"Those ****ers, those inbred mother ****ers."
The sun felt as if it was melting his skin away, trudging along the desert awaiting his impending fate. The hot sand scolded his feet, even though he wore those boots.
Those tattered stinky, wet with sweat boots. His mind was set on trudging along, he was set on finding something. Anything, even the slightest cocksucking cactus would do. As long as it was something to hope for, anything alive. Not the scolding sun and sand. The amount of shine and yellow was enough to last a lifetime.
He was just about to give in to the thirst on his desperate situation, as he felt his cock was getting sunburned. Even his ass, ****ing everything was rose red as the sun kept burning his flesh.
"Mother ****ers should have left me hanging. **** sons of *****es!"
He stopped as he cursed the heaven and skies for his unfortunate run ins with the local bandits. A little black spec on the horizon, could be a mirage. Or it could be a farm, it could even be face****ing heathens.
The distinct sound of hooves could be heard, stepping gently on the sand. With his last energy he lifted his arms to the skies, still holding his only valuable possesion except the boots.
-Heeelp.
A cat couldn't even hear his dry cry for help. Hell he wasn't even sure if he actually did open his mouth. The poor sod could take no longer and collapsed to his knees. Ignoring the hot sand now scolding his knees, and his dangly bits touching the rough sand.
A stranger spoke.
-Well, look what we've got ere Jameson. Looks like this unlucky son of a ***** had a run in with the valorous boys. Must have grabbed all his possesions. Because the **** is running around the desert in his birthday suit!
Boy I tells ya, yous one lucky son of a gun that we ran into you. If t weren't for the vultures we'd never find you. Hell we were just about to pronounce you dead! We've been following the God Damn birds for an hour.
The naked man looked up to the stranger, standing just in front of the sun making it impossible to make out anything then his and the horses silhouette.
The stranger seamt to be accompanied by another man on horseback. A bit taller, or at least with a sense of posture to make him seem taller.
The first man spoke again.
-What's yer name boy.
The naked man opened his mouth.
-I....I....Mmy..
The world darkened before him, the heat was going away and he could feel himself as he started to lean forwards towards the hot sand. When suddenly it all went pitch black.
2 days later
He'd woken up up, no idea where he was. But the feeling of a pleasant bed was comforting enough to ensure his well being. He was no longer naked, thankfully though out outslept his sunburns on his cock. On the nightstand beside the bed was a gunbelt, and a bowl of water.
The man got out of his bed stood in front of the nighstand and gulped down the remaining water in the bowl. The man dropped the bowl, letting it hit the floor with a loud metallic thud. Which could probably be heard in the room next door. His eyes caught the gunholster. And the gun that came with it, he checked it thoroughly.
No bullets, lots of scratches and what not. Crooked sight, Hadn't even been cleaned for some time by the looks of it. A knock could be heard on the door, and a fashionable madame walked inside the room.
-Good Gracious, you're up. Don't worry about the mess I'll take care of that. Oh and if yer wondering about the cloths and gun well let's just say the last owner wasn't as fortunate as you. May God bless his soul.
She made a crossing motion from on side of her chest to the other, and then from her throat down to her belly.
-Well, Sheriff Jameson would to see you. Don't worry about finding him though, he's downstairs having a drink. He's been there almost all the time waiting for you to wake up.
Well I won't trouble you no More have work to do.
She went through the door once more, and just as she was about to close it her curiosity took the best of her.
-What's your name?
The man stared at the beautiful woman, not saying a word or even hinting to say anything. The madame felt at unease and lightly closed the door and went on with her business.
The man decided to wait no further buckled his new gun and went down the stairs to have a chat with the Sheriff. He was sitting alone in the saloon, along with his deputy.
It seams like no one had the curage or courtesy to drink with the Sheriff and his Deputy.
Both the Sheriff and deputy could hear the mans heavy steps as he walked down the stairs. The Deputy spoke first as it was common with the two of them.
-Well God Damn, He's woken up Jameson. C'mere feller, have a stiff drink.
The man slowly approached the two and took a seat, as soon as he did the deputy practically threw the drink at him. The Man stared at the filled glass, gulped it down and awaited the deputy to speak again. The man seemed awfully young round his 20's or 30's, never the less. A bit young for a deputy, no facial hair no scars. Not even a patch on his jacket. Seems like a man with little bad experience. Whilst the sheriff was completely different.
Sheriff seemed as if he'd never seen a pair of scissors in his life. His unkept appearance was only amplified with his raggedy looking coat and clothes.
-I guess by the way you gulped down that drink your a lot about straight business. Well the thing is sir, we'd like to know why you were walking naked through the desert. Except the obvious reason that you had a run in with The Valorous boys. And those mother****ers only do that to their worst enemies, we've never seen you around these parts.
The man stared at the Deputy, poured himself another glass and gulped that one down just as quick. The deputies eyes wore fixed on the estranged man with an almost incomprehensible curiosity. Whilst the Sheriff only glared at the man.
-It's None of yer God Damn business. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.
"Valorous boys eh, so that's what thouse roughskins call them selves. ****ing amateurs"
The man stood up and walked his way with his tattered clothes, aiming straight towards the door. When suddenly the Sheriff spoke, the sheriff had a very deep, dark and rough tone. One could understand why he never spoke, because it almost sounded as if it was very painful for him to speak.
The man turned around to hear what the sheriff had to say.
-You forgot your knife, dirtiest nastiest mother****ing knife I've seen. The man stared at the knife the sheriff was holding.
Oh, so it does have some importance to you still, when you were knocked out. You wouldn't drop it, you held it so tightly even after you were knocked out. So tightly infact that you had some mighty fine blisters on yer hand, bloody. Bloody hands.
The sheriff placed it on top of the table, leaving it for the man to take it. He approached the table and reach for the knife with his left hand. At the exact time the sheriff upholstered his gun and pointed it on the man.
-The other hand! The sheriffs strained shout almost gave the man a sore throat.
The once naked man gently reached for the knife again this time with his right hand, as soon as he had a hold of the knife the deputy grabbed his arm and forcefully held it to the table.
The sheriff nudged at the Deputy, he then turned the mans arm only to reveal a tattoo. It was two circles with an X in the middle, the outer circle was thinner and the inner one was thicker. The x was connected to the thick circle.
The sheriff spoke once more, this time with an exceptionally soft and tender tone.
-Mind telling me what that's about.
The strange man stared into the sheriffs eyes for a long time, still grabbed by the firm hold of the deputy. He didn't want to say too much or anything stupid. The strange man broke the silence that could cut through ice.
-It's none of yer business, but I will tell you this. It has nothing to do with this town or your problems.
With that the Sheriff hinted to the deputy to let the man go. The stranger grabbed a hold of his knife tore a piece of his "used" clothing and gently wrapped it in. He walked out of the empty saloon/hotel to a more populated one, hoping to find desperado's to help him with his mission.
The sun felt as if it was melting his skin away, trudging along the desert awaiting his impending fate. The hot sand scolded his feet, even though he wore those boots.
Those tattered stinky, wet with sweat boots. His mind was set on trudging along, he was set on finding something. Anything, even the slightest cocksucking cactus would do. As long as it was something to hope for, anything alive. Not the scolding sun and sand. The amount of shine and yellow was enough to last a lifetime.
He was just about to give in to the thirst on his desperate situation, as he felt his cock was getting sunburned. Even his ass, ****ing everything was rose red as the sun kept burning his flesh.
"Mother ****ers should have left me hanging. **** sons of *****es!"
He stopped as he cursed the heaven and skies for his unfortunate run ins with the local bandits. A little black spec on the horizon, could be a mirage. Or it could be a farm, it could even be face****ing heathens.
The distinct sound of hooves could be heard, stepping gently on the sand. With his last energy he lifted his arms to the skies, still holding his only valuable possesion except the boots.
-Heeelp.
A cat couldn't even hear his dry cry for help. Hell he wasn't even sure if he actually did open his mouth. The poor sod could take no longer and collapsed to his knees. Ignoring the hot sand now scolding his knees, and his dangly bits touching the rough sand.
A stranger spoke.
-Well, look what we've got ere Jameson. Looks like this unlucky son of a ***** had a run in with the valorous boys. Must have grabbed all his possesions. Because the **** is running around the desert in his birthday suit!
Boy I tells ya, yous one lucky son of a gun that we ran into you. If t weren't for the vultures we'd never find you. Hell we were just about to pronounce you dead! We've been following the God Damn birds for an hour.
The naked man looked up to the stranger, standing just in front of the sun making it impossible to make out anything then his and the horses silhouette.
The stranger seamt to be accompanied by another man on horseback. A bit taller, or at least with a sense of posture to make him seem taller.
The first man spoke again.
-What's yer name boy.
The naked man opened his mouth.
-I....I....Mmy..
The world darkened before him, the heat was going away and he could feel himself as he started to lean forwards towards the hot sand. When suddenly it all went pitch black.
2 days later
He'd woken up up, no idea where he was. But the feeling of a pleasant bed was comforting enough to ensure his well being. He was no longer naked, thankfully though out outslept his sunburns on his cock. On the nightstand beside the bed was a gunbelt, and a bowl of water.
The man got out of his bed stood in front of the nighstand and gulped down the remaining water in the bowl. The man dropped the bowl, letting it hit the floor with a loud metallic thud. Which could probably be heard in the room next door. His eyes caught the gunholster. And the gun that came with it, he checked it thoroughly.
No bullets, lots of scratches and what not. Crooked sight, Hadn't even been cleaned for some time by the looks of it. A knock could be heard on the door, and a fashionable madame walked inside the room.
-Good Gracious, you're up. Don't worry about the mess I'll take care of that. Oh and if yer wondering about the cloths and gun well let's just say the last owner wasn't as fortunate as you. May God bless his soul.
She made a crossing motion from on side of her chest to the other, and then from her throat down to her belly.
-Well, Sheriff Jameson would to see you. Don't worry about finding him though, he's downstairs having a drink. He's been there almost all the time waiting for you to wake up.
Well I won't trouble you no More have work to do.
She went through the door once more, and just as she was about to close it her curiosity took the best of her.
-What's your name?
The man stared at the beautiful woman, not saying a word or even hinting to say anything. The madame felt at unease and lightly closed the door and went on with her business.
The man decided to wait no further buckled his new gun and went down the stairs to have a chat with the Sheriff. He was sitting alone in the saloon, along with his deputy.
It seams like no one had the curage or courtesy to drink with the Sheriff and his Deputy.
Both the Sheriff and deputy could hear the mans heavy steps as he walked down the stairs. The Deputy spoke first as it was common with the two of them.
-Well God Damn, He's woken up Jameson. C'mere feller, have a stiff drink.
The man slowly approached the two and took a seat, as soon as he did the deputy practically threw the drink at him. The Man stared at the filled glass, gulped it down and awaited the deputy to speak again. The man seemed awfully young round his 20's or 30's, never the less. A bit young for a deputy, no facial hair no scars. Not even a patch on his jacket. Seems like a man with little bad experience. Whilst the sheriff was completely different.
Sheriff seemed as if he'd never seen a pair of scissors in his life. His unkept appearance was only amplified with his raggedy looking coat and clothes.
-I guess by the way you gulped down that drink your a lot about straight business. Well the thing is sir, we'd like to know why you were walking naked through the desert. Except the obvious reason that you had a run in with The Valorous boys. And those mother****ers only do that to their worst enemies, we've never seen you around these parts.
The man stared at the Deputy, poured himself another glass and gulped that one down just as quick. The deputies eyes wore fixed on the estranged man with an almost incomprehensible curiosity. Whilst the Sheriff only glared at the man.
-It's None of yer God Damn business. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.
"Valorous boys eh, so that's what thouse roughskins call them selves. ****ing amateurs"
The man stood up and walked his way with his tattered clothes, aiming straight towards the door. When suddenly the Sheriff spoke, the sheriff had a very deep, dark and rough tone. One could understand why he never spoke, because it almost sounded as if it was very painful for him to speak.
The man turned around to hear what the sheriff had to say.
-You forgot your knife, dirtiest nastiest mother****ing knife I've seen. The man stared at the knife the sheriff was holding.
Oh, so it does have some importance to you still, when you were knocked out. You wouldn't drop it, you held it so tightly even after you were knocked out. So tightly infact that you had some mighty fine blisters on yer hand, bloody. Bloody hands.
The sheriff placed it on top of the table, leaving it for the man to take it. He approached the table and reach for the knife with his left hand. At the exact time the sheriff upholstered his gun and pointed it on the man.
-The other hand! The sheriffs strained shout almost gave the man a sore throat.
The once naked man gently reached for the knife again this time with his right hand, as soon as he had a hold of the knife the deputy grabbed his arm and forcefully held it to the table.
The sheriff nudged at the Deputy, he then turned the mans arm only to reveal a tattoo. It was two circles with an X in the middle, the outer circle was thinner and the inner one was thicker. The x was connected to the thick circle.
The sheriff spoke once more, this time with an exceptionally soft and tender tone.
-Mind telling me what that's about.
The strange man stared into the sheriffs eyes for a long time, still grabbed by the firm hold of the deputy. He didn't want to say too much or anything stupid. The strange man broke the silence that could cut through ice.
-It's none of yer business, but I will tell you this. It has nothing to do with this town or your problems.
With that the Sheriff hinted to the deputy to let the man go. The stranger grabbed a hold of his knife tore a piece of his "used" clothing and gently wrapped it in. He walked out of the empty saloon/hotel to a more populated one, hoping to find desperado's to help him with his mission.
Well then that's the small prologue for the new Western RP called DarkWood, I decided that it was a good idea since it's a very open idea and hopefully easy to roleplay through.
Name: Michael Clint
Gender: Male
Age: 28 (Age doesn't matter in the wild west, if you can hold a gun you're more then welcome into this group of misfits)
Desc: Tall, lanky. Blond, tattered clothing.
Advanced Desc: A tattoo on his right wrist. A scar on his lower lip from a brawl, several scars on the back from whip lashes.
Equipment: His clothing, an old gun. A rusty knife.
Country of origin: US (During the wild wild west there were immigrants from almost all over the world.)
Race:Caucasian
Bio: Running from town to town since he was a kid, never really done anything productive. Has had luck on his side enough to have a nice meal every night.
Until recently.
EDIT: I'm tired, it's late. And i'll probably make the official RP thread some time tomorrow.
