking to my distressed drinking partner.
"What's the matter, pal?" I said to him.
"It's my daughter, she ran off with a gang leader, I haven't spoken to her in a month!" He started sobbing again. I had heard the story often enough, daddy's girl meets a dangerous man, they ride off into the sunset and she's never heard from again. Usually, the worst fate that befell these girls was children, but I've seen far worse. Of course, that all depended on the man who had caught her eye.
"May I ask which gang leader?" I asked politely as can be. Instead of speaking he slowly pointed to the Saloon's bounty board, to a poster bearing the face of dashing young man. He was wanted for enough crimes to stock a jail, and had a superfluous bounty on his head. My eyes slid down the poster to his name, Abner Hogan. I knew him, he was the former right-hand man of Christoper Card and the man who painted a dirt road with the brains of Eric King. As I told the man about how much trouble his daughter was In and how a man of my skills could help, I could scarcely keep a smile off my face. A chance to make a helluva lot of money, avenge the death of my friend, save a girl's life, and possibly learn the whereabouts of Christoper Card? It was just too good to be true.

Among the rabble of the city, the Sheriffs Department sat near the outer edges as the sun broke through the clouds. Inside, Jack sat near his desk, his feet laying on the table and his chair propped back. His bowler hat covered his face as he snoozed away. Obviously he had to work the night shift. The Sheriff was always giving him some kind of stressful or otherwise boring job, which usually led to him taking a very long "nap." As he snoozed away, one of the criminals inside a cell nearby started to ring his cup against the bars of his cell, waking Jack up in surprise. Nearly falling backwards, before steadying himself out, Jack groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Can't a guy get some sleep in peace?" He glared at the criminal and picked up his hat, placing it back on his head, and strolled out into the town.

His usual daily routine was to patrol around in the morning, making sure the peace wasn't being disturbed. Every few feet he was greeted with a "Good morning." or "How are you?", the usual. Occasionally there would be a theft or two, which Jack would have to stop, but it appeared that today was going to start off quite nice. He loved the feeling of the sun on his skin, which made him grow a big smile almost uncontrollably. After walking about, Jack made his way to the back of the Sheriffs Department, where a small assortment of bottles were put up in several places for the law enforcement's convenience. He took a stance, pulled out his revolver quickly, and fire off at one of the bottles...missing entirely. "Come on, damn it...", he mumbled under his breath, trying again more and more. A few bottles would break every now and again, but his skill was far from impressive. Of course, if he used his Winchester, the shots would be hitting their mark every time. Jack, however, wanted to be a gunslinger, just like the legends that the saloon-goers gossiped about.

So there he was, firing off constantly, trying to practice his marksmanship with a revolver, shots echoing from the station over and over again.

The tall and slender cowboy pushed open the double doors into the Primafrontier Saloon. The scent of smoke and alcohol filled the saloon, insulting the man's nose with their bitter scents. With each step he made, his boots made a click every time they kissed the wooden floor. The man moved at a pace that radiated swagger as he kept his sweaty palms in his pockets. His cowboy hat was tilted at a slight angle that hid his rust colored eyes from anybody who attempted to stare at him head-on. He took slow but wide steps, turning his head left and right occasionally as he eyeballed the Saloon. However, the cowboy's eyes stopped on the Bounty Board.

The man had only planned to stop in Primafrontier for a drink before going to another town to find some work, but now that he had seen a bounty board, his interest peaked. He drifted over to the board and smiled at the first bounty poster he saw: Abner Hogan. Without any further hesitation, he ripped the poster from the bounty board and looked over at the smaller man next to him who looked no older than twenty-one. "Hope you weren't planning on chasing that bounty." The cowboy said flatly, looking down at the young man as he made a condescending smirk.

"Actually, I'm a private investigator. I'm looking for a woman he may or may not have kidnapped." I took a deep breath. "I was grabbing the bounty because I have a bit of, history shall we say, with Mr. Hogan. I'm going to save the girl, but if I get to kill Abner Hogan, all the better." I studied the cowboy and came to a realization. "You're The Cavalier aren't you? Your reputation precedes you. If you truly are so cavalier, then you'll help me save this girl." The Cowboy took a breath as if to speak but I cut him off. "Under the condition that I get to kill Abner."

The Cavalier's eyes narrowed as the young man made such demands as if he were in control of the situation. He was impressed by the young man standing up to him despite knowing of who he was and what he was capable of. Because of that, he had earned the Cavalier's respect, a rare feat. Of course being as arrogant as he was, he would never verbally admit that. He proceeded to chuckle under his breath as he sized up the younger man, "You're one brave kid." He extended his arm towards the young man, handing him the bounty poster but swiftly retracted his hand back instead of handing the poster to him. "Split the reward and you've got yourself a temporary partnership." He said, his condescending smirk yet to leave his face. He could tell that this kid really wanted to get a shot at Hogan and figured he could use this to get himself at least half of the bounty instead of giving it up completely.

Simon Graves wandered into Primafrontier from the wastes, the heat of the sun beating onto the sand and distorting his approach. A dark clad man, Simon's only noticeable features were his russet skin and his white shirt, the rest of him a mere shadow and sun-made distortion. His black duster and his velveteen hair danced on dry wind, his rich tan hand holding his hat at the brim to prevent the wind from stealing it away. Though he was of average height and slender build, there was something about this man that screamed danger. At his left hip was his gun, a long barrel Colt .44 revolver, whilst on his right hip was a combat knife; and yet at an angle behind the knife and touching the rear of his bum was a coiled rope... if anyone dared to peek too long into the folds of his coat.

Each step into the town brought him closer to the local saloon, a place where Bounty Hunters and men of questionable origin could get a proper job. Simon, a man of great patience, took his time. The black clothing was quite oppressing, but Simon had grown accustomed to the heat. His leisurely stroll was quite off-putting, especially since he had walked on foot through the vast wastelands of Ravage. Those who knew of him fled, while the others watched him with suspicion. The russet-skinned bounty hunter was definitely an oddity in these parts and his near-translucent eyes were like the eyes of a demon: cold and ageless.

Simon approached the saloon's doors and gently opened them, walking in with death-like steps. The only sound that was made were the double-doors hinges creaking with age and use, and in desperate need of oiling. Simon looked into the room, eyeing everyone that was seated and behind the bar. Two men stood out to him, one of them holding a poster while the other tried to possess a position of power. It was not difficult to see that they were after the same bounty, and Simon knew quite well that when two men found a particular poster, it would mean a great bounty. A bounty he could use. Without a word, Simon approached the Bounty Board, pretending to ignore the other two as he looked at each poster.

Simon Graves kept his ears open.

- Simon
The saloon goers paused a moment to give the newcomer a certain look... one of initial suspicion. Whilst no-one around him could match him in terms of dirty looks, he recieved a few that could intimidate a yella bellied sapsucker. But seeing as how Simon was NOT one of these, it would hardly affect him. Regardless of the situation, the piano player providing a comfortable tune to the place, continued to play on as if nothing had happened.

The bounty board was quite prevalent that day, a grand total of four different bounties one could pursue, with the exception of Abnar having been taken down. Each one had a picture of the wanted man or woman and came with the price, presented in Heads (Hds.)

Jaggy - 100 Hds
Brett Rindstock - 130 Hds
Rhonda the Miscreant - 170 Hds
Mourner Muldoon - 250 Hds

- Jack
"Still trying to turn the place into a pepper pot, son?" A somewhat aged voice asked from behind him as a familiar figure stepped out to greet him. Sheriff Mullins, the kindly individual who governed the town stood before him. He was a generally nice fella, befitting a town as sleepy and quiet as this, even taking on a man like Jack at the drop of a hat as deputy. The man bore an impressive brown handlebar mustache and equally impressive eyebrows. Always found in that wide brimmed white hat of his and his rich red coat, volcanic pistol at his hip, the man may have been a bit old but he was still probably the most skilled shot in town.
"I keep telling ya, ya hold the thing too hard when ya draw it. Gotta ease off a little, nice and smooth y'know." He advised with a brash smile on his face, always there for his faithful deputy.

- Glenn and Jaron
"You boys after Abner, eh?" A ragged looking individual approached them, greasy black hair and a nasty horseshoe mustache on his face. "I figure I could be helpin' you two out fer a price. I know where Abner ran off to with that purdy dame." He offered the two. His breath reeked of alcohol.

10:13 AM, 26th of June, 2502

30 minutes earlier......9:43 AM

Casually walking down the dirt road, with a guitar strapped to his back, and a white stetson hat he stole from a thief who tried to rob him a day ago, Benny was nearing the town of Primafrontier to make a little pit stop for a while before he'd get back on the road to continue his travels to make money. This was the usual, make a few heads and move on unless there was trouble and unfortunately, Benny always ran into it everywhere he traveled or stop at. Making a slight dragging of his feet as it partially slid with ever step he took, he passed the sigh the welcomed ones to the town.

With a lit spliff hanging from his lips, he slowly walked in through the town, slowly tracing his eyes around his surroundings, checking the buildings, noticing a few bullet holes decorating a few buildings. This was almost the same story in other towns who had the pleasure of meeting outlaws and rejoice over the shootout parties that happens frequently. The question that Benny had was, will he yet again, find himself looking down the barrel of another gun this time around? Time would only tell.

Catching what looked to be a saloon, Benny stopped, looking at the place, standing in front of it, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth and quietly walked to the double swinging doors, looking around in the large room. it was a little lively. Men playing cards, people at the bar, a shady figure or two lurking in the darker areas of the room. Benny walked over to the bar to speak to the bartender to check if they either had ale, lemonade, water, whatever was the cheapest they had as he was given a mug of beer. Benny looking out, pulled out a wad of cash, flipping a few bills, placing them on the bar counter "That should be enough heads there for 5 rounds....old sport...." picking up a mug, walking to the corner of the saloon that was dark, passing a group of four men who was sitting at a table playing poker.

The moment Benny sat down, one of the guys at the poker table, who had a real rustic look to him, sporting a bicycle mustache turned to speak to Benny with his rough voice "Hey there stranger....seein that guitar on yer back...you know how to play?" Taking a small gulp of his beer, Benny stared at the table Well...I wouldn't bother carrying it 24/7 if I didn't.... he retorts. The guys as the table gave a little chuckle as the guy who was talking chuckled as well hearing his response "Well then...how about you play a tune for me and the fellas. The piano is good and all but I wanna hear what you got." Benny, who laid his spliff down, picked it back up to take another puff I don't play for free... The guy looked at the others from what Benny said and looked back at the boy "How much you play fer?" How much you got... he responded again. The guy went to spit on the spittoon "Boy yer quite a fox..." getting a little annoyed with him after a few moments trying to get him to play a free tune.

Now...

There were two young women who was sitting close to the bar as they watched Benny talking to the fellow at the poker table. Seeing that he had a guitar, one of them walked over, she had red hair and a little freckles but her body was nicely shaped "hey hun....I was wonderin....if you didn't mind playin a tune for me and my friend over there." as she motioned for Benny to look at the other woman with black hair who was at the table. I don't play for free.... The girl looked on and averted her eyes "darn...I was hopin that you'd be a sweetheart and make just one exception..." she said lifting the side of her dress enough as he placed her leg on the chair, revealing her leg up the thigh enough to catch the sight of the black lace garter she was wearing. at that moment, Benny's eyes widen and the guitar was brought up as he started to play. Nothing wrong with a little tune...

Spanish ladies

While playing, the poker guy who was asking him to play earlier was obviously pissed that he'd do the favor for the girls and not him like he asked. The man stood as if he was ready to make a scene.

Cal walked quietly along the trail leading back to town brushing a bit of dust away as best he could off his jacket and pants with his free hand. Over his shoulder laid a small bar with several smaller critters attached set for delivery to his client and on the other was the strap of his Sharps which no longer had its scope having finished its work as much as the hunter. It felt good being in his element out in the wilds where he preferred to leave his mark as opposed to having to put down troublemakers which was far more common than he liked at times. In Primafrontier he seemed to be outstaying his welcome however as some of the local hunters truly disliked his presence not to mention jobs were running dry so he would end up moving on the next half decent little town if nothing pressing came up soon.

A few minutes went by before he could see the town prompting him to pick up the pace not exactly unaware of the recent bandit incursions in the area. Cal gave a few nods of acknowledgement as he went by the entrance then down the street to the general store which he entered casually approaching the counter to speak with the owner.

"The game you requested sir." Cal said briefly slinging his catch onto the counter for the man to examine.

"Well aren't ya the quick one, these look just fine...your payment Mr. Johnston and good travels to ya." The owner responded pausing to retrieve the money he owed before giving a quick send off.

The Guerilla liked the man for that since he scarcely wanted to waste his time anymore so he did a fast double count of his due before taking the money. He waved back to the owner before heading back outside now without any work for the moment but not exactly ready to leave before a bit of rest. It took a moment of pondering before the thought of a cold drink overtook him leading him to the saloon where he entered giving a quick glance about returning stares with an even look as he found himself a seat and with a few gestures, not to mention a bit of money, also a drink to enjoy after propping his rifle up nearby. The newcomers hadn't gone unnoticed but it seemed like there were always a couple bounty hunters rolling about wanting to find a new target bar the man with a guitar who seemed more an entertainer and a good one at that but maybe stirring the pot a little much.

Suppose I'm not so different, except I hunt animals more than men. Cal thought with a mild grin as he sat back listening to the music taking a few sips as he kept an eye around the establishment for anything out of the ordinary.

- Benny
The piano player was glad for a little rest as the sound of the guitar took its place, filling up the bar and making the attitude just a little bit more jovial. Most of the patrons became a little rowdy with the tune but the atmosphere remained tolerable.
"Mind if I offer you a drink, sir?" A passing waitress motioned to him with a smile, young looking and pretty faced. "For skills like that, i'll give you half off. Hell, you could probably make a name for yourself if you went and found Freddy Beagle."
- Cal
"Your drink, sir." A waitress put down a glass and a bottle with two cubes of ice in it before she left him to drink. It cost him about 4 Hds and 50 Skls (Skulls.) Everything seemed normal in the saloon, except for the fellow playing his guitar nearby and getting quite a lot of attention. The bounty board was on the wall beside the bar if he wanted to take a look at that.

Edric looked at the old man warily. "How about we discuss this over a drink?" Once he had been lead to a table in the back room, seated across from the old man, he spoke. "Name your price old timer." He was a bit hard for cash at the moment, but he figured he could pay him with the Private Investigation money. He'd give Glen the bounty money, it seemed fair considering that he was the PI and he was the Bounty Hunter.

With the girl who asked to hear the melody, Benny watched as the girl stepped away, winking and walked back to her friend. Benny continued on playing when a young pretty-faced waitress came by offering him a drink. Sure thing darlin...and I bet it taste better half price and with you servin it. he said still playing. The mention of a certain name made him raise an eyebrow Hm? Freddy Beagle? sounds familiar..but then again...I probably never heard of him...I take it he's a music man like me? he asked her.

The man who was playing poker earlier was listening in on their conversation.

Jack looked back at him quickly, spooked by his sudden appearance. His revolver let out another round as he jumped, causing him to drop it, and hold his ear due to the loud ringing. "R-Right....sorry, Sheriff, I just kind of forget sometimes, y'know?" He bent down, picked up the revolver, and placed it back in it's holster. "At least I'm a good shot with a Winchester....but I suppose anyone can be." Jack gently placed the bowler back on his hat and approached Sheriff Mullins. "The boys we got locked up in the cells didn't cause any trouble last night and everything appeared to be in order this morning, sir." Reporting everything was something that Jack was very inclined to do, just to give the job of Deputy a more..."formal" type of work, which suited him just fine.

The Cavalier's condescending smirk finally left his face as he followed the older man and Edric to a table in the back of the saloon. His smirk was replaced with a now stale face of both seriousness and focus. He remained standing as he folded his arms and leaned himself up against a wall next to Edric's chair, listening intently to any information the man had about Abner Hogan. Glenn was paying very close attention to the ragged looking man, as he could tell from both the way he walked and smelled, had been drinking one too many beers. The older intoxicated man could easily be bullshitting them, but then again, someone's life was at stake... and Glenn knew he couldn't walk away from this lead if Hogan had kidnapped somebody.

Glenn spoke up before the intoxicated man could respond to Edric's question about price, "But make no mistake, if we pay you and you give us faulty information..." Johnson leaned off the wall, unfolding his arms and dropping his right hand to his holster where his Colt Single Action Army was being held. "I'll make damned sure you don't live to see sunset." He threatened, taking a step forward toward the man to emphasize his point.

Simon immediately took note of a particular bounty: Mourner Muldoon, worth 250 Hds. Without a second thought, he tore the poster from the wall, folding it into the inner pocket of his duster. The smell of alcohol suddenly became very rich, however, and Simon turned slightly to take notice of him. The old man was trying to steal away a great opportunity from him by speaking the younger two individuals. Information about Abner Hogan. Jackpot, the Bounty Hunter thought. As the two walked towards a table, Simon feigned apathy as he walked away to the bar. He would keep his attention on them, but for the mean time...

"Bartender," he began, his voice a dark and raspy baritone. "A tall glass of water." Simon slammed 5 Hds onto the table. "And a little extra if ye can tell me anythin' 'bout one Mourner Muldoon." He added, his lips twitching into something akin to a smile.

Good thing I have my ears open, otherwise I might have to worry 'bout my finances.

- Jaron and Glenn
The older gentlemen let out a wheezy laugh as he sat with them, the jovial attitude in the bar still surrounding them.
"Ya think a codger like me would try ta swindle two fellas with irons on their hips? Boy, where you think this is, Taurus?!" He laughed some more, banging the table with a fist before he stopped and briefly scratched his nose. "For pay, i'll just take another round of ale from the bar. Do me that, and i'll show ya this little trinket." From a coat pocket, he drew a piece of crumpled paper and flattened it out on the table. He covered the rest of it with his hands so they could just see the first line.
"Dear Libby." It read. Something Jaron would recognise quickly, the name of the daughter whom had run away with Abner. The old man had some legitimate proof, by the looks of it.

- Benny
"Ya don't know Freddy Beagle? As in, Lightning News Freddy Beagle, the radio show host?" The waitress asked, clearly confused someone wouldn't know such the name. "They call him the voice of Ravage. He gets musicians to play on his show all the time when he's not spinnin' records. Heck, some of em even get to print records an' sell em if the ratings are high!" She said chipperly, briefly absconding from the table to bring him back a glass with a bottle of the bar's best ale, only asking for 2 Hds and 50 Skls for it.

- Jack
"Cripes boy, you're so trigger happy it's working it's way into your nerves!" The sheriff joked in an honest fashion. His mustache leveled out with his mouth as they began to speak seriously. "Alright, good to hear. We got a lot of newcomers around today so keep yer eyes peeled just in case we get ourselves a brawl." He advised, tapping his foot slightly. "Now y'keep up the shooting when y'can but don't go putting holes in the windows agin. You know it's hard to replace on short notice." He headed out after that, leaving the deputy to his business.

- Simon
"Ahh, after that skeeving sunuva black devil, eh?" The bartender scoffed as he got Simon his glass and quickly swiped the money into a trouser pocket. "The man's an utter monster. Attacked a funeral procession and killed the lot of em, what I hear... if it's location you're after, I hear he's up north at the Happy Times Chapel. Place is long since abandoned." He continued, returning to glass polishing behind the bar.
From the wanted poster, Simon could get a little more perspective on Muldoon. The man was dressed in a black wide brimmed hat and was wearing priestly robes, but he bore a slight white beard and a withered face. Why this guy had the highest bounty on the wall, would be hard to see.

Benny thought for a moment and smirked I don't listen to the radio much but now the name is ringin a bell. I'm not quite sure if he'd want to take me in and give me the chance despite my skills. But it would make things easier for me money wise. he said, keeping the melody going. He watched as the girl went to bring him some ale. He stopped fro a moment and placed 2 Hds and 50 Skls on the table while playing again. Say darlin, do you suppose, he'd take in anyone with talent regardless of their reputation or past?

Cal gave a little thought to the bounty board after having some of his drink, after all he really didn't have much to lose getting a bit of extra money while doing to town a service. This roused him up from his seat to have a look at the criminals on tap more focused on what they did and if they were wanted alive or not. It was a practical interest to know your prey or at least their habits before going after them, not least how far they are willing to go to stay free.

Who in tarnation is called Jaggy? Cal thought offhandedly while reading through the three remaining bounties.

- Benny
"I reckon' so! I mean, he put up Ricky Righter, that guy was serving a death sentence and they kept his last song on the records." The waitress continued to explain. The name was a familiar one. Ricky Righter's "Dead Man Speak" was a hot record, copies of it commanded prices over 20,000 Hds. "So long as ya don't go threatening him, I bet ol' Freddy would be glad to have you." she smiled pleasantly.

- Cal
The three remaining wanted posters gave him a general idea of the three targets.
Jaggy was a jagged toothed man with a fur collar coat, wanted for robbery and murder. Apparently he has a knack for cutting up bodies of his victims, before and after killing them. Wanted dead or alive.
Brett Rindstock was a moustachied man in a wide brimmed hat, smoking a cigar. He was once a member of a gang of robbers, since disbanded, wanted for his old crimes. Wanted alive.
Rhonda the Miscreant appeared as a dirty faced woman with ragged hair, brunette... she looked like she was in her 40s. According to the paper, she was wanted for association with a bandit gang and having gone on mad killing sprees since then. Wanted dead or alive.