Well you can figure it out. Set about a decade after the Civil War in the West. It starts up in the town of Williamsburg. Rules are as usual. No god moddin, spamming, or anything else I might be forgettin.
James sat down in a seat at the saloon. He was drinking his 20th shot of whiskey and looked like hell. Only a decade after the Civil War, his hair had grown, turned gray, and his face was scarred and drunk looking."Another shot sir,"he said.
*The hinges creaked as a stranger walked into the bar, his boots caked in mud and his long grey coat faded to the thread. As he steps up to the bar you notice the damage on the shoulders where once officer stripes were sewn on.*
G'day,
I'll have a whiskey.
*The barkeep eyes the stranger suspiciously, looking over his battered officer's coat and squints as he pours the drink.*
Don't ya be thinkin' to make trouble here. We don't take kindly to yer kind no more hereabouts.
*The man shrugs, used to the constant mockery and turns around to look around the bar as he drinks his whiskey.*
There was laughter from the nearest pokertable. Someone had just lost a great deal of money. Music filled the saloon together with raw voices and the giggles of several women at the counter.
"That's right we kicked you boys all the way back to Dixie, isn't it Jeb?" laughed an old geezer and winked at the barkeep who grinned.
At the farrest corner of the saloon sat a man. The back of his head against the wall, his hands inside his poncho. He seemed to sleep.
*He rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of his drink.*
That was some years ago, stranger, I don't see what your problem is.
You won, we lost, your dead are called heroes and ours are spat upon and still a man can't enjoy a drink in peace anywhere.
The old geezer looked at the man with his eyes openwide.
"Sorry stranger. Didn't mean anything 'bout it...Just having a joke...I..."
He bowed his head and returned to his drink.
The man who sat at the farrest corner opened one eye and smiled.
James stood up and he walked over to the Confederate soldier. "Were you in the 512th Calvary Brigade?" James said quickly. His grey hair shone and his eyes were like a fire. Near the end of the war, his entire brigade excpet a lucky 50, were killed against the Union forces. "Are you?"
"Colonel James Miller," James said. "What say you meet me at my house to stay? I've been going over plans for awhile and you might be able to help me. And also, I'm not that old. Stress and war did a toll on me. 42 and still kickin captain."
James held out his hand and said,"So what say you becoming partners?"
He salutes and shakes the man's hand.
It is a pleasure to be makin' yer acquaintance, sir!
And a greater pleasure to be meetin' a friendly face in these here harsh times.
I'd be honoured to stay at yer house, sir, if it be nothin' of an inconvenience to you.
He cocks an eyebrow and leans a bit closer.
But pray tell, how can someone like me help you out?
"Liberation. I have an old friend in a hard place," James said,"Now get your horse. Theres some whiskey at my place." James walked outside and got on his black colt, Edgar jr.
The man who had pretented to sleep saw the two southern men walk outside.
He stood up from his chair and walked to the doors.
"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going? You haven't payed!"
The barkeep stopped cleaning the counter.
The man looked over his shoulder at the barkeep and tossed his money into an empty glass.
Outside he put on his hat and decided to follow the two men.
James saw what was happening and pulled out his revolver. "Who are you and why are you following us?" James said as he tied his horse down with his other hand not looking away."So who are you?" he demanded
The man looked into James eyes. "Name's Greg. And I don't mean anything bad..."
He looked at the two men and grinned. "I watched you all day, drinking that whisky, than he came in..." He nodded at Nate.
"...And I was wondering what such two fine southern men were doing here in these parts..."
James made a gesture and said,"Come in." James walked into his beaten shack. The floor was dirty and a bowie knife was sticking out of the dining table. James put his gunbelt on a rack and took out a poster from a cup board along with 3 glasses and some whiskey. "Sit sit," he said. James sat down at the table and put the poster down. On it was the words:
WANTED: WESTWOOD
FOR DESERTING
REWARD: $500
"This was an old friend of mine. He helped me alot and I paid him back each time. This time I owe him for saving my ass from the Union. Now I plan to get him out. He's in a jail cell in DC. So whatcha think of helping me out?" James said as he took a sip of his shot of whiskey."I'm an outlaw already. Their trying to figure out who keeps robbin' the general store of all their whiskey," James said with a chuckle.
James showed them a map and what he needed. "So want to help me? If you will, you can't be yellow about it. This is gonna be tough and I need some fresh guns. I've commited countless crimes already. This is the only town that respects me so much they say I don't live here. So, partners?"
"Friendly type aren't y'a Nate." He frowned his eyebrows.
"I couldn't help but overhear a part of your conversation at the saloon...I don't know how you two are capable of doing something like that but I want in it."