The only distinguishing feature on Samuel J. Foster is that his nose is longer than the usual snub; and it's seemed to keep him out of trouble; or maybe it's his indistinguishable features that have kept him pinned as a wall flower when it comes with appearances. Whatever the case, Samuel's only been caught in one scandal, and the rest is just smoke easily stomped out with a good pair of leather boots.

To be more precise, plain dusty brown or black leather boots with high waist knickers tucked into the shaft. It's hard to tell the color with the amount of wear and tear the pair has seen through the years, and it's amazing they're still together. In fact, Samuel thanks God every damn day they don't ever need much repair.

Speaking of legs; Samuel's are the long and sturdy sort with a slight bull curve, and his back is finely tuned; it's easy to tell through his musty seeming white shirt and black jacket when he bends his waist properly, all good and ready to snipe another wild game in the head. His hands are large and square with blonde hairs that travel up his strong arms. He has one of those bodies with square shoulders and a neck that's long, but at least, it stands up straight to hold an average looking face to a more handsome degree than if he was a slouched man.

Samuel wears the sort of clean shaven, square-jawed face only a man with a few secrets would hold. However, despite only having a few secrets, it's obvious that they are important ones, and he is not about to let himself slide from the railing for being such a goody two shoes. If anything, he'd rather keep his sins to a bare minimum and most importantly, to himself. His small hazel eyes tell a lot about him, like he minds who he watches, and he makes sure not to contemplate on any one person for too long lest their own actions will start to tarnish his soul. It's that sort of astuteness that keeps him looking keen, because all the fellows know him as a practical man with enough money to live far better than he does. Hell, he wears a tailored suit that even though it could be bursting at the seams, he wouldn't be too prideful to not be buried in it. God forbid something happened to him, let alone his suit, with the wear he wears those two boots of his.

If honesty was based on how a man crossed his diagonals over his zeros, Samuel would be considered a man who never told a lie, but typography is not always accurate. This is true of Samuel's first appearance. He has a studious tender look with a rough side that's worn on the age of his attire and occupation. The combination leaves him with the indistinguishable look of being average. He's usually seen with some sort of positive attribute on his face. He is not one to let his comrades down, but that's probably why he is not always the most honest fellow. He has a dark side that he hides, and sometimes the darkness is the inevitable truth. It takes a charlatan to keep such a persona afloat, and since Samuel isn't the most charismatic man, it's probably safe to assume a lot of his frustration is taken out during his line of work since he's rarely seen getting too easy going at the pubs.

It also takes a strong man to keep the dark truths from seeing the light of day. Samuel may only be an inch over six feet, but his keen persona takes his burly stance to a status that keeps him from having to roll with too many punches, since its rare to ever have any thrown at him. It helps he doesn't frequent the places where the brawls happen. However, he's never been called a flamboyant man for skipping these places. (At least, to his face.)

There are other negative parts about him that genuinely have a raise for concern such as some suspicious relationship with former Russian resident Mikhail Nuchovich's wife. Of course, after all the tragedy surrounding the incident, there were too many things with a ability to be spoken against the truth. Granted, this did cause for some darkness to lay a resting head on the broad shoulders of the Western man. He may not have been perfect, but by golly, he sure ain't all that toxic either. Therefore, with all his good intentions, he always plans to use them to the best of his abilities whether he fails sometimes or not... Just wait until you see how he rides his horse and sling his gun; and you'll be darn tootin' sure to believe there's a heart of gold in him.

Big Game Hunting is known as a cruel sport, but with Samuel James Foster, the son of James Raymond Foster Jr., Hunting's a right of passage into manhood. Every year, his father would travel up to Northern States and hunt the Northern Game. The ones in California gave him wealth, but exotic ventures were never without their royalty. One year, Samuel had the honors. It was one of those moments that defined him as a person. One part of him died, while the other part of him flourished. He remembers wanting to cry at the way they were cruelly slaughtered, while the other part of him wanted to honor his father, the man his family missed every year when he left for Ashfork, only to come home with enough fur to make all of his absence a dream. There wasn't any way Samuel was turning around. He'd run from other things, like monsters in the Californian woods or his older sister's friend that never seemed to give him the right sort of mind like her other friends did. (Probably, because he was older and always had a scowl on his face.) Samuel choked back his childish fears, and he shot his first antelope. It was the worst and messiest job he ever did, at least with killing animals.

Around 1843 or 1844 (when the Mexican-American Civil War was just beginning to awaken), Samuel began friending some of the Russian fur traders during Hunting Season in the none other than Ashfork. These hunters and traders had some other thing about them that drove his curiosity. He supposed it was their way of life or he something, but more importantly, one of the guys Mikhail Nuchovich was good friends with some pretty Russian gal named Ester. She had not just a timeless look to her, but she was fluent in not just Russian and English but Greek, Arabic, and Latin, as well. He thought she was really pretty and quite a fine young gal if he ever knew how to properly recognize one, and right when he thought about getting serious with her, she disappeared with some mysterious Russian man named Ivan Kiglay, without a word. She left some cryptic note behind, but it made little sense and spoke more to his friend Mikhail, who at once took up his most of his personal belongings and left to Russia, leaving behind his wife, Olga and two children Sasha and Kisa in Samuel's care.

Mikhail's wife birthed Mikhail's third child Andrei during the man's absence. Of course, there was stipulation that the child was even his. Letters from Mikhail promised his return and his absolute loyalty to Samuel's word, despite rumors trying to spread against his wife. He wrote that he had been caught in business that would not allow him to return for some time. However, in 1849, almost exactly a year into the promising Gold Rush, Mikhail made his way back to the States for Russian Nativity. The man looked as if he had seen a ghost or been through some turbulent times. Although, when questioned, Mikhail explained the wonders of innovation that Rus was undergoing.

The Nuchovich family's life went back to normal upon Mikhail's return, despite Mikhail seeming strangely unstable mentally. He denied anything was wrong, and many of the folks thought it was the rumors revolving around the third child Andrei. Despite all, it was Samuel that Mikhail was found to trust the most with his intimate information, and Samuel made sure to make the best of what was left of their estranged relationship. However, it was the sudden death of Andrei that caused the biggest storm. The cause of the death was strange, and no one had any clear answers. It was assumed the boy wandered out and was murdered by whomever was murdering all the townsfolk. After the incident, Olga completely lost her use for the States and demanded that they go back to Russia. She claimed that if they had moved to the States for a more profitable life, they had now less than when they had arrived. Mikhail seemed more paranoid over the incident than at a tragic loss, but he agreed with his wife — the wild west was too wild.

Mikhail promised Samuel that he would keep in touch, and with that, Samuel was left to himself, again. To make matters a bit more devastating, Mikhail never wrote back, but Samuel decided he didn't really mind too much that he never heard from them. It was better to keep that door closed as he saw the prospects of other possible relations flourish and diminish with the mass migration and mass murders. He was beginning to suspect the Russians were behind this and not the Indians, but then again, what did he know? At age twenty-seven, he's just the goody two shoes Samuel J. Foster, single and free with no care in the world now that his only son had been stabbed dead in the middle of the night, right?

William McDougal

46

Bartender/owner of the saloon

William has a somewhat round face with black hair and a black beard which he keeps short. His body shows the evidence of a life of abundance. With a wife who can cook well, a love for strong alcohol, and a low physical activity, chubby is the word of choice.

He usually wears a light-brown waistcoat over a white shirt, with a silver watch in one of the pockets, secured to the waistcoat with a silver chain. His pants match the vest and his boots are of a fine quality leather. His eyesight has gotten worse over the years, so when he needs to read or write he wears spectacles.

Sociable is one of the first things people would call him. William enjoys tending the bar at the saloon, listening to the patrons, talking to them, and laughing with them. He is generally a good-natured, calm and patient man, but every man has his limits and he keeps a revolver on his belt and a shotgun under the bar for when those limits are reached. And anyone laying a finger on his wife or daughter will soon learn his broad figure doesn’t contain just fat, he is capable to fight and will do so when his loved-ones are in danger. In a saloon with drunk men, and an increased amount of outsiders with different backgrounds, it regularly happens he must break up fights or throw people out.

Speaking of the different backgrounds, William will serve all customers, regardless of the colour of their skin or the shape of their head. As long as they can pay for their drinks, they are welcome in his saloon. His grandfather would certainly not agree with that attitude, but William prefers profit over xenophobia. As he likes to say “Money is money, it doesn’t matter what hand it comes from.”

Being good-natured and easy to talk to, the patrons often confide into him and he will keep whatever they tell him to himself. Breaking their trust is bad for business after all, although he is less worried about that with outsiders. Any information the miners share with him is available for other miners, for a price.

He accepts bribes when offered, depending on what they are for. If they don’t go against his own morals, he has no issue taking them.

When it comes to card games, they happen frequently in the saloon. When people get drunk and things get heated, he will intervene before they start breaking things. And while he can generally tell who cheats at cards, he usually only intervenes when he knows a victim really can’t afford to lose, or when the cheater is an outsider and the victim is a local. Maybe he doesn’t care what colour the hand carrying money has, but he does care more for the people of Ashfork than he does for the outsiders who are only interested in the riches of the volcano.
He enjoys playing poker himself, with a group of trusted friends, but they never play for money.

The McDougals have lived in Ashfork for several generations. Williams father, Duncan Sr., owned the saloon before him, and before that the saloon belonged to his grandfather, who had bought the saloon from the old owner.

As a child William often went out with his older and younger brother, Duncan Jr. and Angus, playing in the area and riding on horseback to explore the surroundings, while his sister Mary stayed at home. When his brothers were old enough and had earned enough money, they left for the big city. William hasn’t heard from them since, he stayed at Ashfork, working at the saloon of his family.

While Mary never went to play with him and their brothers, he has a good bond with her. They trust each other and will turn to each other when they need help.

During his childhood he made many friends, but only a few good friends and those were still his friends when they reached adulthood. To this day he and his friends get together twice a week after the saloon closes for a friendly game of poker.
Thus far William hasn’t made any enemies.

William fell in love with the Sarah, daughter of the blacksmith and a year later married they got married. Two of their four children survived their first three years of life. Their oldest child, a daughter, is called Lily-Ann, combining the two names of their mothers, their son got named Robert after Williams grandfather.

After his marriage his father retired and left him the saloon. He died a year later. His mother died a few years after that, but was able to help Sarah through her first pregnancy.

His children are old enough to help in the inn, his daughter Lily-Ann helps her mother with cooking, cleaning, and playing the piano, while his son Robert assists at the bar. Both know how to use a revolver and a knife and carry those with them.
William is already preparing his son to take over the place and Robert is eager to learn all the tricks of running a successful saloon.

Kathryn Elizabeth Gamble

24

Saloon Girl

A smokey eyed temptress. Her raven hair is as dark as her heart, and sweet promises glitter behind an emerald gaze that burns with seduction. Such promises will forever be unkept. Men look upon her body as a curvaceous temple of desire, inspiring their lust with the most effortless of motion. She may be slight of stature, but adeptly hidden is size of mind, hidden behind fair skin and the distraction of long legs. There can be no doubt that she too has the voice of an angel, moving hardened men to tears during dark and lonely nights... but, a cautious man is wise. The Devil often hides behind spellbinding beauty.

Elusive as the wind drifting through a clenched fist. Kathryn's mind is her own, and always her own. No man, or woman, shall ever enter past the gates of her spirit to understand the truths she keeps strictly locked. The door is closed, but mystery is welcomed.

Despite her distance, the lady of loose morals does not shy from conversation. On the contrary, conversation is her home, her kingdom, and her safe haven. It is land she owns without deed or title, territory that Kathryn knows like the hills and rivers of her Georgia homeland. The intimate secrets of desire, want, and dreams; she knows them. She knows their shape, and their form. Like a practiced musician, she plucks the chords at will. Sometimes kindly. Sometimes with malice. But, most often she does so in order to get what she wants.

Intimate with the tongue, and a stranger of the heart. A man never knows Kathryn, not truly.

There was not a man who did not desire her, and there was not a woman who did not wish to be her.

Kathryn Gamble was the youngest daughter born into the Gamble family, and she was also the favorite. The reasons why were self-evident. She was beautiful beyond compare, as graceful as God intended women to be, and blessed with conversational skill that made her the delight of high society. In every manner, Kathryn was the true image of a Southern Belle. It was her destiny to live a good, long, and happy life.

Destiny, however, is not always agreeable.

When the Northern Aggressors burned their way south during the last years of the war, Kathryn's Georgian home was among the many that turned to ash. Her parents were killed, and she became separated from her sisters. Whatever wealth and status that she once had was as much rubble as her lavish estate. Death and loss was not all that scarred the young woman. The absence of her wealth, and her wealth alone would have been a kindness...

A soldier's touch is not remembered fondly.

In desperate straits, a woman of pleasant looks turns to the darker side of living. It was not so bad, or so she would say. Just men. Men she could predict. Men she could handle, and use. Sometimes, Kathryn felt as though life in a saloon was akin to life at an extravagant party. This time, though, there was less class and proper attire. It was what it was, and what it was was money for her purse.

When she acquired enough, Kathryn turned west with an eye on the promise of gold. She took residence in Ashfork, and went back to her Saloon ways. There were men of interest there, and men of means. Perhaps, with their help, the Gamble name would mean something again.

But first, Kathryn needed them in order to stay alive.

Theodora Shockley, neé Lorrazzo. Close friends, and close friends only, may call her Teddy.

28

Well, technically, Teddy is unemployed, but anyone who has ever interacted with her knows that she's not the kind to just sit back and let her husband take care of everything. She's his partner in business, if anything (though "partner" might be too, er, friendly of a word), and is definitely not afraid to make her opinion heard on how dear Frankie ought to be spending her family's money.

Teddy is certainly not considered pretty, back at home in London-first of all, her father was Italian, meaning that she has a rather....swarthy complexion (honestly, though. Italian, of all things? Even French would have been better!). She is also taller than what is considered proper for a woman, at around five feet and nine inches, which is also something she suspects that she inherited from her godforsaken father-her mother is quite petite.

In fact, Teddy is fairly certain that all her physical characteristics were from her Italian father. She has an unruly mane of dark, curly hair that falls halfway down her back (which is usually arranged in whatever hairstyle is currently in fashion; typically the latest updo out of Paris. Updos, she finds, are quite convenient when one's hair has a tendency to get in one's eyes), expressive eyebrows, and a nose that is slightly too large for her face, which happens to be rather square-ish. Her features are more "strong" than "delicate", an effect that is certainly not aided by her olive-colored complexion. None of her three step-brothers have this problem, of course; all of them look like her mother, meaning that they are blonde and blue-eyed with milky complexions.

Well, whatever. Teddy doesn't dwell on what she can't change. She does believe in following all the current fashions, of course, as any proper Englishwoman should, even if she follows the current fashions a tad too closely (she's by no means a creative person, after all). Teddy favors darker colors and more sensible ensembles, and she has a somewhat peculiar love for parasols-they're quite useful for whacking people upside the head with, is her defense. She carries herself with an air of brisk authority, as if she were a self-righteous matron twice her actual age, and has the unfortunate habit of brandishing her parasol about as if it were a sword or some kind of weapon that actually had any effect on people other than her silly, foppish step-brothers.

Teddy is practical and pragmatic and gets things done. She values efficiency and a good work ethic, and she is not afraid to speak up in order to get her point across. Teddy is a veritable battle-axe of a woman-she will get what she wants, even if she has to constantly harangue an unfortunate soul to do so. Teddy never takes no for an answer; she is the indomitable Theodora Shockley, and she will do what she came here to do, albeit in the most polite way possible.

Ever the realist, Teddy has no patience for people with dreamy delusions of what life actually is. Still, though, she wouldn't say she believes that people are inherently evil, and she does, after all, have morals. She is a stickler for proper manners and etiquette, and will be very offended should somebody behave in an impolite way towards her...and really, Teddy tries her best to be as polite as possible, but sometimes it just doesn't work, you know?

Blunt and straightforward, Teddy says what she wants, when she wants to. Of course, the wording may be perfectly proper for a high society tea party, but the underlying meaning would be perfectly clear. She doesn't have time to deal with anybody's nonsense, and she has the unfortunate habit of interfering in everyone's business; she's quite the meddler. Teddy considers herself to be a rather logical and rational person; she has not one bit of creativity in her, which has never bothered her in the slightest. Instead, she tries to look at things objectively and analyze all the possible courses of action. Teddy can be surprisingly perceptive, despite her lack of subtlety, and quite observant-she'll always notice when somebody is wearing last season's fashions, for example.

Teddy is about as covert as a sledgehammer. She has no regard for one's "finer feelings" and "sensitivities"-she says what she means, head-on, without any subtlety whatsoever. She always insists on being perfectly civil, though, even if her civility is tinged with a bit of good old-fashioned sarcasm. She has a breezy, brusque way of going about her business, and she can and will order other people around with the expectation that they'll do as she says. Teddy is very grounded, and very matter-of-fact, and she hates feeling like things are out of her control.

Lastly, Teddy is very, very prosaic. Unimaginative, uninspired, whatever you want to call it-the fact of the matter is, Teddy has no creative skill whatsoever. She likes to dance, yes, but that doesn't mean she is going to be creating variations on the waltz anytime soon. She can't sing, can't paint, can't play a musical instrument...and if she's writing anything, it will be just as blunt and matter-of-fact as she is. Teddy can’t stand flowery metaphors and embellished allusions to ancient Greek classics; she would rather jump off a cliff than read some of the romance novels that are currently popular.

Theodora's father, a certain Rodrigo Lorrazzo, was, quite unfortunately, of Italian descent...an affliction that could not be cured, to be sure, though he did die. Teddy never met him; something about a carriage accident during the first months of her mother's pregnancy. Ah, well. Life goes on.

Her mother, now called Cecilia Lintwyll, was a proper young lady, in the most typical sense of the word, and she had the blonde hair and blue eyes and delicate features to pull it off. However, Teddy certainly did not take after her mother in neither appearance nor demeanor, much to Cecilia's chagrin. Teddy thinks her mother is a twit-why does that woman insist on complaining to her about her nose, and her complexion, and her general....Italian-ness? It wasn't Teddy who decided to marry an Italian and have a daughter, for goodness' sake.

It wasn’t long after Teddy was born that her mother re-married. It was not proper for a woman as young and pretty as Cecilia was to be already a widow, especially not during the London season, when she could have been mistaken for any one of the debutantes despite the fact she had already found (and lost) a husband. And so Teddy had a stepfather by the time she was three months old, and she had three stepbrothers (one was only a year and a half younger than her, and the other two were twins. Very irritating twins) by the time she was five.

Of her three stepbrothers, Teddy was the closest to Vincent (or "Vinnie"), who grew to be a bit of a dandy in his own right. Teddy finds the twins silly and foppish, even if the older of the two is more rakish than strictly proper. Teddy likes Vinnie, and she tolerates the twins. It could be worse.

As a child, Teddy was a voracious reader, and she took an interest into altogether unladylike topics such as science-imagine her mother's horror when she found her daughter reading such forbidden topics as geology! Teddy wasn't quite sure why Cecilia almost fainted at the sight of her studying a book on rocks; what were the rocks going to do, jump out of the pages and kidnap her?

Of course, when she was of the age to debut, Teddy's forceful personality immediately repelled any potential suitors...not that she particularly minded. A couple years passed, and Teddy became a spinster in her own right once she reached the wizened age of twenty-five. Contrary to her mother, Teddy found that she rather liked being unmarried. She was free to take tea wherever she pleased, with whoever she pleased, and heavens' forbid that she have children. Teddy was certainly not the mothering type, as any one of her acquaintances could tell you.

Throughout the years, Teddy's meddling nature earned her both friends and enemies. She likes to think that she's quite friendly with some of the dandies Vinnie knows, in all their high-heeled, frock-coated glory; and indeed, her brother's friends do love to give her invaluable advice on the newest fashions out of Paris. Teddy's mother thinks she's a little too friendly with them, of course, but Teddy has always waved aside her concerns aside.

"Mother," she once told Mrs. Lintwyll, gravely, "if you are worried that one of dear Vinnie's friends may try to make impolite advances on my virtue, you needn't worry. I should believe that they are too preoccupied with making impolite advances on each other to have any interest in me."

That had sent poor Cecilia Lintwyll into a fit of hysterics, giving Teddy ample time to escape her mother's dainty, well-manicured clutches.

Teddy finally got married when she was twenty-seven. Her stepfather had seemed quite proud of himself for arranging the match, and Mrs. Lintwyll was ecstatic...though perhaps a tad less so when she found out that Teddy's husband-to-be was a scrawny, balding seventy-year-old man (from America, of all places. America!).

Teddy, for her part, was nonplussed. The wedding was a fine affair, in Teddy's opinion-the food was quite divine-and Vinnie had found her the most beautiful Worth gown to wear at the altar. As for her husband? Well, Frank Shockley was a perfect twit, but Teddy didn't mind. He'd married her for her money (her Italian father had been quite wealthy, if a bit eccentric, and, well...Italian), that much was clear, but he was also a small, sniveling man who seemed to perpetually have a cold. He was so pathetic that Teddy almost felt sorry for him.

Teddy soon learned that dear Frankie's dream was to become a real estate tycoon back in America. Teddy wasn't sure why he was trying to accomplish such a goal at seventy years old, but she was perfectly fine with having the opportunity to explore America, even if it meant leaving her beloved tea houses all the way back in London. Teddy didn't know that much about America, besides the fact that they liked to fight other people-how perfectly gauche; why fight somebody when you could simply shame them into doing something?-but what put Teddy off the most about Americans was their utter lack of quality tea. Teddy didn't know how she would survive without her tea.

In any case, her dear husband has decided that Ashfork would be the location of his new luxury hotel (built using Teddy's money, naturally), and so Teddy has accompanied him to the tiny frontier town. It is not particularly to her liking; besides the fact that they have no tea, Americans are also quite impolite, and their accents are atrocious-but Teddy has agreed to stay in the States for the remainder of the year, so she doesn't really have a choice. The only thing she can do is hope and pray that her dearest husband succumbs to the cold that constantly plagues him-the sooner the better.