Post by Tals on Aug 11, 2016 20:18:56 GMT -5
Introduction:
Moving out to the middle of nowhere in 1840s America seems like the worst idea possible. The mountains, the predators, the criminals, everything. On your trip to the lush prairie grass plains, you and your few family had to drop off a couple sets of drawers, dressers, and other objects that had weighed down the wagon. The horses snorted and trotted along, and sun felt like it was going to burn your skin off- whether you were outside riding and steering, or you were simply baking inside the object. How wonderful right?
At least, that's what everyone thought. There had been a wonderful town set up for people to come and stay in if they choose not to continue onto the California gold rush. The town had been in an advertising state within the newspapers that it was a cute little place, with no quarrels, and it almost seemed like they didn't need the sheriff! Things change- and boy did it change.
When you arrived, the large wooden and blocky buildings stood tall in a large line, assuming it was Main Street, and people acted as if they were wild. The sound of shouting and jeering from the saloon certainly caught anyone's and everyone's attention, and it was filled with swarming bodies, whether it be gamblers, alcoholics, or ladies looking for a fun night. It was sickening to the stomach. However, it seemed that across the way was the bank, and a few men rode out as if being chased. What you least expected was you being caught in the middle of it. Loud bangs rang in the air, the laughter continuing on to the right. A man shot by then, his horse panting as its massive frame raced by like it's life depended upon it. He was chasing the robbers, and the robbers were quick to notice.
They were quicker, and they shot off like bullets themselves into the hot land of the desert, and disappeared on the horizon. The man from earlier had yanked on the leather reigns, halting his horse and panting lightly. Within his hand was a revolver, the magazine popped out at the side and his thumb spinning it. He gave a disheartened sigh, and his eyes immediately shifted over in your direction.
"We don't like newcomers. That," he gestured towards the saloon with his ammo-less weapon, 'Is what you bring with."
Moving out to the middle of nowhere in 1840s America seems like the worst idea possible. The mountains, the predators, the criminals, everything. On your trip to the lush prairie grass plains, you and your few family had to drop off a couple sets of drawers, dressers, and other objects that had weighed down the wagon. The horses snorted and trotted along, and sun felt like it was going to burn your skin off- whether you were outside riding and steering, or you were simply baking inside the object. How wonderful right?
At least, that's what everyone thought. There had been a wonderful town set up for people to come and stay in if they choose not to continue onto the California gold rush. The town had been in an advertising state within the newspapers that it was a cute little place, with no quarrels, and it almost seemed like they didn't need the sheriff! Things change- and boy did it change.
When you arrived, the large wooden and blocky buildings stood tall in a large line, assuming it was Main Street, and people acted as if they were wild. The sound of shouting and jeering from the saloon certainly caught anyone's and everyone's attention, and it was filled with swarming bodies, whether it be gamblers, alcoholics, or ladies looking for a fun night. It was sickening to the stomach. However, it seemed that across the way was the bank, and a few men rode out as if being chased. What you least expected was you being caught in the middle of it. Loud bangs rang in the air, the laughter continuing on to the right. A man shot by then, his horse panting as its massive frame raced by like it's life depended upon it. He was chasing the robbers, and the robbers were quick to notice.
They were quicker, and they shot off like bullets themselves into the hot land of the desert, and disappeared on the horizon. The man from earlier had yanked on the leather reigns, halting his horse and panting lightly. Within his hand was a revolver, the magazine popped out at the side and his thumb spinning it. He gave a disheartened sigh, and his eyes immediately shifted over in your direction.
"We don't like newcomers. That," he gestured towards the saloon with his ammo-less weapon, 'Is what you bring with."
Setup-
1) Introduction
2) Rules
3) Joining Forums
4) Characters
5) Members
