DeletedUser
It's winter and Christmas is usually supposed to be a time of joy, but for one young man winter brought new troubles, new pain and the worst was yet to come.......
The strangers had come to the village at dawn, six days ago. Nothing had been unusuall back then, they just rode in and took up rooms at the wayside inn. It was always a quite village, right on the mexican border and nothing had ever been strange about the newcomers.
Some of the village elders had questioned the dark torn dusters the men wore, they appeared like tall phantoms in thier long leather coats, stained by the trial dust. There were nine of them all together, each mounted on big horses black as coal. Thier leader had been a man with a weatherbeaten face and grey hair, though he must have been only forty, something in his eyes betrayed a cold dark hatred that seemed much older.
For four days the strangers had done nothing unusuall, the village was used to seeing men ride south in search of the silvermines. Since there were no more indians the land had been peacefull and even the bandits were in the hills for winter.
On the afternoon of fifth day one of them, the villagers recognised him as the leader rode away. Nothing seemed strange in that, and the villagers went into thier fields to finish off harvesting the corn.
As night drew in the strangers joined the villagers in celebrating their harvest, they danced with the young maidens and shared drinks with the young men of the village. Only the young son of Ramirez the village headman was absent. He had taken his staff and ridden his donkey into the hills to round up the last of his fathers flock.
He never reached the sheep, not long after he had left he heard the unmistakable sound of guns. His father had been a famous bandit and he had heard the sound of his fathers revolver before, but never from his own village had he ever heard so many shots. Consumed with fear he rode back to the village as fast as his little donkey could carry him.
"Come on Buro! Heeyaa haaa! Chuuh!"
He knew before he got back that the shots had been fired by the strangers, those gringo's carried sixguns low on thier hips, everyone of them had at least one. Suddenly the fear made him almost fall from his unsteady mount, he had no weapon, except the wooden club in his hand and the slingshot in his belt. Against the strangers he was practically defensless. He dismounted and ran the last few slopes overlooking the village. Tears welled up i his eyes and he wanted to cry out but he styfled his yell, just as he heard more hoofbeats.
The young mans world was full of darkness now, he had returned to his village and seen his father lying dead beside his bed. His pride, the Remington revolver he always kept loaded on his bedside table was gone. His mother had died when he was still seven, and now he was consumed by his loss. He ran to his fiance's home only to find her fammily had all been shot and his beloved killed by a blade.
He wished he could have do something, rather than hide among the rocks. He had watched the strangers from a hill as they rode among the village. As well as the eight that had been in the village, he had seen another eight ride in as the he crouched among the rocks.
They had been led by the same grey haird man. He was tall and had been ordering the men, all of them had been American before but the grey haired rider had bought two mexicans among the with him.
Why his village!
The next day still full of sorrow the young man buried his father and the other villagers, thier graves simple earth mounds. He had insisted his father be buried with rocks on top of the grave to protect his body. He buried his beloved beneath the shade of the only tree he could find it was a thorny flowering cherry tree, whose pink flowers would fall upon the girl he loved as she lay overlooking his village.
The young man had nothing to live for now, the night before he wanted to die, but now in the pale afternoon he vowed he would start hunting. Even if he had to walk across the dozen miles to the border, and beyond across the Desert's and Sierras. He would still wander, from village to town and city to endless plain, he vowed on the blood of his lover and swore he would find the men who had tried to destroy his world. He had nothing to live for but he would wander till he found the demons who had done this. He would not stop wandering until they they too were lowered to thier deathbeds and he swore he would dance upon thier graves till he was sure they were dead. The young man had looked forward to Christmas but this season he prayed to the Saviour for his chance.
For the young man was only sixteen and he was the son of Ramirez, his name was Hugo Antonio Valdez. In less than a week his life had changed for ever.......
OK folks that was just a short story i have been working on. I am Valdez and i look forward to continueing my adventures in this game. I'm sorta new so just getting a feel for the ropes. I love westerns and i love role-playing-games. As you can imagine i get a bit carried away sometimes.
Hope you all liked that short story, its just the prolouge to my character Valdez, who starts out as the son of a former Bandit in Mexico, who then travels north into new Mexico..... his life is full of interesting quests and although his life is short lived, bloody and very emotional it sure is one hell of a rollercoaster. Not to mention the duels and does he ever get his revenge or is he doomed to being a wanderer?
Well i'd appreciate any sort of feedback guys and thanks for having the patience to read that..... it must have been very boring.
The strangers had come to the village at dawn, six days ago. Nothing had been unusuall back then, they just rode in and took up rooms at the wayside inn. It was always a quite village, right on the mexican border and nothing had ever been strange about the newcomers.
Some of the village elders had questioned the dark torn dusters the men wore, they appeared like tall phantoms in thier long leather coats, stained by the trial dust. There were nine of them all together, each mounted on big horses black as coal. Thier leader had been a man with a weatherbeaten face and grey hair, though he must have been only forty, something in his eyes betrayed a cold dark hatred that seemed much older.
For four days the strangers had done nothing unusuall, the village was used to seeing men ride south in search of the silvermines. Since there were no more indians the land had been peacefull and even the bandits were in the hills for winter.
On the afternoon of fifth day one of them, the villagers recognised him as the leader rode away. Nothing seemed strange in that, and the villagers went into thier fields to finish off harvesting the corn.
As night drew in the strangers joined the villagers in celebrating their harvest, they danced with the young maidens and shared drinks with the young men of the village. Only the young son of Ramirez the village headman was absent. He had taken his staff and ridden his donkey into the hills to round up the last of his fathers flock.
He never reached the sheep, not long after he had left he heard the unmistakable sound of guns. His father had been a famous bandit and he had heard the sound of his fathers revolver before, but never from his own village had he ever heard so many shots. Consumed with fear he rode back to the village as fast as his little donkey could carry him.
"Come on Buro! Heeyaa haaa! Chuuh!"
He knew before he got back that the shots had been fired by the strangers, those gringo's carried sixguns low on thier hips, everyone of them had at least one. Suddenly the fear made him almost fall from his unsteady mount, he had no weapon, except the wooden club in his hand and the slingshot in his belt. Against the strangers he was practically defensless. He dismounted and ran the last few slopes overlooking the village. Tears welled up i his eyes and he wanted to cry out but he styfled his yell, just as he heard more hoofbeats.
The young mans world was full of darkness now, he had returned to his village and seen his father lying dead beside his bed. His pride, the Remington revolver he always kept loaded on his bedside table was gone. His mother had died when he was still seven, and now he was consumed by his loss. He ran to his fiance's home only to find her fammily had all been shot and his beloved killed by a blade.
He wished he could have do something, rather than hide among the rocks. He had watched the strangers from a hill as they rode among the village. As well as the eight that had been in the village, he had seen another eight ride in as the he crouched among the rocks.
They had been led by the same grey haird man. He was tall and had been ordering the men, all of them had been American before but the grey haired rider had bought two mexicans among the with him.
Why his village!
The next day still full of sorrow the young man buried his father and the other villagers, thier graves simple earth mounds. He had insisted his father be buried with rocks on top of the grave to protect his body. He buried his beloved beneath the shade of the only tree he could find it was a thorny flowering cherry tree, whose pink flowers would fall upon the girl he loved as she lay overlooking his village.
The young man had nothing to live for now, the night before he wanted to die, but now in the pale afternoon he vowed he would start hunting. Even if he had to walk across the dozen miles to the border, and beyond across the Desert's and Sierras. He would still wander, from village to town and city to endless plain, he vowed on the blood of his lover and swore he would find the men who had tried to destroy his world. He had nothing to live for but he would wander till he found the demons who had done this. He would not stop wandering until they they too were lowered to thier deathbeds and he swore he would dance upon thier graves till he was sure they were dead. The young man had looked forward to Christmas but this season he prayed to the Saviour for his chance.
For the young man was only sixteen and he was the son of Ramirez, his name was Hugo Antonio Valdez. In less than a week his life had changed for ever.......
OK folks that was just a short story i have been working on. I am Valdez and i look forward to continueing my adventures in this game. I'm sorta new so just getting a feel for the ropes. I love westerns and i love role-playing-games. As you can imagine i get a bit carried away sometimes.
Hope you all liked that short story, its just the prolouge to my character Valdez, who starts out as the son of a former Bandit in Mexico, who then travels north into new Mexico..... his life is full of interesting quests and although his life is short lived, bloody and very emotional it sure is one hell of a rollercoaster. Not to mention the duels and does he ever get his revenge or is he doomed to being a wanderer?
Well i'd appreciate any sort of feedback guys and thanks for having the patience to read that..... it must have been very boring.
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