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Outlaws Til the End - A Wild West RP

With the gun fight over and the ground being littered with dead bodies, there was only one thing left to do for Ben and that was searching the dead for any and all kind of things that could be useful. So far he had found a few rounds of bullets, a letter to some girl with added picture (she looked mighty fine!), a pack of cigarettes and a finely crafted silver pocket watch, which he quickly stashed away in the pocket of his vest. All in all some fine prizes after a job well done. He heard Elijah's voice while he was checking on a sound coming from a nearby body who seemed to be not so dead. Without turning his head and without keeping his eyes from the wounded man he answered Elijah.

"Sure thing, boss!"

The wounded man grunted in pain and raised his eyes towards Ben, who knelt down beside him with a grin, in fear. "Yer bein' awfully rude, interrupting the boss. Hush." He placed his hand over the mouth of the man and took his knife out of the leather sheath on his belt. "Hush now." He said again as the man started to struggle, realizing what was going to happen to him. A few moments later the struggling was over, the light from his eyes had faded and Ben had watched it happen. He pulled the knife out of the chest of the now dead man and wiped the blade on his clothes. "I'm done here anyways." He said to Elijah as he got up and walked towards John.

"Ya sure you'll be able to ride in yer condition there, John?" He pointed out the wound on his side. "Yer not lookin' too good. Let's pray those hicks in McKinley have a good doctor in town with at least a small notion on how to treat bullet wounds."

Feather had run off, probably finding its mistress, leaving Ben without a horse so he decided to take the one from Jamie instead. The boy had no need of it anymore anyway. Nasty business and a bloody shame but such was life. One moment your running around enjoying life and the next your six feet under. Ben sighed as he got on the horse, patting the neck of the animal. They rode off, Ben slightly behind John, keeping a close eye on him. "Ya know, I can hold the reins for ya if its too hard to hold them." He said teasing John. It could earn him a punch to the face later but Ben did not care.

As he had expected the wagon was not at the place where he had left them, certain they had made it to town already. Maybe that would be a good thing because if they had arrived all together, the women and both Ben and a wounded John, it would have drawn unwanted attention to everyone. Even know it would for Ben and John but at least the women would have nothing to worry about. Perhaps Ben could say it was a hunting accident or a bandit attack, which was not far from the truth, leaving the part they were a rival gang of course.

I hope the womenfolk did not run into trouble while we were gone

Outlaws Til the End - A Wild West RP

They were riding hard, Ben hanging low in the saddle of the white mare miss Blackthorne had lovingly named Feather. Though he was not used to ride any other horse but his own, Feather proved to be very nimble. A fine horse indeed. The colour of the mare however would stick out like a sour thumb if he would gallop into the fight guns blazing and he sincerely hoped no one would get the funny idea of putting some holes into him or the horse, plastering the white with shades of red.

The horse was foaming at her mouth and shook her head as the sound of rapid firing came closer. Ben felt glad and confident having both Pete and Elijah there. Who ever would be waiting out there, they would not stand a chance.

Ben quickly dismounted as they arrived and slapped the horse's rear to chase it away so it would not catch a stray bullet. Pete, always the first and always ready, already provided them with covering fire. Ben ran behind some boulder, keeping his head down, rifle in hand. He felt the adrenaline rushing through his veins and he laughed out loud. These guys will never know what hit them

He exhaled and carefully aimed with his rifle from behind the boulder, pulling the lever and squeezing the trigger in a fluid motion. He shot the hat off of one of the attackers, with a second later the next shot through his head. The man fell like a rag doll and in his death fired a shot in the air as his finger twitched on the trigger of his pistol. Ben watched it with amusement before he had to duck behind cover again when pieces of debris flew in his direction where bullets hit the boulder he was hiding behind.

"The cavalry has arrived ya bastards!" He yelled and he took off to find another boulder to take cover behind, all the while shooting from the hip. He was having fun.

He was making his way over to John but also closer to the other gunslingers who must've been in quite a disarray now that the trio had arrived.

Outlaws Til the End - A Wild West RP

There was trouble in the air. Ben could smell it on the wind as trouble was the keyword to trigger his senses. He narrowed his eyes and looked back over his shoulder towards the sounds. Those were definitely gunshots. He had heard plenty during his life as an outlaw to mistake it for anything else but that. A gunfight. Another gang that had ran into a posse of lawmen? The shots were too many to be those of hunters.

Suddenly he remembered that some of the gang had gone out to hunt and had not returned when Ben and the others had left for McKinley, one of them being John Blackthorne.

Damn. Damn. DAMN!

"Check if your guns are loaded, ladies." He said as he took his rifle from his lap and cocked the lever. He was sitting shotgun next to Gus who was driving the wagon and he shifted on his seat with every shot that rang. He felt torn to what he should do. He was aching to go and take a look but Elijah had said that he had to keep an eye on the women. He cursed once again but louder this time. His eyes went to Kira while he wondered if she was thinking what he was thinking or rather feared. They had barely left camp and now this. If he had known the day would start like that...

Finally he made up his mind and jumped down from the wagon, gritting his teeth. His blood was pumping in his veins and he could feel the pounding of his heart in anticipation for what was going to come.

"Miss Blackthorne! Let me borrow yer horse for a moment and get into the wagon. No complainin'. Jus' do what I say!" He held out his hand to help her down as quick as she was able to. "Miss Annabelle! You take my place next to Gus! Keep the wagon going but do not rush. I'm sure even you can manage that Gus. I'll be back soon."

S̴T̴O̴R̴M̴C̴L̴O̴A̴K̴ : Rise of Tyranny (SHELVED, PM or DM me for inquiry.)

15th of Sun's Dusk 4E 205, on route and around Windhelm

Dar'jhan felt tired, his feet hurting from the journey. The first part had been easy, with the roads that ran through the grassy hills and green fields, well taken care of along the White River. The second part was harder where he had to sneak past Fort Amol, afraid an arrow would be fired at him from the ramparts. When snow had began to fall and the temperatures dropped to very low levels, he was glad to secure some place to warm himself and sleep at Mixwater mill. Dar'jhan never really could get used to the cold and often wondered how the people could even live here. As he continued his journey in the morning that followed, everything around him had been covered by the snow, at times he could not even see the road anymore. He felt as if it had all been much easier when he was in the company of his fellow Khajiit. More than often he had cursed under his breath, himself for being foolish to undertake the journey, the snow when he slipped and Ulfric Stormcloak. At times he even cursed loudly not caring if someone would hear him. Everytime he quickly turned quiet again, eyes and ears on the road while being reminded of the occasional Stormcloak patrol from which he hid as soon as he caught wind of them. His keen sense of smell and hearing helping to evade them. It had shown him how dangerous this journey had become, especially when he could see the city in the distance and he was nearing the lion's den. Or rather the bear's cave.

Four days ago, he had been standing in front of the massive gates of Whiterun. The eyes of the guards in Stormcloak attire ever watching his every move. If it had not been for Brandr Stone-Biter, who had accompanied him and had given the guards his word he would keep an eye on him, he wouldn't have made it through the gates or even out of the hands of the guards. The city itself had looked beautiful to Dar'jhan, who had never been inside before, but it had felt as cold as the snow on the highest mountains and it had made Dar'jhan feel even less welcome. At the palace of the jarl, Dragonsreach, the guards had told him to wait outside, which he did for many hours before another guard came to tell him that the jarl was absent. Disappointed Dar'jhan and Brandr had gone to the Bannered Mare to get a drink or two, where Brandr had told the Khajiit about his warrior days during the Great War. The Nord had been a great warrior but those days had been long gone, he had said between two gulps of his mead.

The day after it had been even worse. This time Brandr had to bribe the guards to get Dar'jhan inside and he had to wait even longer outside of Dragonsreach only to be told that the jarl was not seeing anybody that day. Once more they had ended the day in the Bannered Mare.

The third day, the guards had taken the bribe, yet they had not wanted to let him inside. It had taken all of Brandr's powers of persuasion that they had to see the jarl, for them to finally agree but not before one of them had asked Dar'jhan with a smirk if somebody had stolen his sweet roll. The nerve. Dar'jhan had been fuming and it had been because of Brandr that he had not taken out his sword and ran it through the guard. This time they were taken to the jarl where Dar'jhan finally had been allowed to tell his story and ask for the aid of the jarl. However before he had finished the story, the jarl had waved his hand and had simply said, in a very tired voice, that they would look into it.

Dar'jhan had let himself be led to the Bannered Mare once more by Brandr, feeling depressed and angry. For almost the entire evening he had not spoken a word or touched his ale while Brandr had done his best to cheer him up. It had helped a little bit and he had been able to smile slightly again. Dar'jhan had asked in earnest why Brandr had been doing all of this for him, a stranger and a Khajiit and Brandr being a Nord. Then Brandr had told him that during the Great War, a Khajiit had saved his life and that by doing this for Dar'jhan he had felt like he was somehow returning the favour. It had made Dar'jhan respect the older Nord even more. Then one of the guards had come in, who Dar'jhan recognized to be the one from the gate, ready to spend the money he had gotten from Brandr to let the Khajiit in. A devious smile had formed on his face as Dar'jhan saw what the guard ordered and he got up from his chair. The guard had been sitting near the door, his eyes not towards him but distracted by the Nord woman close by. Before Dar'jhan left through the door, he had quickly swiped something of the plate of the guard while he was still distracted and checked his prize outside: A sweet roll.

A few moments later someone had tapped his shoulder and Dar'jhan had almost been worried that it had been the guard but instead it had been a young woman. She quickly had given him a letter stating that he had dropped it and before Dar'jhan had the time to reply, she had already left. The letter had said that certain people had taken an interest in him, that they might be able to help him with his problem and he could help them with theirs. He had to go to Windhelm and meet at the stables there on the 15th of Sun's Dusk. It had all felt strange to Dar'jhan and perhaps it was a trap but he had decided he had nothing to lose so he told Brandr he had to leave. The Nord had been understanding and had merely nodded, giving him some supplies and dried meat for his travels. Dar'jhan had given the sweet roll to Ulfhild and thanked both her and her father for what they had done for him. One day he would repay them, this he promised.

Now he was standing in front of the stables where he was supposed to meet. A cold wind was blowing and he shivered as he stood there looking around.

“You're late.” Said a voice coming from behind him. “Others are already there.”

It was the same woman from Whiterun, though he hardly recognized her. She was wearing the Stormcloak blues and Dar'jhan took a step back afraid that indeed he had walked into a trap. Though it looked like she was alone, still he was cautious. She saw the look in his eyes and grinned.

“All part of the ruse. Just trust me, alright? I'm from the resistance against Ulfric Stormcloak. If you're interested to help us out, I'm sure we can help you as well.” She took a few steps in his direction as he relaxed a bit from her words but when she grabbed a pair of iron shackles his eyes turned wide again, ears flat against his head while moving a hand to his sword.

“All part of the ruse.” She said once more in a calm voice. “I swear, you Khajiit are so jumpy. I need to get you inside the city so you will be playing my captive.” She let out a sigh as if she was getting bored telling him all this information. He gave her another look, grunted and decided to play along.

The city guards at the gate found it very amusing to see a shackled Khajiit being harshly pushed forward towards them, captured by a fellow Stormcloak. Dar'jhan liked it less so but he played his part as was expected of him. He was introduced to them as a Khajiit turncoat, ready to spill the beans about the Thalmor to Ulfric Stormcloak and they gladly opened the doors after spatting on the ground in front of him.
The woman led him, still shackled, through what looked to Dar'jhan as a maze of narrow alleyways until she stopped in front of a house. It looked as cold and broken down as the rest of the small houses nearby and he hoped that at least they would have a fire burning inside.
She opened the shackles quickly and knocked on the door of the house.

“I hope the meeting hasn’t started yet. Others have arrived before you already.”
“Who are these others?” Dar’jhan asked as he raised his eyebrows.
She grinned at him. “You’ll soon find out. Good luck in there.”

The door opened up and he got pushed inside the dimly lit and sparse furnished room. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the other people in the room. He took a few steps closer to the fireplace, glancing at those present as he was sure they did the same. His eyes lit up and he flashed a grin.

It seems i'll be joining allongside all kinds of men and mer, he thought. At least there is no Argonian...

Outlaws Til the End - A Wild West RP

“And he is right.” Came the calm, almost cold, reply to Claudia. “We're all gonna miss them boys but Elijah is right. 'T is the life of an outlaw. We all live and die by the gun.” He did not look at her but instead kept his eyes to his bowl and put another spoon in his mouth. For a few moments they sat there in silence, to each their own thoughts. More joined them around the cooking pot, amongst them the young and very pregnant miss Blackthorne. Ben had his own opinions on having pregnant women running with the gang but he kept them firmly to himself in case his words would grant him the wrath of said woman or her man. Especially when the man was John Mercer Blackthorne. Ben had seen what John had done to face of some stupid excuse of a man who had spoken ill of his wife. Not even his own mother would have recognized the poor fool when John was done with him.

And even though Ben Masters did not have a mother anymore, he still was very fond of his own face.

His eyes rested on miss Blackthorne's belly and he wondered how it would work out to be on the run, with how things were now, with a newborn baby among them. But those were worries for the parents and perhaps Elijah but Ben knew their leader would find a way to make it work. He always did.

He turned his eyes away to see Gus and Elijah walking over and joining the little breakfast menagerie they were having. Ben listened attentively to Elijah's words, nodding as he spoke or replying with a grunt. The thought of there being a rat in the gang angered Ben, it was something that had crossed his mind also but he could not think who could have the stones to rat them out to the Pinkertons. If Ben would ever find out if it was true and who had done it, they would not find enough left of that person to bury. He also had his ways.

Gus wanted to go into town to get drunk as usual, Annabelle needed supplies and the rest of the girls wanted some time away from it all, which Ben could not blame them for. Most of all he had wanted to go out and rob a coach or something similar, you know, to take the edge of but when Elijah ordered him to keep an eye on the girls, his mood went down a slight. He did not feel like playing the chaperone but he agreed.

“Alright, boss. Jus' need to get my shootin' iron and get myself ready to go. I'm sure the wagon will be ready by the time i'm back.” At that last part he nodded at Gus with a grin. On his way to his tent, he passed Peter who was still adjusting his belt.

“So finally awake from yer beauty sleep eh?” Ben laughed. Peter was a survivor, much like Ben, having lost his family at a young age and having to fend for himself. Ben could relate to that and he gladly took him with on jobs or when needing the extra gun.

By the time he had gone to his tent and put on his vest, hat, belt and holster and went back, Annabelle was already hooking her horse to the wagon. Ben looked to see if he saw Gus but heard Annabelle ask Pete if he wanted to come with. “The more the merrier I'd say. An extra pair of eyes and ears is always good to have.” He said as he slapped Peter's back and continued in a softer tone: “These women are quite the handful.”

He chuckled and walked towards the wagon. “Well then, boys and girls.” He lifted his hand in the air, pointing his index finger up and turned it around

“Saddle up and let's go! We are burning daylight!”

How to survive a dragon hatching

The pounding of hammer on an anvil in a steady beat had already been heard from before the rooster had crowed. To Erik it always sounded like music. The fire in his forge was burning hot and beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and arms. He had woken early that day, earlier than normally, because he had a lot of work to do still. Orders to fill. Ever since they had gotten to this new place they would call their home, there had been enough things to do. They needed nails to rebuild, hammers needed to be repaired, shovel blades forged and new hinges for the new doors. At least he had not been lacking the materials to do so and both smelter and forge had looked intact when they had arrived near a week ago, though the walls had to be rebuild but that was not something new. The place had been a real mess. What had happened here, Erik did not dwell on that topic long, his mind occupied with more important matters.

The roof of the house adjacent to the forge, the obvious choice for Erik to call his home, had collapsed on top of the previous owner and it had taken quite a few days before the rubble had been cleared out. Especially because of those pesky creatures he had to shoo away every now and then. One of them had even dared to eat the ores he needed for smithing. Both him and the dragon had roared loudly at each other but the only thing that had happened was that more dragons had come to look what was going on. After staring at Erik for some time, their eyes locked, the dragon had flown off with a last growl and had left the blacksmith alone. For now.

Erik grabbed a tong and put the nail he had just made with the rest. After all this was done perhaps he could finally make some swords or axes once more but for now he had to be happy with making whatever the clan needed from him. So much work still to do and so little time. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, got on his feet and stretched his back with a groan. His stomach rumbled and his throat felt dry and longed for a mug of mead and some food. But could he leave his forge unattended? He shrugged and sighed. Working on an empty stomach is never a good idea so he went to look if he could find something to quiet his hunger.

How to survive a dragon hatching

Erik Erikson

Name: Erik Erikson
Age: 35
Occupation: Blacksmith

Description: His hair is red, well taken care of, groomed and braided, same as his beard which is his pride. (Don't mess with the beard!) His eyes are green with an everlasting seriousness in them. He has a broad chest and muscular arms from working in his forge all day. Fair skinned though weathered a bit from the sun. His voice is deep and when speaking he often growls at the end or beginning of a sentence.

He wears a woollen tunic and trousers and when it is really cold a vest made out of all kinds of fur or a fur lined cloak. When he is working, he wears his leather blacksmith apron over his bare chest. (It does get hot in the forge) His trusty hammer he has always with him, hanging on his belt.

He walks with pride in his step but he doesn't strut. His chin up and chest puffed up. His mouth more often than not a straight line.

Abilities: Talents: He can throw his hammer as good as he can throw an axe. He never misses what he is aiming for. Blacksmithing skill and making all and everything from nails to weapons and armor. Drinking. Making sour faces.

Sucks at: Laughing or making jokes.

Precious belongings: His hammer which was passed on to him from his father. Has been in the family for many a generation. He does not wear a helmet, because of his hair. Goes into battle with a wooden buckler and axe. (The first one he made when he was still a child.)

Background:Erik comes from a long line of blacksmiths, ever since the founding of their previous village. Erik is called after his father, Erik Erikson, who is named after his father, Erik Erikson, and he is named after his father who, you guessed it, was also called Erik Erikson. Not really original am I right but the Erikson were never an original bunch nor were they very creative. They like tradition or what would pass for them as tradition. The blacksmith trade learned from father to son, every generation perfected it bit by bit and they consider their work as pieces of art.

An Erikson is known to never laugh and Erik is no exception. Rumour has it that the person who can make an Erikson laugh will be granted his wish and see it immediately fulfilled. Many have tried and all have failed. He can come across as grumpy because of that and most of the time you would be right but still he is always ready to heat up his forge to help or repair a clan member in need.

Other than his love for the forge, he also loves eating and drinking which can be seen on his well shaped belly.

On his good day, his frown is slightly less and he might whistle while working.

On his bad days, his frown is much like it always is and he pounds his hammer twice as fast and thrice as hard on the anvil.

He has a secret though and will possibly surprise you but...on every stormy night, he looks at his reflection in the mirror while holding his hammer proudly and pretends he is the God of Thunder himself.

Dragon: He never really thought about dragons. But the fiery breath of a dragon could keep the fires of the forge burn longer and hotter without the need of bellows....Hmm.

How to survive a dragon hatching

@WindsOfFate

*cough* looked to i'm afraid.

Was thinking about making a blacksmith myself. Been a blacksmith, just like his father and his fathers father all having the same name because they are not fond of change sowhat do you think of some friendly rivalry your character being creative while mine is more traditional?

Outlaws Til the End - A Wild West RP

Diary entry

Some crude drawings and sketches of a hanging man swinging from a branch, a man getting shot while pleading for his life but also a little bunny rabbit.

Ben woke up to the typical sounds and smells of a camp getting ready to start a new day. People were talking softly and passing by his tent while someone was coughing badly close by. He got up on one elbow and pushed aside the cloth that closed of the entry to his tent. The smell of coffee hung in the air and he stuck his head out the opening while squinting and sniffing the air, like a bear who had just woken up from his winter sleep. He yawned, closing off his mouth with the back of his hand before he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Few moments later he walked through camp in his boots, pants with suspenders and his white long johns, smoking a quirly on his way to relieve himself. A short distance from camp he found a tree he liked and unbuttoned his pants, letting out a sigh of bliss.

He washed his hands, face and hair in the cool water of the lake, pondering what a good spot it was they had picked to camp. He nearly wished they could stay here but that was not the life they wanted or had chosen for themselves, to be able to stay in one spot for long. He looked at his reflection in the water which was grinning back at him. He seemed older since last time he had stared at himself but perhaps that was because of him being tired still or because of what had happened during that bank job in Dodge City. They had lost Mack and Roy to the damn Pinkertons. Good and strong men both of them. Fighters. Though Roy could be a jackass at times, they would both be missed. Ben frowned and splashed the water in anger. Mack and Roy had still owed him five dollars each since their last poker game. Ten dollars he would not see anymore.

God DAMN Pinkertons!

He decided not too dwell on it anymore since it was of no use to do so. Dead is dead and life goes on. His empty stomach growled, just in time to hear the voice of Annabelle telling them there was breakfast. Ben went back with a smile on his face, grabbed a bowl and scooped some food from the kettle into his bowl. It smelled delicious as always when Annabelle cooked.

“Annabelle, ma Belle yer truly a godsend.” He said more to himself than to her since she was already gone doing other things. He sat himself down on a log near the pot, visibly enjoying his food. Soon he should check on Elijah and take over the lookout shift to guard the camp. All of them sincerely hoped that no Pinkerton, lawman or trigger happy bounty hunter followed them here. But if they did, Ben would be more than happy to put a few of them in the ground, granting them a one way ticket to hell. His fingers ached when he thought about it.

Miss McCullen came walking over to them, looking as radiant as ever. Ben ran his fingers through his, still a bit damp, hair. In her presence he always felt as if he was a boor and a mess. An ill mannered farm boy. In truth he was all of that. But he tried his best not to be when she was near.

“Mornin' Miss McCullen.” He said as he nodded to greet her. “Jus' dandy.” He put another spoonful into his mouth. “How about you?”