Tlaloc

What Are You Listening To?

Hello I'm a fan of Percy and I know all about it. I want to make friends and experience new friends.

I don't know who Percy is, but I hope he has a pleasant day; and I hope you do too, Ericson10.

A Question About Tabletop IntChecks

@Cleveraptor I don't think you're going to have a lot of luck with your endeavor. Generally GMs have a particular game world in their mind that they wish to tell their story in, and they won't accept a character as-is that was made without knowledge of the setting. Certainly, it's a huge ask to expect a group or GM to base their world around the ideal character you want to play. It smacks of "I want to play an RP my way, but I'm too rigid to bend to anyone else's desires."

That said, There's no rule forbidding an interest check like that. So... Try it?

@BrokenPromise

This is assuming OP's character isn't designed for a standardised tabletop setting like Forgotten Realms in D&D 5e, which is fairly commonly used on here.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

As they clambered into the cramped confines of the transport, and the doors slammed shut, any prospect of ridding himself of these charlatans escaped Viszt. He was a part of their game now, whether he liked it or not. Perhaps he could spin things somehow, get the jump on them. Outsmarting them would be easy enough, by the looks of things, but the practicality of an escape attempt was questionable, especially when dealing with the swashbuckling type. Yes, he could wait until they arrived at the Basilisk, bide his time, and yell out for help the moment they became complacent — but if their cover was blown, they'd have nothing to lose, and shooting him dead would be a formality and nothing more. Perhaps, he considered oncemore, perhaps it was the excuse he'd been looking for. He'd grown to despise his work in recent months. Maybe, just maybe, these scoundrels would thank him for his obedience, pat him on the head, and drop him off in the next spaceport. No, he reconciled; truthfully, it was far more likely they'd simply shoot him in the back as soon as their business here was done. He'd have to make a bold move sooner or later. For now, he sat politely.

"ETA three minutes to the Basilisk... so, how long you three been on LRP here?," the Lieutenant asked, interrupting Viszt from his thoughts.

Having seen their methods once before, he imagined that if his captors' cover was blown now, they'd probably do something stupid, like shooting everyone else on the ITT and then attempting to commandeer it. He'd be shot by a blaster, or die in a fiery wreckage. Either way, not ideal.

“I asked them the same thing when they caught this womp rat sniffing around my chit card," Viszt said promptly. For now, he'd swallowed his fears, and he was able to speak without a shudder in his voice. “Can you believe the lengths these people will go to for a few credits?," he scoffed, hoping to appeal to typical Imperial sensibilites of aporophobia.

His deriding tone was met with silence by the uninterested Lieutenant, who didn't indluge the smalltalk; seemingly still waiting for his question to be properly answered.

“They told me it was need-to-know," Viszt said with faux-confidence. "Admiral's business. You know how Kara is. He could have us scooping bantha filth, and he'd have you thinking it was a matter of Galactic importance."

"You can say that again," the officer replied with a dry chuckle, seemingly buying Viszt's explanation. Thankfully, like just about everyone else on the Basilisk, he too detested Kara. "Don't get me started," he said — and he meant it. If he got caught talking ill of the Admiral, he wouldn't be an officer much the longer.

With that hazard neutralised, the conversation petered out. Silence fell over the ITT, save for the humming of its engine, and before three minutes had passed, they had arrived at the Basilisk.

The transport slowed to a stop, and the door slid open with a hiss. Fel was the first to disembark, pulling Zane along with him. Viszt glanced around, assessing the concentration of the others; but found that they were very adequately focussed. Everyone filtered out, the fake troopers' boots clanking against the metal floor as they stepped into the bay. Despite being a little flustered, they seemed competent enough — every time one of them averted their gaze from him, another seemed to have sights trained. He found it extremely doubtful that he would have an opportunity to run unless they were caught unawares by something else. For now, at least, he had some insurance. They couldn't just shoot him dead for the sake of it, so he had at least a modicum of power to exercise. And exercise it he would. Might as well try something. If he could get them split up, he might have a shot at survival.

“I truly appreciate your assistance," he said with a vacant smile. "Am I right in saying that you'll be accompanying me to the med bay?," he peered at Aellyn. "And I suppose you'll be headed to the brig?," he said, turning to Fel.

While he considered that this gambit might enrage the trio, these were issues they were going to be faced with regardless. He was throwing this problem at them hot — and seeing if they could grab ahold without dropping.

♤ THE CURSÈD WEST ♤

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C H A P T E R 1 : A M I S T A D , T X .
C H A P T E R 1 : A M I S T A D , T X .

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____________________________________ Benjamín Ramos Estrada ★ Ramos I: The Sheriff investigates a crime scene on the O'Noone ranch. ★ ____________________________________ Detlev Schäfer ★ Detlev I: An emeritus ranger reflects upon his legacy as an omen arrives in town. ★ ____________________________________ Edward Bennigan ★ ★ ____________________________________ ____________________________________	____________________________________ Guillermo Perez-rojas ★ Guille 1: An old outlaw has his sleep disturbed as a creature announces its presence. ★ Guille 2: The forlorn outlaw makes a stop on his travels back to society only to soon be met with someone during the continuation of his journey. ____________________________________ Jesse Li ★ Jesse I: A young woman bids her itinerant family farewell as she seeks independence in Amistad. ★ ____________________________________ GM Posts ★ The Query: A government employee and annoyed mayor discuss his purpose in Amistad ★ ____________________________________	____________________________________ Orin James Ross ★ ★ ____________________________________ Reginald Percival Hawthorne ★Reginald I: A gentleman of refined sensibilities steps into a town distant from home; not only in miles, but in spirit. ★ ____________________________________ Westley Earl Maston ★ Maston I: A disgruntled coach guard loses the last of his patience with his entourage. ★ ____________________________________ ____________________________________

♤ THE CURSÈD WEST ♤

Music

Ya han escrito las palabras en la arena
esta poesía de nuestro encuentro
que sangra y sale desde los huesos
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Late May, 1888.

The firmament lay bare; a perfect, cloudless night.

Before the day had surrendered to dusk, the sky had been gloriously cerulean. Now past nine o’clock, the hue had deepened into a gorgeous deep-sea blue. This corner of the Earth was no longer smiled down upon by its father star, and was illuminated instead by its many neighbours ‘cross the Milky Way. It was difficult to estimate exactly how many stars blanketed the Texas sky this night, but it was plenty enough to remind a man of his insignificance. As much as the rapturous beauty of the unfurled galaxy could ensconce the soul, it was paltry consolation for the end of the rainy season. Over the last two months, on regular occasion, the heavens would tear themselves apart above Amistad, and a great deluge would let loose without relent, lasting for days at a time. By the turn of the week, June would arrive, and with it, the Texan summer. Life was never easy in the frontier, but the summer months were among the toughest. Scorching sun, immobilising dryness — the kind of conditions that would leave workers dead in a ditch if they failed to keep adequately hydrated. Amistad was lucky enough, though, as ever since it had acquired town status a few years ago, it'd experienced some of the cooler summers in recent memory. The people were drought-ready, of course, with an emergency water tower sitting pretty on the edge of town; but its contents would have to be rationed if a drought ever came, and not everyone on the frontier was so good at sharing. At best, another summer meant another few months of tension and anxiety for the townfolk, who’d worry about the heat even when it went away on an ‘eve. That was one good thing about the days in the summer, though: they always ended. When night arrived, a soothing coolness settled over southern Texas. The eventide nip would never fail to be commented upon by the locals when it arrived.

“Mighty chilly tonight,” Deputy Beadle commented. It wasn't often that they were out in the wilderness at such an hour, so he'd left his coat at the office. He was left with nothing to warm his torso but a red-tartan shirt, so he'd taken to caress himself with both arms.

The immediate surroundings of Amistad were mostly scrublands, with little patches of hardy vegetation defying the odds and persevering in the arid climate; mostly mesquite and cacti. It was a flat area, but off in the distance there were rugged hills and rocky outcrops, some of which were home to quarries. It was these quarries, along with the many ranches, creek fisheries, and stream-fed farmlands, that had made Amistad such a popular destination for settlers. In only a handful of years, it had exploded from an outpost of four-or-five buildings into a place that housed a few dozen permanent residents, and many more who came and went. Even in Ramos' short time in Amistad, which had begun two years past, its population had almost doubled, and in addition to the ever-changing transient population, it was an impossible task to eradicate crime from the area entirely. There just wasn’t the manpower required to maintain law in the town wholesale, so he settled for keeping the good, hard-working folk safe; victimless crime and inter-gang outlaw business were seldom his concern. He saved his resources and his energy for when something real nasty reared its head, like it had on this night. He'd recieved a knock on his door not an hour ago by O'Noone, a local cattle herder, who'd led them back to his ranch around a half-mile from Amistad proper.

“Almost there,” O’Noone said, shaking slightly. On account of the work jacket he wore, the shakes didn’t seem to originate from the cold. “It’s, uh, it’s just over there, other side of the post.” The rancher pointed a quivering finger up past a line of fencing.

Ramos nodded as he held up his lantern, a powerful orange glow following him as he approached the fence. He handed Beadle the light-source as he hoisted himself over the barrier, retrieving it thereafter, using its light to study the horror beneath him. Beadle remained on the other side of the fence, but could see enough to turn pale. A mangled cadaver was face-down in the dust; a young man, by the looks of it, though barely recognisable beneath a motley of grotesque injuries. Large chunks of flesh had been ripped from his arms and legs, the bones 'neath exposed and gleaming in the dim light. Ramos turned him over to examine what was left of his face; a ruined mess, with one eye missing, the socket hollow and dark, while the other stared lifelessly at the sky. His throat had been torn into a ragged, gaping wound. Given the sheer multitude of lascerations, abrasions and bruises, it was near-enough impossible to determine what had killed the boy, nor how much of this had been done while he was still alive. Ramos examined what appeared to teeth marks amidst the mutilated flesh, as well as the grisly etchings of fingernails on skin. It'd be easy to dimiss this as a monster attack, but the markings looked eerily human.

"Tell me about the kid; how long did he work for you, who'd he know in town?," Ramos said calmly. As he did so, he looked to Beadle and nodded in the direction of the nearby sheds and barn, directing him without need for words. The deputy obliged, taking his own lantern around the ranch in search of further evidence.

“His name was Gus, — uh, Gustavo,” O'Noone mumbled. He had his hat in his hands, toying with it for comfort, like a child with a stuffed doll. He wasn't looking over at the remains, but off to the side, disturbed. “Only got here two weeks gone... Didn't seem to know anyone in town. Was just helpin' with some maintenance, and then he was gonna' be on his way.”

"Que descanses en paz," Ramos whispered, now looking at Gustavo's corpse. There was little he could do to grant the ranch-hand any dignity in his final repose. Usually, he'd rest a hand on the departed's face, closing their eyelids, and uttering a prayer. Today, he'd have to settle for the latter..

“What'd'ya think did it?,” asked O'Noone, his concern both evident and understandable. “I never seen nothin' like it."

"I don't know," Ramos admitted, standing up. "But I'll find out. Is there anyone who passes through the ranch, anyone I can check in with, ask if they seen somethin’?"

“Not really,” O'Noone said. “Sometimes, when their work slows down, the boys from the quarry lend a hand. But they've not been by for a couple weeks now. And there's that Guillermo feller who lives down the way, but he's never been any trouble.”

The air was cool and still; there was very little in the way of wind. Ramos looked around for any sign of something watching or waiting. He had a good draw; good enough to trust it if something came flying out of the shadow. But nothing came.

“Sir!!,” Beadle called out from across the ranch. “I found somethin’, sir!”

Ramos stood quickly, vaulted the fence, and hurried in the direction of the shout. He made note of O’Noone’s expression as he passed him by — seemingly genuine concern. Ramos hadn’t much reason to suspect the rancher. It would be quite straightforward, in O’Noone’s case, to get away with a murder such as this. A field-hand that nobody else in town knew… all he would have to do was bury him out in the brush, and the whole of Amistad would be none the wiser. That sort of thing probably happened a-thousand times a year across the frontier; shallow graves with no headstone, the final resting place of many a nameless drifter who would never be searched for, nevermind found.

Beadle, none the less pale than he was before, was crouched nearby a silo, examining what looked like a splattering of crimson-tinged vomit. As he drew closer, something caught Ramos's eye — a thin rivulet encrusted upon the curved metal of the silo. He squinted, bringing his lantern close. Dried blood. It had trickled down from the top of the container, leaving a trail that led to a small, splattered pool at the base.

"Look," Ramos said.

“Sweet mother Mary,” Beadle said, eyes wide as they traced up the side of the silo. “What sort of a beast does somethin’ like that?”

"The human sort,” Ramos posited.

“A man did this?,” O’Noone exclaimed, having made his way over. “You sure about that?”

Ramos didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the external ladder that ran up the side of the silo. Burgundy markings every few spokes, vestiges of handprints. He shone his light on them. The two other gentlemen gasped audibly. He braced himself and climbed, a cold sweat settling on his brow; he knew what he would find before he reached the top. He shifted the top hatch open, holding the lantern up to inspect the silo’s contents.

“W - what’dya see, sir?!,” Beadle shouted up.

”Just a second, Beadle,” Ramos said, twisting his neck to look down at O’Noone. ”You have any other missing workers? Family or acquaintances?”

“No sir,” the rancher confirmed solemnly.

”Beadle,” Ramos said as he descended the ladder. ”I need you to fetch the rangers. There’s another body up there; same sort of wounds, only it’s started to decay.”

Beadle’s eyes were wide. He’d seen plenty of dead men, but he’d never dealt with anything like this. He didn’t respond.

“So that’s two dead, could be more, at least a few days apart… same killer,” Ramos said, mostly mulling through his own thoughts, expecting little in return from his unseasoned deputy. ”Time’s precious. No telling if this could happen again, or how soon, so we’ve gotta’ act swift. Get some shut-eye, then ride out first thing. Mellon and his boys should still be over in Gordonstown. If you make good time, you can have ‘em back here this time tomorrow.”

Beadle allowed the fear to rush through him before nodding. “What should I tell ‘em?,” he asked, his throat dry; his words panicked.

“Just tell ’em what you saw. That’ll be enough.”

Beadle nodded, hurrying back to his horse.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Mr. O’Noone,” Ramos said. “I need you to keep safe tonight, you hear? You can either come back with me to town, or keep yourself shut up in-doors.”

“I -- uh, I think I’ll stay, sheriff,” the rancher rasped. “Got myself a shotgun. Don’t think I’ll sleep any means.”

Ramos nodded, tipping his Stetson respectfully.

On the back of Captain, his palomino-pinto mustang, he was back in Amistad in just shy of three minutes.

Down the dusty, unpaved roads, Captain slowed to a trot, then a walk. The town was still lively at this hour, 'specially the saloon, from which the usual ruckus sounded; the tinkling keys of honkytonk on tack piano, the boisterous banter of gamblers and drunkards. The denizens, all of them, were blissfully unaware of the killings, and Ramos envied them. One of the usual troublemakers was pissing up against the side of the bakery, and had the fear of God in his eyes when he noticed Ramos, but the Sheriff didn't venture to scold him. He had more pressing matters to attend to, that much was clear. Before he'd even set foot in his office, persons of interest danced across his mind. He'd have to be proactive over the coming days, get ahead of the danger, question anyone who he thought might have answers. Names came and went. There was Guillermo, the Californio who lived in a tent outside of town; he'd make a good start. Moreover, there were a fair few newcomers that'd captured his curiosity, among them; an imposing merc, a British gentleman, an emboldened preacherman, a lone caravaneer, and a tenebrous scholar.

It'd be, at absolute best, twenty-four hours before his deputy returned with reinforcements, so unless he was to persevere on his lonesome, he'd have to turn to the only person in this town that he knew for sure had seen something as grisly as what he'd just witnessed. He'd note down his findings, and then he'd seek out Detlev Schäfer; only a guest in Amistad, but a ranger buddy of his from a decade gone, and something of a role model to Ramos.

♤ THE CURSÈD WEST ♤

Amistad, TX

1- The Kiskadee Cantina:
The busiest place in town; the local saloon. Ran by Ol' McRiley.
2- Morales' Eatery:
A proto-café where meals and coffees are served. Used predominantly by workers and travelers.
3- Haven Inn:
Accommodations for travelers and temporary residents, which make up a large percentage of the town.
4- Infirmary:
A small medical clinic headed by Nurse Davis.
5- St. Joseph's:
A Christian church; sometimes used as a community center. Currently lacking a permanent priest.
6- Town Hall:
The administrative center for the town. The workplace of Mayor Davis.
7- Sheriff’s Office:
The law enforcement center. Has a small jail in-built.
8- Bank:
A small financial building wherein townspeople may deposit money, or request loans.
9- General Store:
A central hub for purchasing food, tools, clothing, and other essentials.
10- de Groot's Barbershop:
A place for haircuts, shaves, and sometimes informal news exchanges.
11- Hadfield's Bakery:
A shop wherein bread and other baked goods are made and sold.
12- Rangers’ Safehouse:
A building used by Texas Rangers when they are in the area; also accessible by the Sheriff.
13- Schoolhouse:
A small, one-room building in which the town's children are schooled.
14- Campbell & Sons Blacksmith:
A workshop for metalworking, horseshoeing, and repair work.
15- Saw Mill:
For processing timber into usable wood for building, most of which is used in the town itself.
16- Assay Office:
A place where miners could have their precious metals tested and valued.
17- Livery Stable:
A facility for boarding and renting horses.
18- Depot:
A station where stagecoaches stop to pick up and drop off passengers and mail. Doubles as a post office.

The Cursèd West

Anyone who intends to apply, last chance now to join the discord and register interest -- after which point, I'll close up shop.

♤ THE CURSÈD WEST ♤

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♤ P L A Y E R C H A R A C T E R S ♤
♤ P L A Y E R C H A R A C T E R S ♤

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" T H O S E W H O ' V E H E A R D T H E C A L L I N G . . . "
" T H O S E W H O ' V E H E A R D T H E C A L L I N G . . . "

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S H E R I F F R A M O S
S H E R I F F R A M O S

As played by @Tlaloc
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G U I L L E B U R N E R
G U I L L E B U R N E R

As played by @Festive
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W E S T L E Y M A S T O N
W E S T L E Y M A S T O N

As played by @TaintedMushroom
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S I R R E G I N A L D H A W T H O R N E
S I R R E G I N A L D H A W T H O R N E

As played by @Archazen
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D E T L E V S C H Ä F E R
D E T L E V S C H Ä F E R

As played by @Cool Ghoul
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P R E A C H E R R O S S
P R E A C H E R R O S S

As played by @Skelm
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E D W A R D B E N N I G A N
E D W A R D B E N N I G A N

As played by @Bayrat
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J E S S E L I
J E S S E L I

As played by @JJ Doe
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♤ N P C s ♤
♤ N P C s ♤

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People of Amistad

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___________________________________ M A Y O R D A V I S M A Y O R D A V I S ___________________________________ ___________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________ H I S T O R Y : H I S T O R Y : __________________________________________________________________________ The latest mayor in the relatively short history of Amistad, he was the man who has been overseeing the newfound growth of the town. Overextended and strapped for funds, he's worked the trial of a job for several years at this point. Although often having to switch focus from one part of the town to the next, he is a steadfast man, taking nothing from anyone and getting the job down as efficiently and effectively as possible. Jonathan Davis runs the town with a pride and prose unmatched by another in the region, a civil war veteran himself, the man had been leading in part for many of years. As well as being the Mayor of the town, he is also the husband of the woman how has been running the town's infirmary; Mary Davis. __________________________________________________________________________

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___________________________________ N U R S E D A V I S N U R S E D A V I S ___________________________________ ___________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________ H I S T O R Y : H I S T O R Y : __________________________________________________________________________ As the head nurse within the town limits, Mary Davis stepped in as the head of Amistad Town Infirmary after the previous doctor passed. Skilled in her trade, harboring and sharing the knowledge she had learned over many years, she has led the infirmary with a passion with the backing of her husband, Mayor Davis. At heart, Maria is a kind woman, the type of lady to drop her tasks of the day to assist an injured person she found on the side of the road, one who accepts all into her infirmary, no matter their past. She is likened to the mother of the community, a helper to all, and forgetter of none. __________________________________________________________________________

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___________________________________ D E P U T Y B E A D L E D E P U T Y B E A D L E ___________________________________ ___________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________ H I S T O R Y : H I S T O R Y : __________________________________________________________________________ An honest, naive young man, Deputy Beadle has a tendency to lack common sense, and has been duped more than once in the past. At only twenty-two years of age, he was the only man willing to take the job in Amistad. Despite his lack of smarts, he is a skilled horse rider, and a good shot with a revolver, having grown up in unruly, rural Texas. Though he sometimes lacks confidence to make bold decisions on his own, he trusts Sheriff Ramos implicity, and will typically follow orders fairly well. __________________________________________________________________________

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___________________________________ T H E M I L L E R S T H E M I L L E R S ___________________________________ ___________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________ H I S T O R Y : H I S T O R Y : __________________________________________________________________________ The story of the Millers is an ode that recounts the history of the town in which they call home. As a pair of some of the few original inhabitants of the original settlement who'd never left, Jason and Patricia Miller built their home upon the land. originally a small cabin, homed to only the two, they began opening their home to travelers who yearned a place to rest their head for but a small fee. As time flew and the town grew, the Millers' home grew in size, adding extensions each passing year to keep up with the demand of their service; this was the birth of Haven Inn. A modestly sized homey feeling in stationed in the center of the town. A hopelessly in love couple, wherein death will be their only dividing force, the two bear a soul as kind as the other. Patricia, often called "Patty" by the locals of the town, is a woman of a quiet demeanor, her face often found shoved within the confines of a book while working the counter of the inn. With a voice as sweet as the pie she bakes, she skillfully runs the front operations of the Inn. On the other hand, her husband, Jason, is a loud and rowdy version of a man. Often playful with customers and a jokester to all, a man always trying to push his wife out of her comfort zone. While rarely found at the front desk, he can be found working odd jobs and doing repairs around the building, he stands as a man who has a constant need to be on his feet working. __________________________________________________________________________

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___________________________________ R A N G E R M E L L O N R A N G E R M E L L O N ___________________________________ ___________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________ H I S T O R Y : H I S T O R Y : __________________________________________________________________________ Having spent any time on the frontier, you've heard of Ranger Mellon. Formally known as Ranger Thomas Mellon, his history in this land stretches far beyond his time with the Ranger Force. From the deserts of the New Mexico territory, to the plains of Texas, Mellon has served the land of his birth as a monster hunter. As a younger man, Mellon traveled from town to town, tackling any creature bothering the folk of the village. From the common Jackalope to the elusive skinwalker, he holds the skulls of many a creature birthed upon this cursed land. Later in life being recruited by the Texas Rangers to join their forces, soon being shipped off the Amistad for his first assignment. What Mellon lacks in physical strength, his mind picks up the slack. A quick man whose mind can catch on to details and patterns quickly, Mellon is not easily fooled. To the town folk, he works as a personable guy, assisting the Sheriff's department in their workings with his small brigade of men he brought alongside him. __________________________________________________________________________

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___________________________________ O L ' M C R I L E Y O L ' M C R I L E Y ___________________________________ ___________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________ H I S T O R Y : H I S T O R Y : __________________________________________________________________________ Not much is known about the past of Shaun McRiley, even though he stands among the few remaining original residents, they do not know much before he arrived. A quiet man of his past, but a loud one of the present, McRiley is the owner and defacto bartender of "The Kiskadee Cantina." If there is one thing original residents remember of his arrival is he came bearing booze. Whether he buys it or makes his own, the barrels of the cantina have always been stacked to the brim with booze courtesy of McRiley. He is a no-nonsense older man, who'll joke around with those of his patrons but will demand the leave of those who cause trouble, lest he reveal the shotgun under the bar. In times when he is not serving alcohol, McRiley is a man trapped in love with music. With his trusty decade-old guitar in hand, he will serenade the patrons of the bar with his old still youthful sounding singing voice and his strumming tunes from the guitar. Otherwise, he will be sat on the outer deck of the bar, softly strumming the archaic strings in silence. __________________________________________________________________________

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___________________________________ M I S T E R M A S S E M I S T E R M A S S E ___________________________________ ___________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________ H I S T O R Y : H I S T O R Y : __________________________________________________________________________ Pierre Masse, known by most of the locals as "The man in the black suit" is a newcomer within the town of Amistad. Shacked up within a solitary suite in the Haven Inn, none know much about the man behind the suit. The man came alone, rode into town on a carriage of the utmost quality packing nothing but a satchel and the clothes on his back. It has only been but two days since he has arrived and the townsfolk whisper in the shadows of the reasoning behind his appearance, as a man shrouded in mystery, who knows what may come of the man. __________________________________________________________________________

♤ THE CURSÈD WEST ♤

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" W E L C O M E Y E L O S T S O U L "
" W E L C O M E Y E L O S T S O U L "

S H E R I F F R A M O S
S H E R I F F R A M O S

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_____________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________ " Y I E L D Y E R N A M E ? " " Y I E L D Y E R N A M E ? " BENJAMÍN RAMOS ESTRADA _____________________________________________________ " S O W H E R E Y E F R O M ? " " S O W H E R E Y E F R O M ? " CORPUS CHRISTI, TEXAS, UNITED STATES _____________________________________________________ " Y E C A N F I L L O U T T H E R E S T " " Y E C A N F I L L O U T T H E R E S T " Personal Details ★ Age? 30 ★ Birthdate? 19th January, 1858 ★ Height? 5'11" ★ Weight? 71kg ★ Ethnicity? Hispanic (Tejano) ★ Gender? Male

______________________________________________________________________________________________ " T E L L M E ' B O U T Y E R S E L F " " T E L L M E ' B O U T Y E R S E L F " Personality "Well, I ain’t much for talking about myself. Guess you could say I’m the quiet type, more likely to listen than to speak. I’m steady, or try to be—don’t see much use in getting riled up." Despite being a rather talkative man, Benjamín's recent years have left him a calloused man of few words, preferring to let his actions speak for him. His stoicism has made him a reliable member of his community, a feature defined by his own personal losses, as well as the constant need to prove himself in a world that often sees him as an outsider. Still in a period of healing and mourning, Benjamín has no truly close friends in Amistad, but is a friendly acquaintance to just about anybody who isn't on his bad side. As for those on his bad side, he is known for putting his foot down harshly when required, but has learned how to pick his battles. Knowing that the area around Amistad will always be a hotbed of crime, Benjamín has made his rules clear: keep your antics out of his town, and don't find yourself on a State-wide wanted list, and he won't bother you. In an otherwise chaotic land, Benjamín is deeply principled, having a strong internal sense of fairness and justice. Beneath his tough exterior, he has a compassionate heart, particularly for those who are marginalised or in need. However, he is careful not to let this compassion be seen as weakness. He maintains a guarded demeanor, letting few people get close to him. His empathy often manifests in subtle ways, such as helping those in need without seeking recognition. Though he doesn’t seek the spotlight, Benjamín naturally commands respect and authority. His leadership style is quiet and steady; he leads by example and earns the loyalty of those around him through acts of integrity. Though once a devoted Catholic, Benjamín has witnessed unholy horrors that have made him question his faith. While he still practices, his mind is clouded with doubt. Haunted by visions of his recent trauma, and drawn to the mysteries that seem to stalk the frontier, he floats between skepticism and belief in a greater meaning to it all. He is determined to make amends for what he sees as his failures, both as a father, a husband, and as a man, by ensuring that others don’t suffer as he has. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " D E S C R I B E Y E R S E L F F O R M E , Y E A H ? " " D E S C R I B E Y E R S E L F F O R M E , Y E A H ? " Appearance "Well, what you see is what you get." Regarded by many to be a handsome man, Benjamín is even-featured, but often appears rather drained and weary. He has short, oily black hair, and a distinctive moustache. The rest of his face is usually clean-shaven, but keeps a permanent five o'clock shadow due to the darkness of his hair. He always wears his father's gold crucifix around his neck. His sheriff's uniform is dusty and practical: a cream-coloured shirt, dark canvas trousers tucked into scuffed leather boots, and a wide-brimmed black Stetson hat. A Colt revolver rests in a tidy holster at his left-hip, and a shiny silver star is pinned to his coat, marking his authority. Though a dark, heavy wool coat is part of his uniform, he is rarely seen wearing it during the daytime due to the region's intense heat. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " S O W H E R E Y E B E E N , W H A T S Y E R P A S T ? " " S O W H E R E Y E B E E N , W H A T S Y E R P A S T ? " History "Grew up down by Corpus, did a little bit of everything before I put on this badge. This is just where I ended up." Born in 1858 in the blossoming port town of Corpus Christi, Benjamín Ramos Estrada was the eldest of three children. As someone of Mexican-descent born in a now American Texas, Benjamín was part of a large demographic known as Tejano. Benjamín's mother was a kindly garment-maker named Adriana, who had been a prostitute before marrying. His father, Ignacio, was a Vaquero: a livestock herder, or cowboy. Ignacio was a quiet, honest and hard-working man who instilled strong values in his children, and a deeply devoted Catholic. In efforts to either protect his family, or perhaps to blend in during a deeply divisive period, Ignacio took up arms for the Confederacy during the Civil War -- a fact that Benjamín ruminates upon to this day. Throughout his youth, Benjamín both witnessed and experienced significant predjudices due to his race. Despite his unfair treatment, he was determined to earn his place in society, even if he had to work twice as hard as others to get it. This resolve was redoubled when his father died when Benjamín was only fourteen, which prompted him to pursue any kind of labour that could keep a roof over his family's head. Ignacio has been shot dead in a botched rustling when bandits had sought to steal cattle under his watch. This event, in addition to many other injustices that Benjamín witnessed living in a land on the fringe of justice, pushed Benjamín towards a career as a lawman. After spending several years doing odd labour jobs, such as carpentry and field-work, Benjamín became a ranger aged twenty. He shined in his role, driven to succeed as he shouldered the responsibilities of supporting his family, and stubbornly sought to rise above the prejudices of the post-Confederate South. His heritage made him a target for scorn in the eyes of some, but it also endowed him with a unique perspective on life in the volatile borderlands. He worked hard, spoke with honesty, and always looked out for the vulnerable. By twenty-three he had courted and married a beautiful local girl named Juliette. In 1881, their daughter was born: Maria. An adventurous and sweet child, she quickly became the centre of Benjamín's world. In 1986, Benjamín had truly settled in his hometown. His mother was comfortable, his siblings were all grown up and making a life for themselves. But thing fell apart, as they have a tendency to do whenever one gets too comfortable. Maria fell ill with diptheria and did not recover, dying at only five years old. Not only did this break Benjamín and Juliette individually, it also shattered their previously settled relationship. Within weeks, they found themselves on seperate journeys of recovery. In efforts to heal his own way, Benjamín decided to distance himself from his hometown, and requested station elsewhere. He was offered the job of Sheriff in a booming cowtown down by the Rio Grande, which he gladly accepted -- perhaps not fully aware of what he had signed up to. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " L A S T , W H A T B R O U G H T Y E H E R E ? " " L A S T , W H A T B R O U G H T Y E H E R E ? " Amistad, TX "You could say I was lookin’ for a place that needed a bit of order, somewhere that felt like it was on the edge of things. Amistad’s got good folks, even if the ground’s a bit shaky underneath." As soon as he arrived in his new digs, Benjamín was thrust into the deep-end. With pirates to the south, outlaws to the north, and supernatural wildlife all around, there's no such thing as a 'day off' for the lawman of Amistad. Known by most in the town as 'Sheriff Ramos', he has become the town’s solitary figure of order. Though a stoic and dependable figure within the town, he is very clearly under-equipped to police the region effectively, having only a single, rather incompitent deputy to assist him.