So here is some Character Backgrounds of the Posse
Brett Quigley
To describe Brett in three words would be Honest, True, and Resourceful. He is only 19 and half years old, but can seem older due to the confidant way he carries himself. He left home at the age of 18, and has been wandering the weird west since, exploring and discovering the world for him self. He fully intends to return, whenever he gets the chance, but not for good until he finds a wife to settle down with. His greatest strength is his acute awareness of the world around him. He may not understand much of it, but not much happens without him noticing it. He probably inherited the trait from his parents, his father a marksman and hunter, his mother always looking at the world from a different view! His greatest flaw would be that he has never had a proper education. His parent’s taught him in the ways of the land but didn’t teach him much else. This has left him unable to read and write, as well as ineptitude for social skills. The only noticeable feature would be the ‘Family’ moustache. A more simple and trimmed back version of the popular style. Male members of the family have worn it for generations! Brett is right handed in most things. He tends to dress in a typical cowpoke style, so as to fit in more easily with towns folk. Plus his father impressed on him that ‘a man should always be dressed in the proper attire, because you never know when you might be in a ladies company’. Brett speaks in a soft and slow tone, with a typical American accent. Having spent a lot of time outdoors and living life rough, his immune system has learned to cope with a bit of dirt. After all, he’s borne from hardy folk.
Brett was born to the Quigley family in a small homestead, found off the beaten track near Cheyenne. The home consisted of a few log cabins and barn to house the horses. Situated in a small valley on the edge of the mountains, sheltered from the influence of man and magic. A simple existence living off the land, everything needed within reach, with a little elbow grease. The family consisted of father; Mathew Quigley. A true man of the west, he was honourable and honest. Knew how to treat the ladies, and knew how to handle a pig iron. Though his past is coloured with some blood, it was all fair, and in the name of law, honour and self defence, having worked as a lawman, a hunter, and a sharp shooter. His view of defending local inhabitants and equal rights has got him into trouble in both America and Australia! This is where he met Corra. She had lost a son and was cast off to Australia by her former husband Roy Cobb. It was her fault the son was lost, and had gone a little loco. But after meeting Mathew, she came back to her senses with his help, and they fell in love. After returning to America they settled down in the homestead and started a new family, leaving their past behind. Also in the family is Brett’s younger sister (by about a year) Sara, who recently married a hansom and wealthy businessman in Cheyenne City. As well as my younger brother (by about three years) who is still at home helping the family. As he isn’t 18 yet, he hasn’t been allowed to leave home unsupervised. He longs to reach the age and come see Brett, as he sends telegrams back home and tell him tales of the big world out here (how?).
Based on Brett’s upbringing, he has a strong sense of moral duty and the way his actions affect those around him. He will never hurt anyone intentionally unless it’s in self-defence or the protection of others (or those deserving protection). He believes in equal rights, so will treat all women with respect (regardless of station), and will never speak ill on racial, decree, or nationality. He has grown up on his father’s stories, idolising him, and wishing to grow up to be just like him (or even better!). Brett would like nothing more than to make a name for him self, leaving his mark on the world. A positive legacy for others to look up to in a dark and corrupt land, as well as something for his father to be proud of. In the mean time he wishes to learn more, meet people and make friends, maybe even find a wife in the long term! Brett wishes to make a few bucks, same as everyone else, but he’s not greedy. As long as he has enough to get by on, maybe save a little for a rainy day, he’d be happy. He’s not keen on getting tied down with a ‘job’, but he can see the advantage of a regular wage.
Even though Brett is an open and trusting guy, he hasn’t made friends easily. He lacks the social skills to warm people to him. Something he won’t admit is that he hasn’t as yet known the soft pleasures of a woman, and refuses to use a ‘soiled dove’ for his first time. But this is something that doesn’t really bother him as he knows he’ll find the right lady in time. If he found a place where people took a liking to him, he may stick around for a while. But until then Brett sticks to the roads and countryside. He often feels lonely and at times homesick, and writes often (how?). His need for companionship and his honest nature mean that he will throw himself into danger to earn friends, but only for those who also have an honest nature. The things that can turn him off a person would be; dishonesty, thievery, cruelty, vanity, mean tempered, violence, and down right ugly natured people. Unfortunately there are two many people like this to count. But if he feels he can change them, then he’ll give them a chance. The only people true to his heart are his family, who he’ll defend till the death. Something he nearly had to prove once. After His parent’s visit to Australia, they left a ranch filled with stiffs. They deserved it, the native butchering bastards! But this left the family of the dead British ranch owner looking for revenge, and thus a brief run in with a couple of bounty hunters. They followed Brett out of town after learning his name, where they didn’t really stand a chance, and so two more souls lost to the wild. This is one of Brett’s two greatest fears; his family meeting a violent end, and the tables being turned as an intelligent beast stalks Brett for prey!
Johnny Lowe
Born into a wealthy New York Family, William Rothman Jnr was educated at the finest schools, and was represented with several medals and rosettes for shooting competitions from as early an age as 8 yrs old. Hardly surprising considering his father was one of the most famous independent gunsmiths in the city. Life was idyllic for William Jnr until one year all of his siblings and his mother died of the Fever.
William Rothman snr flew into a terrible depression at the lost of his family, and his business and his affairs crumbled beneath him. Owing a fortune to creditors, and close to arrest, the debtors prison waiting for him, he sold what assets he had left and with his son, fled to the west, to search for a new fortune in the gold rush of California.
Along the way, their stagecoach was attacked by giant wolves, the driver and father savagely torn limb from limb. The boy managed to escape by crawling into an abandoned coyote den.
Making his way to the nearest town of Wichita, Kansas, he was discovered stealing food from the saloon stores and soundly beaten by the owner. A whore by the name of Belle took pity on him, and trying to make amends for all the unborn children her line of profession had caused her to be rid of, did her best to look after him.
He would settle into town life for a time, cleaning the saloon for his keep, and helping to see to the saloon girls, doing their laundry and other mundane tasks. He would help all the tradesmen in the growing mining camp; mucking out the livery for the odd dollar, cleaning the Gunsmith and hardware store windows, and even helping to operate the printing press, distributing the papers when the ink was dry. It was a far cry from his wealthy origins back east, but he grew content.
Whilst helping the local gunsmith unload and catalogue a new shipment of new colt revolvers one particular spring, he was encouraged to test the accuracy of the new weapons in the shooting range at the back of the store. It had been many years since he had held a revolver in his hands, and he was now close enough to being a man for the grip to fit his fist. He hit bull with 5 of 6 bullets, and stunned the store keeper. So much so, he raced into the street and called all and sundry in to witness this incredible feet of accuracy from the lowly cleaning boy.
Competitions began to arise to see who could beat the boy, and all lost. Even some famous gunslingers lost their money and a little pride to the boy’s superior skills. All of his winnings would go on purchasing more ammunition for the revolver the gunsmith had given him, and what free time he had was spent on the firing range.
One warm summer’s night he returned to the saloon having finished at the gun store, and fought his way through the heaving bar filled with soldiers, who had stopped at the town for supplies, and were taking advantage of the recreational activities a saloon had to offer.
Upon approaching his room, he realized that the customer Belle was entertaining was being rougher than her delicate demeanor could handle, so he waited patiently outside of the door, until they had concluded business. When her screams became more than fake ecstasy, he kicked the door from it’s hinges, and drew his revolver on the naked man hunched over Belle’s bleeding body. He blew away the hand that was brandishing the bloody knife, and then sent another bullet through his screaming mouth shattering his front teeth, and re-decorating the plastered walls with brains and blood.
Belle died in his arms just as the saloon keeper and three men in uniform burst into the room. One soldier stared at the body of his dead colonel, and drew his service revolver. Three bullets were fired, dropping the soldiers where they stood, and the boy slung belle over his shoulder, and climbed out of the window onto the balcony and escaped the town on a stolen horse.
He buried Belle out in the wilderness, piling stones upon her corpse, topped with a simple wooden cross made from from fallen branches.
In an attempt to escape the man-hunt, Billy fled south through the coyote federation, trying to make his way into Texas. He spent a long time ‘lying-low’ and kept as close to the borders as he could to avoid detection from the Native americans tribes. He spent weeks slowly moving through the countryside, being careful not to leave any tracks, and after a few weeks of getting very lost, he stumbled across a cove at Kaw Lake. The cove sheltered a small inlet and beach from view, and as he drew nearer in the growing darkness, he could see dancers moving around a fire. A tribe of natives was performing some form of ceremony, and the drums were beating slowly, and dark, low chanting from the tribesmen spread across the beach. There was a heavy smell in the air, and a dense smog began to emanate from the growing flames. Billy thought he heard distant screams, and he was sure he saw wisps of white smoke slither out of the fire and dance into the air along-side the natives. Suddenly the sky erupted into flashes of brilliant purple light frightening his horse and causing it to scream and lurch forward.
Billy screamed as the horse lurched out of his control and galloped straight towards the fire interrupting the ceremony. The natives scattered, and before he knew it, Billy was being chased cross country by a score of screaming indian braves.
As he crossed the border into Texas, and the town of Dallas was approaching into view, a group of outriders came to Billy’s aid, and saw off the attacking braves. Billy explained his story of the cove, to the outriders leaders, and the large man introduced himself as Garret, a Texas Ranger.
Garret escorted Billy to his office in Dallas, and made him re-tell his tale to his colleagues. As Billy was given hot coffee and blankets to help him recuperate, Garret and his colleagues mulled the boys story over, as well the false name he had given them and tall tale about running away from home after an argument with his abusive father. Garret, taking pity on the boy after his own son was killed in a cherokee raiding party, gave Billy, now under the name of a certain ‘Russell Smith’, a room in his town house, and let him clean and fetch items for his keep.
Billy was back playing servant like before, but was grateful that his past was safely hidden, and he had another chance at a new life.
As the Years went on, Garrett let Russell take on more and more responsibilities, and when Garrett was promoted, he asked Russell to accompany him to his new appointment in Austin, as his personal office assistant. Russell was thrilled, and now an adult, was excited at the prospect of embarking on a career.
He spent three years working for Garrett’s office, in ad administrative role, in which time he gave the impression of learning to Read and Write, when in-fact he was just brushing up on the education he had been given so long ago in New York. Garrett also taught Russell skill with a pistol, never knowing that the young man could outshoot the Texas Ranger at any given minute. He made a present to Russell of a silver engraved Peacemaker, with a plaque on the handle saying ‘Loyalty’.
One fateful day, Garrett finally asked Russell to accompany him on one of the field assignments that he was forever disappearing on. Russell jumped at the chance, grabbed his pistols, and rode out with his new mentor.
They were to investigate a town whose population was decreasing rapidly due to an epidemic of cholera, and the Tombstone Epitaph reported that the victims weren’t staying in their graves.
When the Texas Ranger’s posse rode into town, the epidemic was worse than they originally thought. Festering townsfolk were hobbling around the thoroughfare, dragging their rotting limbs behind them, pustules and suppurating boils covering most of their faces. The moans of the sick and dying filled the air, and the stench of rotting flesh choked the back of Russell’s throat. It was clear to Russell, just how the newspapers reports were exaggerated, but Garrett warned him that not all in the world was as it seemed.
To Russell’s horror, Garrett ordered the posse to shoot every single townsfolk in the head, for the town to be burnt to dust, and the graveyard burnt and sprinkled with Holy Water. Russell could not believe that his kind and honourable mentor would willingly put hundreds of people to death because they were sick, but Garrett simply barked the order again.
Russell kicked open the door of the first town house he came to, and saw a child cradling the festering corpse of it’s mother. He raised his pistol to carry out his orders, but inevitably couldn’t pull the trigger. He scooped the little girl up into his arms, and carried her out of the house.
Garrett stopped him in the street, and demanded that he shoot the ‘devil child’ that instant.
Russell stood his ground, and refused. Garrett warned the boy of the terrible mistake he was making crossing a Texas Ranger, and asked if he knew the consequences of turning his back on the organization. Russell refused to shoot the innocent child, and when the rest of the posse fell into place behind Garrett, Russell began to realise what was about to happen.
With the town burning behind him, the night sky a blazing orange, Garrett reached for his pistol. Russell’s free hand grabbed the revolver Garrett had given him as quick as he could, and pulled the trigger with a single squeeze. He fired a bullet straight through Garrett’s elbow, shattering the bones before Garrett’s gun had even been drawn fully out of its holster.
Garrett screamed in pain, and dropped to his knees. The posse all reached for their weapons, but Russell had already ducked into the Saloon across the street, the only building not yet ablaze.
He made his way up the stairs to the 1st floor trying to find a way out through a bedroom window.
The little girl clung to him as tightly as she could, but the strain of carrying her was beginning to sap Russell’s strength.
Bottles of flame-lit whiskey began to smash their way through the windows, setting the room alight, so Russell had no choice but to venture downstairs to try and fight his way free. Russell dived behind the bar, and began shooting wildly at the windows. As he stopped to reload, a shower of bullets tore through the saloon, smashing bottles and ricocheting off of tables and lampshades. As the firing slowed, Russell peered into the smashed bar mirror, and could see Garrett’s posse slowly kicking their way through the debris.
Russell took a deep breath, stood, and with the girl still clinging to him, fired a single bullet for each thug coming towards him, dropping four of them with mortal wounds, and blowing the right eye out of the fifth. He cautiously strode into the middle of the saloon, and as the flames spread around him, the air began to fill with torrid black smoke. Figures began to shuffle towards him through the smoke, moaning and groaning, reaching for him. The little girl screamed, as the horrific shambling corpses reached to drag them to the floor.
Garrett’s voice thundered through the night, urging Russell to ‘get the Hell out of there’, but to no avail. The saloon collapsed with Russell trapped inside, and Garrett resigned himself to signing the paper work on another dead assistant.
When Garret finally made it back to the office, after spending the following few weeks scourging the country side of any residual after effects of the ‘epidemic’, and convalescing both his pride and recently amputated gun arm, he found all of Russell’s belongings gone, except a silver engraved Peacemaker, which was laying in Garrett’s drawer. The lettering on the silver plaque had been scratched over, obscuring the word ‘Loyalty’.
Garrett hunted Russell for years, on the strength of rumors that he had turned to a criminal life, robbing the authorities and flinging the cash out of the stage coach as he left town, busting debtors out of prison, murdering judges of a certain reputation, collecting bounties on vicious criminals. Garrett followed his trail from Mexico to Montana, arresting or killing every posse he road with, and interrogating nearly everyone who had even heard of a skilled gunslinger of Russell’s description; but never actually caught up with his former ward.
His hunt continues still.
Owen Gabrielle
Born into a wealthy family and son of an owner of several steel mills in Pennsylvania, Gabrielle grew up to be an avid follower of the bible and joined the army as a chaplain of Lincoln’s union army.
Often times joining the fray in times of need, Gabrielle saw many battles leading up to Gettysburg, conducting many funeral processions for fallen comrades and reassuring soldiers with his preaching before battles. However at was at that very field in Gettysburg that his faith was utterly demolished.
When the dead started rising from the very places they fell and feeding the men they once called brothers, Gabrielle saw none of the love and protection the scriptures had promised, only the hell that the book had so sorely warned of.
Fighting through the throng to reach the edge of the battle and a means of escape, Gabrielle suffered ghastly wounds to his face, having been swiped by the claws of a dead confederate artilleryman. Ignoring the pain, he surged on to the edge of the field and out into the trees. At was at this point that he found himself alone. None of his friends had had made it to the tree line. It was at this point, dizzy through blood loss, Gabrielle felt the world spin around him, and he collapsed to the floor. His final thought was a curse to the God that had betrayed him.
It was a few days later when he stirred, lying in a surgeon’s tent in a Union camp. The surgeon had done his best, trying to mend Gabrielle’s face, but the scars were to stay with him for the rest of his life. He was discharged from the army within a day of waking and was sent home. Over the years living back with his family on their estate, he has used the family influence to gather as much information as he can. And the world is not as Washington would like people to believe. He wanted to make a change, praying to god many times a day to give him guidance on what he should do to fix the mess that had been spilt onto the world, but there was never an answer, and his bitter to the god he once loved burned ever fiercer.
Gabrielle knew what he ultimately had to do. If god was not going to do anything, then it was up to him to try and fix the world. It wasn’t until his father died, however, that he finally left. Leaving the estate’s accountant Arnold Roberts in charge of running the business for a small percentage stake, Gabrielle set off on his journey. Travelling with special gear he had had made for him by the best smiths in Pennsylvania, he honed his skills with his guns, getting better each day.
It has been a year since he left the comforts of his estate back home in the north. He still keeps tabs on the business he left behind, mostly for more funds from Roberts, but mainly to check in and let the old man know the he still lives. He has not seen the horrors he had expected when he left, but he has come across some of the darkness he saw that day in Gettysburg. He has scored a few kills and earned a few extra scars. He is only one man after all, but if even one monster is sent back to the pit it crawled out from then it has made a difference, and this year has been a good start.
Mary Kearney
I was born Mary Kearney in the town of Boston, Massachusetts, the middle daughter of wealthy Irish-American parents residing in the Beacon Hill district. My education was overseen by several private tutors and completed at a young ladies’ Finishing Academy in Philadelphia. When I returned home at the age of 18, my parents negotiated an engagement between myself and a widower-banker well known amongst the wealthy set. He was more than twenty years my senior with a reputation for frequenting house of ill-repute. Much to my chagrin, my fiancé often escorted me to the opera. On our way to a performance of Hannibal one evening, my fiancé stopped his carriage is a rather seedy alleyway near the Opera House and attempted to seduce me. My rejection seemed to only fuel his desire and I was forced to stop his advances—permanently. I quickly fled the scene but it took only hours for his body to be found. Knowing I could easily be connected to the murder, I left Boston and relocated to New York. Because I seemingly disappeared following his murder, the police assumed that I had been kidnapped and was presumed dead. Nevertheless, I kept a low profile, working far below my station as a barmaid called Ellen Wright on Manhattan Island.
It was at this bar that I was first noticed by the Agency. I was emptying old bottles into the bin in the back alleyway one evening when an obnoxiously intoxicated man followed me outside. Accustomed to the advances of drunks, I attempted to divert his attention from myself. He seemed immune from my attempt and continued his assault until I stopped him with a broken beer bottle to the neck. Much to my surprise, the man rose again and attempted to cause me physical harm. When a second broken bottle to his gut failed to kill him, I became alarmed. I managed to remain calm enough to continue to subdue my attacker. Fortunately, a man I had conversed with and served at the bar earlier in the evening rushed to my aide. He killed the man through the use of very advanced weaponry with which I was very unfamiliar. He immediately informed me that my attacker was a Harrowed and my composure during the attack paired with my extensive education would make me an ideal candidate for the Agency. I trained in Salem where I met my partner. We were dispatched to assist the Western Agency upon completion of our training and have been placed in Wyoming. I shall establish myself as a journalist in the hopes of gaining more information useful to the Agency. I have accompanied the minister (my partner) to produce news pieces from the West geared towards an eastern audience. To avoid suspicion, I will help with his domestic arrangement, as he has no wife to keep his house.
