[Linki]

America, early 1900’s. The West is moving on from its Wild times.

But one wild outlaw still remains - Jack Marston.

Now all that is left of his family, Marston Jr. is found fighting against the same forces that took them away.

A continuation of the Marston story, it follows young Jack in his plight to free himself of the tragedies that defined his lost youth, whilst battling to survive in the beautiful and cruel world of Red Dead Redemption.

NOTICE: All scenarios in the story actually took place in game, on PlayStation 3, and in order of each other, starting with the Prologue. None of it was written and/or completely planned out before playing. Certain parts of play-sessions were either left out of the story, left up to imagination and had to be written in, or were altered/made-up (example: ‘Jack sat down and had a drink’, something that can't happen in-game, but is small and reasonable enough to be included) to enhance the story itself.

Special thanks to Mokrie Dela for guidance and Method for the logo work.



Prologue

1911. A stormy Sunday afternoon. Jack decided to work on something in the barn, away from the cold. That tree he sat and read under wouldn't shelter him from the ferocity of this storm. Uncle was still outside, fixing up the ladder on the silo, seemingly oblivious to the rain. Rufus was hopefully still in Beecher's Hope and hadn't got himself lost in the storm. Abigail, she was doing her best cooking yet - it's not like it could get any worse. John, the main Marston, had just walked in the barn.

"Hey Jack."

"Hey Pa."

"Need a hand with that?" John casually asked.

"No sir, I got it." Taking responsibility, as a father would hope his son would.

"Looks like you have. You know, you're real good with them tools." John appreciated.

"Thank you, Pa.." His father's approval meant a lot to him. He didn't get to see John much.

"We'll make this land real nice one day," John started again on his plans for his good, wholesome, farmer's life, "Me and your mother, we'll do our part. By the time your turn comes, hell, this could be the nicest farm in the county."

"Maybe, Pa." Jack had heard this all before, and he had been quick to question these promises before, but he didn't need another argument, responding with feigned optimism.

"Just got to learn to shoot straight or you'll get yourself eaten by some animal." John jokingly brought up their last endeavor.

"Very funny, Pa." Jack took it well.

"Thank you, son." Always one to have the last sarcastic quip. "Soon it'll be quail season. We should have some fun then." John broke the silence with more plans for the future.

"Is there anything you don't like shooting, Pa?" Jack's teenage attitude kicked in again.

"Well I ain't met the thing yet… but soon as I do, I'll let you know. You can even put it in of them books you read." John took it all in his stride, making fun of his trigger-happy style.

"Yeah, maybe I'll do that; 'The day John Marston stops shooting'" Jack already had a name for it.

"I ain't no literary man, but, I don't think that'll sell - people like shooting in them things." John always was aware of the world around him, having opinions on everything.

"I think you might be right there, Pa." Jack humbly replied, slightly surprised at his father’s knowhow.

"So uh… you ever heard talk about them machines that can make a man fly?" John continued the conversation, even at it's deadest. Almost as if he's was on a timer, needing to get the most out of it.

"Well sure, Pa, everybody knows about that." Jack's unsurprised response showed the state of his time, "You know they're going to be bringing one of them machines around the country next year for demonstration?" He wasn't growing up in the Old West, "One of them machines can turn men into angels." He was growing up in the death of it.

"One of them machines can turn men into angels…" And John knew it.

"John, come 'ere! John, come here, quick!" Uncle called out. John and Jack left to see what Uncle was looking at through that telescope of his. "Take a look at that." Uncle handed John the telescope. He looked for only a moment, as if not to see what it is in the first place, but only to confirm *it* was there. Whatever *it* was.

"Jack, go into the house. Lock all the doors. Whatever happens, don't come outside. You hear me? Whatever happens." John gave his orders like an army general.

"OK…" Jack didn't know what to make of it.

"Come 'ere, son." John embraced him. He needed it more than Jack did, "Whatever happens. Keep the doors locked and your mother inside. Promise me, son. Promise me."

"Who is it, Pa?"

"Just some old friends. Me and Uncle'll take it care of it. Now you go inside, and you keep the doors and the windows locked."

"I hear you." Jack replied with a sad, anxious tone.

"Then run!" John made clear.

"Yeah! Run boy!" Uncle echoed with his own twang. Jack ran off into the house to alert Abigail to the situation, but he knew not much more than she did. They locked the doors and closed some windows, Jack got himself a Bolt Action Rifle and he and his mother looked out from the window in Jack's room. Abigail realized what was happening. Once they saw John running back to the house after dealing with the first wave, they unlocked the front door and let him enter.

"What are we going to do now?" Abigail questioned.

"What's wrong? What's happened?!" Jack pounced with worry - gun in hand.

"Stay inside, you hear? Like I said. There'll be more coming." John rushed to the porch leaving an anxious teenage son with more questions than answers. Despite his mother holding him back for a second, he of course went out to his father.

"Pa, what do they want?"

"I don't know, son. Whatever it is, it ends here." Dozens of soldiers rode in a line past the entrance to Beecher's Hope and disappeared behind hills and trees directly in front of the porch John, Uncle and Jack were standing on.

"Look how many there are. They're gonna kill us aren't they?" Seeing the droves of men ride into their property gave Jack gloomy thoughts.

"No. I ain't gonna let that happen." John sternly stated. Rufus was just below the porch in front of John, Jack and Uncle. He barked out something fierce, doing his best to protect his family and home, and was never seen again. The soldiers stormed forward, over the hills. Blistering gunfire ripped by. The house took the fleeting bullets. Glass shattered, wood splintered off. John fired rapidly. Four soldiers dropped, screaming. With every shot Jack fired, he looked back at John and Uncle, anxious as to what to do. Uncle himself was working with all he had with his Winchester,

"You government crooks!" He screamed along with his gun. A barrage of shots came from the opposing forces. John went into cover. Jack almost felt his heart leap out of him, and hysterically fired faster than he ever had. Just before he was about to reload, he spotted Uncle getting shot straight through the chest.

"Uncle, are you alright?!" Jack called out and ran over to the already fallen Uncle, slumped behind cover.

"Dammit, I'm hit." Uncle said wearily. Another wave of men on horses came in from John's side. John brought them down by shooting some of their horses’ heads, causing mass clustering and flailing. The left over men limped around on the ground, with Jack popping out from cover firing down on them with John. Once they were dusted, John came over to Uncle.

"Hang in there, Uncle! I'm gonna get you out of here safe." John's admirably adamant goal of saving everyone wasn't enough for this one.

"Ain't time, John. I ain't gonna make it off this porch anyhow. You take Jack and Abi… take them and… don't worry about me. Just get 'em out of here!" Uncle coughed out his last wish - to make sure someone other than him was good and safe. A selfless last wish, one that was in direct contrast with the majority of his drinking and partying life. One that was impossible to forget.

"No! Uncle! Please! Oh my God! They killed him!" Jack staggered back in dismay.

"Come on, son. Ain't nothing' we can do for him now." John reassured his reality to Jack. Jack picked up his rifle and followed John into the house. Abigail came out and joined John, who was giving his best bet of survival for them, "We're leaving the farm. I'll watch from the silo. You two go to the barn, get the horses ready."

"John…" Abigail needed to know.

"I'll meet you there." John brushed off any doubts. As they all headed out of the front door, they all saw Uncle lying dead on the porch. Abigail lowered and paid her respects to him, with the little time they all had. She then hurried to cover outside, behind some rocks. Jack looked once more at Uncle, still in shock, and then followed out. John lowered his head a little at Uncle, and then walked off the porch. "We're gonna head for the barn. Stay close and keep your eyes open!"

"There's more coming down the hill!" That got John's attention. John cursed and ran out towards the charging forces, some on horse and some on-foot. John waited for the horses to disperse, leaving the men open. He fired with his Carbine Repeater, filling many of the soldier’s heads with lead in one stroke. Two more were left hiding. John rushed them. One of them ran away. The other fired sporadically. John rolled forward, propped up and ended up right in front of him. He placed his gun under his chin and blew his jaw off. John shot the last one in the back before returning to his family.

"Don't move until I got you covered." He ran off to the silo, scaling up the ladder and reached a great sniping position, "Alright, you're covered. Now, go, GO! Now! Quick! Run for it!" The cavalry charged in as he ordered his family for their movement. Abigail had her own revolver, with Jack making use of his rifle. Men from all angles of the farm tried to reach the Marston's on the ground, but the Marston up top didn't let that happen. Placing his shots with deadly precision, they seemed to have had no chance. This was a war these men clearly weren't prepared for; a war with a family man, not the outlaw they'd been promised. This type of man was far more dangerous. John let out his war cries, "None of you bastards are leaving here alive!" "Stay away from my family!" "I'm proud of you, Jack!" Yes. Jack - the son. He got to hear his father's approval a second time that day, only this time it was for killing men of the law.

Abigail and Jack managed to get to the barn, and John slid down the ladder of the silo. Just as he reached the ground, three housebound soldiers came riding up behind him. John rolled to the side and shot two of the men in the head, and the last one got caught in the leg. He fell and tried to limp away, before that vain attempt was stopped with a shot to his other leg. He got into a kneeling position and fired a couple shots John's way, until John swaggered up to him and placed his Sawn-off to the soldier’s head, "It was always going to end like this." A statement made towards John himself, rather than to the soldier who just met Death.

Abigail and Jack were holding each other in the barn, looking around in anxiety and worry for one another. "Hey, come on," John lead Jack’s horse out for the two and lifted them onto it, "Now listen. Jack, darling. Get on this horse. Get out of here. Go find a place to hide."

"You're coming with us, Pa." Jack said almost angrily.

"I'll catch up. You keep riding and don't look back. And don't be worrying about me, you hear? Now get going…"

"You stay out of trouble, John." Abigail pointed at John below her whilst mounted on the horse with Jack, her voice and eyes welling up.

"Ain't no trouble, Abigail. Ain't no trouble." John and Abigail embraced each other and kissed, with their son looking on in worry, "I love you."

"I love you." Abigail trembled.

"Now go. Git." John slapped the horse away and Jack and Abigail rode off, out the back of the barn. They fled for the pasture on the other side of the fence. It didn't look any greener on either side of it in this situation. Only a couple moments passed; five very fast shots that sounded like they came from a revolver were heard, which were almost instantly followed by a barrage of gunfire of all sorts - rifles, shotguns, pistols.

"Did you hear that? Jack, we have to go back for Pa!" Abigail urged Jack.

"Let's go!" Jack called, sounding a little deeper in tone than usual. He ignored the trail and hit the field, riding in a lightning bolt of determination to meet whatever lay ahead. Flying over the fence into Beecher's Hope, Abigail and Jack passed scattered bodies, all leading a grim trail to the front of the barn. They slowly dropped their pace, spotting a body not in uniform or a suit. A lone cowboy lay face up in a pool filled with murky rainwater and red blood, surrounded by a few dead soldiers and a couple government agents, the same sort of men who promised redemption for John Marston. His hat had left his head. His gun had fell from his tired hand. His redemption was certainly not met through the men that promised it, but through his own actions, and them alone. The only truth that sets a man free.



Journal

Journal Entry 1

"Freed Into Isolation"

Journal Entry 2 & 3

"The Avenger's Fallacy" & "An Evening In A Time Gone"

Journal Entry 4 & 5

"Jack And Jill Went Down The Hill" & "Seeing Dead"

Journal Entry 6 & 7

"Not A Morning Person" & "Recordings Of Mr. Marston"

Journal Entry 8 & 9

"Got Game?" & "Hunting The Hunter"

Journal Entry 10 & 11

"Testing Grounds" & "My Blessed Son"

This post has been edited by Linki on Friday, Jul 20 2012, 01:22

[AceRay]

Yeah, it was good.

I didn't really like name dropping, like calling the gun a Kentucky Saddler. It draws me out of the story and reminds me that this is a game, which isn't good cause I want to be lost in the world of RDR. Furthermore, I don't see the point of the really long prologue, it doesn't really do anything different to the game's ending. I mean, its a fine piece, but its been done by R* with no real twist, like Jack secretly despises his father inside or anything. Still, enjoyable to say the least.

[Linki]

QUOTE (AceRay @ Sunday, Jul 8 2012, 06:38)

Yeah, it was good. I didn't really like name dropping, like calling the gun a Kentucky Saddler. It draws me out of the story and reminds me that this is a game, which isn't good cause I want to be lost in the world of RDR. Furthermore, I don't see the point of the really long prologue, it doesn't really do anything different to the game's ending. I mean, its a fine piece, but its been done by R* with no real twist, like Jack secretly despises his father inside or anything. Still, enjoyable to say the least.

The Kentucky Saddler was his father's horse.

I felt the need to have some sort of prologue, rather than jumping straight into the Journal Entries. It serves as the beginning of Jack's story just as much as the beginning of Red Dead Revolver's Red served to his story (it starts with his family being attacked, just like this). Of course, it is long, and I completely understand how that is off-putting.

Thanks a lot for the feedback, man. I'll be posting the next entry in a day or two.

[AceRay]

QUOTE (Linki @ Sunday, Jul 8 2012, 19:50)

QUOTE (AceRay @ Sunday, Jul 8 2012, 06:38) Yeah, it was good. I didn't really like name dropping, like calling the gun a Kentucky Saddler. It draws me out of the story and reminds me that this is a game, which isn't good cause I want to be lost in the world of RDR. Furthermore, I don't see the point of the really long prologue, it doesn't really do anything different to the game's ending. I mean, its a fine piece, but its been done by R* with no real twist, like Jack secretly despises his father inside or anything. Still, enjoyable to say the least. The Kentucky Saddler was his father's horse. I felt the need to have some sort of prologue, rather than jumping straight into the Journal Entries. It serves as the beginning of Jack's story just as much as the beginning of Red Dead Revolver's Red served to his story (it starts with his family being attacked, just like this). Of course, it is long, and I completely understand how that is off-putting. Thanks a lot for the feedback, man. I'll be posting the next entry in a day or two.

Okay then, that's cool. But if this is all taken from in game, its gotta be more that just "I ran round and shot some dudes," introduce new characters and get some plot going!

[Linki]

@AceRay: Yeah, I do realize that. These next several entries that I've already got are going to establish Jack's beginning adventures. So don't expect new characters or such just yet.

EDIT: Moved Journal Entry 1 out of the OP to it's own post.



Journal Entry 1

"Freed Into Isolation"

His body went flying back, downslope into the river. His head had three big and red nasty holes in it. The other three bullets ended up in his chest. All six shots this time, Pa. You got to make that last shot. That last bullet you never got to fire has been freed of its chamber - a three-year sentence. You’ve been freed. I’ve been freed.

It's finally over.

My father's Kentucky Saddler was whinnying on the small hill above me. It looked golden in the vibrant and strong red rays coming from the setting Mexican sun. It looked like it used to. It looked young again. It wasn't, of course - it was grey and aged - but I'm sure it felt like it. It better had, anyway. We had a long trip back home. I'd never been out in Nuevo Paraiso before. I darted out and across the bridge back to America. This Wednesday afternoon was soon becoming evening. I didn't need to get lost in the dark. I was already lost in thought. What now? Where to next after getting home? What's the point? But for once in a very long time, I felt some sort of accomplishment. Worrying about the future wasn't too important right now. For once, I could enjoy the moment and ride high. My family’s memory was honored today, and that's all that mattered.

By the time the sun had set, I'd already flown past Armadillo and was going up the big mountainside trail into Hennigan's Stead. Goldie was riding a victory lap. He'd never been like this before. Not since I've had him. I sprinted down into MacFarlane's Ranch and was already about to pass on through. But just before I did, I looked to my left and saw a blonde woman standing under the porch of a big house. She looked as if the sight of me startled her. I guess I was riding too fast. I spurred up and went faster, fleeing forward into the water crossing that borders West Elizabeth. I was nearly home.

Throughout my three-day long journey away, I encountered many people on the side of the road calling for my help. I ignored them all. I’d had one goal, and didn't need no distractions. As I was passing Tall Trees, another distress call was sent my way from some lawman. Even though I'd already completed the goal, I rode by anyhow. A man with a badge ain't no man at all. And finally, I was on the trail home. I slowed down and passed through, into Beecher’s Hope. We won the race. First place. Goldie was a winner. I patted him and lead him to the barn. I tucked him inside and he lied down in the hay. He looked weary. He looked to be at peace… I stood around for a moment. For some reason, I was still hesitant to go through the front barn doors… I opened them and wondered if Pa was proud…


This post has been edited by Linki on Tuesday, Jul 10 2012, 01:07

[Mokrie Dela]

i enjoyed that. Some minor points i'd make: the Kentucky, Once introduced , i'd be quick to establish a shorter name for it. Perhaps "the saddler" or, bring the nickname of "goldie" to an earlier point.

I liked the little part like "you've been freed, I've been freed," and "all ix shots". I also liked the attention to detail on the horse - the cowboy's most valuable asset, trying to give it character, and showing age, someting RDR doesn't do. Look forward to more.

[Linki]

@Mokrie Dela: Great to hear, man. Appreciating the feedback! I'll be posting both Entry 2 & 3, which will be the start of how I'm going to post them, two at a time. There will be exceptions of course, however.



Journal Entry 2

"The Avenger's Fallacy"

The sun hadn’t even risen yet and I was already awake. I got up and saw the time; five ‘o clock in the morning. An early Thursday for me it was then. I walked out to the barn and found Goldie still sleeping in the hay. I got closer and noticed how still he was… old Goldie was now at rest. Maybe that meant Pa finally was too… Damn. I almost forgot. I avenged my father yesterday. So I guess it didn’t matter that much after all then? No, no. It did. I could tell through Goldie. He’d never been like that. And now he's resting in peace. But my thoughts weren’t at peace. What’s left? I hated that question, but it was the only one I thought of. And now, since I’ve done the only thing I’d been longing for in the past three years, my life has become even more deserted. I stood around this false-farm, the farm that was gonna be the best of all of them, By the time your turn comes, hell, this could be the nicest farm in the county. Maybe I could turn this into a sideshow attraction, ‘The Outlaw’s Farm'. I didn’t feel like being apart of this joke right now, and got on the only horse left on the whole ranch, Jill.

It looked like a nice morning. I didn’t know where to head, though. I just hit the trail with Jill. Maybe it knew. Jill was my trusty Standardbred Pinto, a light red chestnut-colored horse with white splash-like markings on it’s upper half. He’d been my horse since I was 16. I didn't take him with me last time - my father needed to come with me on that particular journey.

I traversed the water crossing near the Pacific Union Camp and was suddenly hit with the strong memory of riding with Pa at this same time of day, in this same sort of weather, on this same trail… He told me to get up early. It was his first day back since he’d been away doing work for the gover- and here I was again – thinking about the old days. I thought I was over this? It’s time for me to think about my own life now.

I trotted through MacFarlane’s Ranch and galloped up to a perch on the edge of Pike’s Basin, with a long road going down to the right of me. New Austin sprawled out below Jill and I, into the horizon. Countless cacti spotted the desert, along with the occasional settlement. Pale skies and white fluffy clouds were starting to show with the sun now raised. The scenery was different then what I used to with West Elizabeth. It was the cowboy world I imagined when I was young. I decided to head to Armadillo. I’d never been there, only passing it in my travels once.

Jill’s sprint was short-lived; we were already there before I knew it. I slowed down to a trot as I passed the sheriff’s office, and continued down the main road. I could feel the local’s eyes on me from both sides of the strip. I guess they hadn’t seen a real cowboy in a while. I hadn’t either – not for about three years. I hitched Jill at the saloon and walked round to the front. I was about to walk in when I saw a lady fall to the ground and a crazed man with a knife scream at her,

“You whor-“ His head flung back into a wall. Blood painted it red. The knife was on the ground, and the lady now off it. The dark haired working girl was about to greet me for my heroic savior shot,

“Why can’t all men be like you?” Her ignorant appraisal was sweet – she clearly didn’t know me, and I was glad she didn’t. I’m sure Ma would’ve been happy for me, too.

“You should choose your customers more carefully.” I gave her some advice and she handed me six bucks. Not bad. A small boost of confidence before I stepped into the saloon. The doors swung open and I looked around – a hooker and a man at the bar, another hooker sitting, a mad piano player, a man sitting at a table drinking, etc. It was pretty much how I would’ve thought it would be. I walked up to the bar and placed my hands on it. The bar-key responded without a word. He got a whiskey bottle and glass out and I was hit with a strong shot. Phew. I thanked the man and stepped away from the bar. I managed to walk upstairs without injury. I headed to a room bought by a man named Marston, back in 1911. Yes, I had knowledge of all John’s properties throughout his travels, thanks to his journal. I checked in – and out.


Journal Entry 3

"An Evening In A Time Gone"

I woke up and the sun was just about to rest under the horizon. I felt nocturnal. The six ‘o clock sunset had given the whole town a dark orange tinge. Red dust billowed up from the ground. I went downstairs from the second floor outdoor veranda, on the side of the saloon. I passed a drunken man pissing out back and kicked a crazed chicken that got in my way – all in the space of four seconds; from the moment I left the saloon. Two annoyances on this warm evening already. And now I’d been challenged to a duel in the middle of Armadillo. That was three now. I just got here today and some fool called Trett Lockey was spitting in my direction,
“You’re the boy who thinks he’s some kind of fast, tough guy. Let’s find out how fast and tough you is.” His mouth barely moved, but his dark mustache made twirls every time a sound came out of his face.

“It’d be my pleasure.” I needed some more practice. Edgar Ross weren’t exactly no gunslinger. And I had no one to guide me – in more ways than one.

“Okay, boy, let’s go.” Was he related to the man I shot this morning? Was he just threatened to know a real man was in town? Either way, he was going to reconsider his motivations in life after this duel. We got into place. He was standing in front of the sheriff’s office. I was standing opposite him, in front of the train station. I faced him, and saw the words “SHERIFF” above him. Two enemies in one sight. I could feel it “begin”. His hands were steadied. He squinted. I zoomed in; my eyes shut near close. The dark, orange sunset combined with my blurred and small vision gave everything a striking red look. My hand grasped the cold Cattleman revolver and lifted it up under my left trigger palm. He had done the same. We were aiming at each others guns. He didn’t fire and aimed higher. His target was my head; I could see his body adjust for it. I already had my target and didn’t need to waste time like him. Everything slowed for a second. Blood accompanied the sparks. His gun twisted and turned mid-air. He looked like he was going to fall. My eyes relaxed and the world looked normal again. He grasped his hand and looked up at me - with the kind of look I wish I could’ve captured and hanged on my wall - before running out of town. I saw some folk approach the scene. I took his revolver off the bloodstained dirt and walked away, back to the saloon. Seems everyone was heading to it as well. I suppose this was the townspeople home away from home.

A preacher holding the Good Book was standing directly in front of the steps of the saloon. Two men were listening to his preachings. I wouldn’t have minded if they weren’t blocking the entrance. I pushed on through and split them, clearing my way. The saloon was packed. Music was playing up-tempo, trying to keep up with the rest of the loud noise coming from patrons. I approached the bar, seeing it as an oasis in a sea of slurred idiots.

“Hey cowpoke, let me see that gun!” This working girl was standing next to me, putting her legs in a funny lookin’ cross as she leaned on the bar. If she was trying to play alluring, it was not working. The bartender smiled and winked at me, thinking something along the lines of ‘Have fun, kid! Huck huck huck!’

“Uncle warned me about women like you.” I left the bar, imagining their surprised reactions as I made my way into the back. I went through a couple of doors and ended up in a back-room poker area. I had heard the familiar sayings of a card game as I rested in my room today, and I’d been meaning to try my luck. A lawman bumped into me as he was leaving the room. I wanted to play, not start a fight, so I sat down and let the fool walk on by. He’d probably get the morning drip or drink himself to death tonight anyway. Three men were playing opposite me; Rufus Starkey, a red knot wearing man, Noah Greenup, a colored man, and Herbert Moon, an old white glasses’ wearing man. I didn’t get to know them all too well. Mr. Moon cleared me out with a seemingly never-ending collection of better hands. That was the fourth annoyance of this evening. I went and had two shots, and headed off to my room – making sure it was the last.


This post has been edited by Linki on Tuesday, Jul 10 2012, 08:41

[AceRay]

Ha ha, this was really good. I thought the bit about the duel was brilliantly done, it was intense and dramatic at the same time with some humour. Can't wait to see where this goes.

[Linki]

QUOTE (AceRay @ Tuesday, Jul 10 2012, 08:47)

Ha ha, this was really good. I thought the bit about the duel was brilliantly done, it was intense and dramatic at the same time with some humour. Can't wait to see where this goes.

Happy to hear your good impression of it, dude.



Journal Entry 4

"Jack And Jill Went Down The Hill"

The music downstairs was still playing. I’d thought I’d woken up too early, but then I checked the time – five ‘o clock in the morning. I guess the party never ends here in the Armadillo saloon. Walking outside to the shadowy, pink sky, a man came running up to me the moment I stepped foot out the saloon,

“Help! My horse just got rustled! Taken from under me!” I whistled for Jill and rode downtown, out to the desert behind the sheriff’s building. I spotted the brown back of a horse and the cream coat of a rustler on said horse. I swung the Carbine ‘round and slowed my horse, to avoid Jill jumping up and losing my aim… BAM-CLICK! He slumped off the horse, into the dirt face first. The stolen horse darted off.

“Work ya damn nag!” I spurred up mine and was already ahead of it. My lasso whipped around its neck. It jilted in one spot until it followed lead with Jill back to town. I passed the sheriff’s jail and realized who should’ve been doing this. Letting other’s do the real work is all the law has ever done! Sometimes they call it “community spirit” and manipulate townsfolk; sometimes they kidnap men’s families and force them to… Well, I should be getting my money back from this, after it got stolen in that poker game last night. The man thanked me kindly with 24 buckaroos. Not bad. That’s even more than the 15 bucks I lost.
I headed out of town for a little while. I didn’t feel like doing anymore of the law’s work for them, no matter the price.

The sun was already beginning to blister the earth around me. No clouds were covering the deep blue sky this Friday. Jill galloped through the shrubbery and seemingly endless cacti. I stopped at a couple campfires with people in between my travel of this wasteland. It got hotter, and I got further away from anything remotely human. It was now clearly midday, and Jill and I were up high in the Cholla Spring Mountains. It seemed I couldn’t make camp anywhere on the steep hills, and Jill needed some shade as much as I did. I looked around; the horizon was blurred by the simmering heatwaves. I then noticed a family of black caves contrasted against the bright desert mountainside. Little, shadowy oasis’s for the horse and me. I carefully maneuvered along the steep trails and lead Jill inside one of the nearest caves, overlooking the vast terrain. I sat in the cool chewing some tobacco, and gave the horse some apples. But before I could get too comfortable, a couple-howling wolf approached from below. Jill whinnied in distress and I jumped up-on out. The two wolves became an entire pack of ‘em as I emerged from the cave. I couldn’t go down to the right; too steep. I had to go down through the winding trail on the left.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Jill speed right through and trampled those damn wolves. They yelped as they were put in their place – under the horse in the food chain. I made two quick, twisting turns down and ended up facing straight ahead, into a rather steep uphill. A surprise mob of wolves greeted me at the bottom of Rattlesnake Hollow and chased me up, but not over. Too steep for ‘em; they barked in defeat. Just as I spotted a settlement up ahead, a cougar came out from the side and nearly clawed, nay, tackled the horse from behind. It was completely silent in it’s attack. That creeped me the hell out. I guess the cougar is doing well in the food chain, probably killing more souls with fright than mauling. In my adrenaline, I ended up on flat, safer terrain away from the Cholla Spring Mountain’s of Death (I’ve always had trouble going up mountains, nearly getting myself killed by wild beasts each time) and just outside a settlement. I could see two men atop two twin rocks, parallel to each other with a couple white houses in-between. I wasn’t going to risk running into a gang now. I finally set up camp and Jill and I had a much needed cool-down.


Journal Entry 5

"Seeing Dead"

As I rested outside the Twin Rocks settlement, I heard a woman scream a few times for help in one of the white houses. Kidnapped women, just like my own mother once was. I had to save this poor lady. I kicked out the small fire I made and hopped on Jill, giving me a good clear view of the gang guarding the hideout. I equipped my sniper rifle and was trying to decide which of the two men standing on the twin rocks would go first. I ended up locking onto the left one. A booming shot sounded. The scream was muffled as he fell behind the rock. A couple whizzing shots headed past me. Hastily, I shot the other rock-man. A barrage of shots and shouts in the hideout followed my second shot. I spurred Jill up and sprinted behind the rock on the right, for cover. I hopped off and equipped my Carbine Repeater. The noise grew loud as I ran to cover behind a small surrounding wall. I had to crouch low and move along to the side, flanking two men. FWOO-They death-danced with one another as they were hit with two bullets each, their bodies flailing into each other. I moved close inside the perimeter, using my Sawn-off to compensate. I rolled to the side as two men came through the front door of the house the lady was in,

“This bitch is ours! You made a big mi-“ The double-barrel shots sounded like a freight train blowing up. Their heads erupted red. I moved in fast, and found a man standing over the lady. Before he (nor I) knew it, I had shot him three times, violently pushing his body against the wall, leaving a red mark. She was saved. If only Ma could see me now. She would’ve been happy. I loved seeing her smile. I looted the hideout for what it was worth. 47 dollars. The money was a bonus. The thought of Ma being proud of me was the real reward. I rode on, under the galaxy, as it would seem, with all the countless sparkly stars overhead. The sky was pitch black, and if it wasn’t for the stars and full moon, I wouldn’t have been able to follow a trail into Armadillo. It was around half past seven on this Friday night. I got a drink at the bar and headed into the poker room ‘round back. I might as well put the money to some use. A couple new faces were sitting with me this time, but more importantly, Herbert Moon was still here. I felt like getting some revenge for last time, and put forth my bets for him and him alone. Every time he tried to make a move, I betted more and folded the old man into submission.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this hand.” Herbert cheekily said, looking at the other two men who were clearly aware of our battle. They both folded straight away, chuckling as they did it. I checked. What was this fool up to? He bet. I called. He bet higher. I called. I wasn’t going to let this old man bully me. I wasn’t backing down. I skipped this useless betting and calling, back and forth silliness,

“I’m going all in.” All my chips were placed. Herbert did the same without saying anything, looking worried. I showed my hand – a pair of 6. His mustache curled up revealing his smiling teeth as he looked at me, placing his hand on the table; a pair of kings. I whacked my chips on the table, spilling all over and stomped away. I could hear the two men chuckling, with Herbert leading the laughter, loud and proud. The barkey served me up a drink. I shoved it into my face and looked down into the empty glass, tightening my grip of it,

“That John Marston used to be a hired killer for the jew’s, you know.” Herbert Moon’s voice was heard clearly from the back room, through the noise of maniac piano and crowd murmurings. The name Marston can’t be ignored, nor dishonored. Especially not by some cheating, old white-prick! I ordered forth another drink and knocked drunks out of my way as I stormed into the back. The two men looked up at me gleefully, thinking I was back for another game and another inevitable loss. Their chairs collapsed backwards as all three men jumped up, Herbert surrendering and the other two men waving their revolvers back at my face in return. As I brought my attention to the armed men, Moon ran behind me and out through the backdoor of the saloon. I holstered my gun and sprinted for him. He managed to be on the trail out of town already, pleading for his life,

“I’m Herbert Moon! You can’t do this!” I caught up and shoved his back into the ground. I began kicking him violently,

“Who do you think you are, mister?!” Dirt got kicked up as he wriggled on the ground, relenting my boots striking his torso and face. He grunted and coughed, reeling in pain. I stopped and whistled for my horse. He still had some sprint in him, trying to get away back to town, but I caught him with the lasso and started dragging him back to the desert with me, “Whew! I’m getting good at thi-“ Bullets flew into the horse. Jill gave out a guttural groan. The lasso broke as Jill lifted up into the night sky, trying to block the incoming bullets. I fell back and landed in the dirt. I heard a horrific noise. Jill was suddenly on the ground; it’s hooves up in the air. Frozen. I crouched over him. I felt my ankles warm up. Blood was seeming out and under from it’s corpse, pooling into me. I heard the shouts of men charging at me. I rose up. I saw red. My repeater rang out. Three badge-wearing dogs died. Their screams echoed along with my cries, “You think that badge means something?!” Two more came on horseback. I crouched down, over Jill. I shot their horses in the neck. Their slaughter caused the law to come crashing down, “You know who my father was?!” I quickly drew my revolver. They scurried for their rifles. I emptied out six. Three for each of ‘em. Their badges glistened in the night. Blood spewed out of their torsos. I made haste and ran into wilderness. Eventually the shooting stopped coming. I was now far out in the desert. I had tears running down my face. I was breathing loudly. I slowed down and nearly collapsed. I tried to set up camp. My hands were shaking; I could barely raise the tent in my hysterics. I didn’t bother with it and huddled up next to the fire. I grabbed my knees up to my face, with only my eyes exposed to the bright flames. I only saw red.

This post has been edited by Linki on Thursday, Jul 12 2012, 01:21

[Linki]

Journal Entry 6

"Not A Morning Person"

Everyone is dead. The law has taken away anything that was family to me. But it wasn’t just the law’s fault; it was also my father’s. He thought he could be a family man as an outlaw, and when the law caught up with him, we all got caught in the crossfire. But I couldn’t really bring myself to blame him. Ma used to tell me why he died; that he was trying to protect us, that we couldn’t keep on running. Maybe… No, she was right. I could see it in her eyes when she used to tell me. There was truth in them… But she’s gone now too… Now here I was, sitting in the between a town that wants me with a noose ‘round my neck, and a hard, rocky, gargantuan, mountain wall. It’s easy to see why I can’t answer the question of which direction I need to head in life. I got up and kicked away the fire in weary frustration at what had recently transpired in the last six hours, and when I thought about it – my entire time on this planet. Then, right on cue, a group of “justice” bringers arrived. I grabbed my Carbine Repeater and hurried behind a small hill for cover. Three men rode straight towards me. I heard a dog barking. I stood up and placed my shots with deadly precision. All buzzard-food. The dog ran up to me from the left. It wasn’t friendly. It’s paws lifted up at me. It’s teeth gnawing wildly. I managed to shoot it through the neck. It flipped around and flew to the right of me. Another dead dog for the buzzards. Sparks and dust appeared. Shots bounced off my cover. One last man on horseback came riding up. He was too close; for me and for his own good. I dragged him off his high horse and brought him to down my level with my lasso. He was jabbering on and swinging around. I tightened my grip on this son of a bitch, then moved in and hogtied him.

“You dumb bastard.” I cursed at him as I picked him up and whistled. Of course, my horse never came. Jill was dead, remember Jack? I dropped the sack of sh*t,

“You’re lucky I can’t get my equalizer, boy.“ He threatened me. I kneeled down over him, grabbed the back of his head and lifted it up, revealing his neck. I shoved my knife into it and pushed its blade across to the right. I let go and his faced collapsed into the dirt. He made muffled groans and shuffled a bit. I kicked his body around,

“And I wanted to be a writer.” I said as the blood hydrated the desert floor. After looting some of the dead men, I noticed none of them had badges – bounty hunters. The law and Herbert Moon must have sent out a hit on me. How oh so kind of them. I would’ve gone to thank them personally, but I needed to get myself sorted out. I was horseless, losing supplies, money and ammunition. I also needed better weapons. Pa kept a large selection in his room; I could get some there. But first, I needed a temporary horse so I could travel to MacFarlane’s ranch, where I could have the luxury of buying my own horse deed, handpicked by me. I reached the higher position of Hanging Rock and looked around with a pair of binoculars. Seconds later, I spotted a whole bunch of wild horses. I dropped down and grabbed hold of my lasso. The moment I got close, they disappeared into the distance. Another one went, and then another, and another, until there was only one left. It was about to leave as well until I stopped it in its tracks. It jumped up and down, shaking its large neck around, whinnying. I ran up and hopped on. The ride began,

“It’ll be fine!” I tried to reason with the horse. It was erratic. Shaking back and forth. I slid to its sides, hoping to land on the horse’s back and not on air. “Yee-haw!” It was kind of fun, actually. I felt like a cowboy. I was a cowboy. I managed to force myself down onto it for long enough until it broke. It wasn’t as hard as trying to catch a stagecoach for a ride, and at least this was free. I rode bareback up and over the hilly mountainside, avoiding Armadillo. I managed to make it to the road that lead to MacFarlane’s Ranch. I was speeding by when I saw a man wave me over onto the side of the road. His wagon was spent, and his horses slaughtered,

“Help! A whole bunch of prisoner’s broke loose! Someone’s got to round those varmint’s up or gun ‘em down like the dogs they are.” The government made my Pa do their dirty work, and then shot him like a dog. Did he really think I was going to make the same mistake of working with the law as well? I lassoed this fool and dragged him away from the eyes of passerby’s, and ended up on the edge of a cliff. I tied him up and carried him.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” He was not too heavy, but heavy enough to obey the laws of gravity like the rest of us.

“I’m the damn sheriff. Untie me at once!” He rolled down the edge before he went into free-fall, his arms still tied behind his back and his feet tied together, hilariously spinning around in the air. It was more entertaining than any moving picture I’ve ever seen. I rode back on trail and finally made it to MacFarlane’s Ranch. I lead the horse to the large pen and went to “Marston’s room”. My room, I suppose. It must have been a while since John stayed here, yet it was still here, ready for him. The MacFarlane’s must’ve really respected him. I wonder if they knew what had happened to him…


Journal Entry 7

"Recordings Of Mr. Marston"

It was a relaxing, sunny Saturday afternoon. It’d been sunny for a while now. Shame it hasn’t really matched my mood, but I still appreciated it. I walked by the relatively kind residents of the Ranch and entered the general store. I browsed the selection and got the horse deed for a great Hungarian Half-bred. The horse took away $1,500 from me, but it was worth it. I walked around town and got some medicine, apples, tobacco and many more number of supplies that cut me down to $358. The MacFarlane’s better be grateful. I remember my Pa taking me here and taking their cattle back to our own ranch. I remember a lady MacFarlane who accompanied us. She was nice, blonde, and funny to Pa. I remember Ma talking about her a lot with Pa at home, saying how the lady liked him and such. I think her name was Donnie or something – a strange name for a lady, I must say.

I met my new horse and walked it around. As I did this, I spotted a bounty poster on the MacFarlane Jail:
Marston Jr.
Dead - $385/Alive - $445

I spurred up and out of town, “Faster!”
It was a good, fast horse. It responded well and had good stamina. It was pale and white with dark, misty eyes. I think I’ll call him… Misty. Yeah, that’s a good name I reckon. As I traveled further into the swampy regions leading to Thieves’ Landing, a working girl with a stationed stagecoach on the side of the road waved me to stop,

“Please, could you help a lady?” I was about to respond to her when she ran behind the stagecoach and four men appeared in her place. That stupid woman just killed herself, making a dumb move like this.

“Whoa, whoa there! We’re here to collect! Hand over whatcha-“ I heard enough. I’d already lost enough money today. My eyes squinted. The orange sunset gave the whole world a red shade. I drew my revolver in an instant. Four shots placed over their heads. They didn’t even get to fire.

“Take that boys!” I rode slowly over their corpses and saw the cheating whore, kneeling and pleading,

“Please, they-“ I shot her in the head. It was a quick death for a liar. Her neck flung back and her body followed, into the tall grass. Her knees were pointing up, then slowly dropped to the side as I searched her for some compensation money,

“Needs must, ma’am!” I didn’t like killing women. But I didn’t like getting robbed neither. I continued on my journey, reaching Thieves’ Landing. As I crossed the narrow bridge, some dirty old man was carrying a screaming lady away,

“Oh Lord help! I’m being kidnapped!” I continued riding at the same slow pace, letting my bullet catch up with him. It painted his back dark red. I got down from the horse and cut her loose. “I suppose not all men are bad,” Said the working girl. She was blonde and had a yellow corset on, “I won’t forget whatchu did ‘ere.” She tried to hug me, but I kept silent and didn’t greet her with open arms. Wasn’t really sure what to think. I just killed a prostitute less than fifteen minutes ago. Maybe saving this lady balanced ou- Yeah. Don’t think Ma would agree with that logic.

I rode out of town and reached the Great Plains of West Elizabeth. I didn’t feel homesick once I reached the farm. I didn’t feel like I did when I came home last time. Maybe my life is moving on from Beecher’s Hope. I brought Misty into the barn. It was the only horse on this ranch now. I walked out the back instead of out the front doors this time. Sometimes I’m not ready to go through them. I walked inside the house and went to my parent’s room. It felt eerie. It always did. But I wasn’t scared. I was used to being alone now - in every possible sense there was to it. I unequipped Pa’s Sawn-off and Carbine Repeater I had been carrying around. I looked through his selection and replaced them with the Pump-Action Shotgun and Evans Repeater. I’d never seen him use those, and I didn’t feel too comfortable using his stuff, except for the revolver. The new firearms were up to date as well. Not that it really mattered to me. I was wearing cowboy attire and still used a six-shooter in the year 1914.

I went to my room and looked out the window. The sun was about to set. It’s strong rays tried to reach everything it could before it was about to leave Earth. It reminded me of Pa, trying to take down every one of those men before he left the world. My world, and Abigail’s… I turned around, and pulled out my chair from my desk and sat down. I got the journal and placed it on the table, then picked up my pen and dabbed it in ink. I turned to the last entry.

[Mokrie Dela]

I'm a little late (Due to holiday) but here's my feedback

Firstly I liked the connection of John and the saddler, I felt that was clever and very metaphorical (metaphors can Be VERY powerful).

But:

-the river crossing - it'd be much better to referring that by name IMO. Unless you're trying to show jacks lack of geography of course. If so refer to it as 'the ford' - river crossing is too vague (could be a bridge ) and detail will help, especially in fan fic

When jack arrives in armadillo it's 'I could feel the locals' eyes' as it's plural. A minor point easily overlooked

The saving of the whore - it may be intentional but I see no mention of jacks gun. I like how there isn't when the man gets shot but I feel a dents ce showing jack holster his pistol would fit well here. I like how you don't mention him getting it out - an automatic reaction, reflex even, and jack maybe not even aware he's doing it - but a reference to the unconscious action and jacks reaction will be golden here
Also I prefer the full use of 'et cetera' instead of 'etc' in prose. Much like suit 'two' instead of 2... But that's a styling choice

'bar-key' I've never heard that before, is it meant to be 'bar-keep'?
The chapter is good though. I think mayb a little more character in the text - inject jacks manorisms into it and some regional/time relevant words and phrases.

All that aside I enjoyed that one too. I could see it and I think it flowed well once again.

----------------------------------------------
'an evening gone by':

I won't mention any spelling errors but I like the duel bit where you said'teo enemies in one sight' or whatever - I found that quite artful

I think the bit about squinting and blurring is wrong - tunnel vision perhaps but things would be clearer surely, his senses more honed. I also felt the passing through two doors to the poker game was superfluous; no need to mention the two doors IMO

Again I enjoyed reading it. I'll check out the next bit when I can.

[Linki]

Nice feedback, I've taken it all into account (literally, on a text file haha). I'm really glad you are enjoying it.



…Half-past midnight? Damn… Must’ve fallen asleep after getting the journal up to date. Hadn’t written for that long in a while. The clock ticked and ticked and ticked. The only noise. It echoed. Felt so vulnerable. Alone. I sprinted through the shadows. Shadows of ghosts. My heart pounded. My ears rang. I was standing against the door of their room. I called out to them. My voice was mute. No, no. I needed to be with them. I wanted to open the door. I couldn’t. My hands weren’t mine tonight. My legs weren’t mine. I felt the door handle twist from the other side. The door violently swung open. I fell forward. My face landed in dirt. The clock stopped ticking. A wolf howled in the distance. I turned around on the ground. My face was now facing up. I saw innumerable stars against the velvet sky. At the corner of my vision, back on earth, I saw the shadows… I looked to the left - Uncle. To the right. Ma. Pa. I jumped up. My eyes were glaring, about to pop out of their sockets. I staggered back in dismay,

‘John Marston 1873 – 1911. Loving husband and father. Blessed are the peacemakers.’
‘Abigail Marston 1877 – 1914. Always in our hearts.’
‘Uncle. Died 1911. Impossible to forget.’
Why was I lying in between Ma and Uncle’s graves outside? I smelt gunpowder. The revolver was in my hand. I checked the chambers – only one bullet was left… I reloaded. Time to go to sleep.

Journal Entry 8

"Got Game?"

I walked around the house. It wasn’t so scary in daylight. What was last night all about? I could barely remember any of it. I was just glad I didn’t shoot myself in my disturbed trance.

The sky was light blue. It was cloudy on one side, and clear on the other. It wasn’t too hot or cold. A great Sunday morning for churchgoers down in Blackwater, I’m sure. Shame I wasn’t one. I whistled for Misty and slowly rode out.

I needed to fill my life up with something other than bullets. Risking death in New Austin wasn’t going to result in anything but. I used to say how I would be a rich man one day. I used to say a lot of things. Didn’t we all? Pa, especially. Ma; she wasn’t as optimistic as Pa was. She never really believed we could change. She always questioned just how long we were going to live that lie. Six months, it turned out. But she seemed to be more optimistic after. I guess she was trying her best to keep me from being too pessimistic about things. Nowadays - optimism, pessimism – all that. That don’t come into it.

How much money do I have? $358. Sheesh. After seeing my bounty back in MacFarlane’s Ranch (445 for my blood), my finance issues have really become even more pressing. But how could I make money? Well, I could try my luck at that fancy, elite poker club in the Blackwater hotel… No. I’d be dead setting foot down there. Lawmen are all over that joint. As I was pondering my thoughts, Misty stopped abruptly. I blinked out of my daydreaming and looked around. We were stopped at a crossroad, next to a signpost, ‘<Thieves Landing’ ‘Manzanita Post >’. Hunting! Ha, I didn’t remember asking for a smart horse as well. Misty sure was a keeper.


Reaching Manzanita, I felt the atmosphere change with the cold breeze that was suddenly encapsulating me. The snowy regions not far north called for a change of clothes. I entered the cabin Pa had bought and changed into his old duster coat. A brown, long, trail-dust protector. It fit just fine. As I slowly lead Misty out of Manzanita, I saw the stagecoach man take a long look at me. I quickened pace and disappeared up into Tall Trees. I immediately left the road. I needed to go deep into the forest if I was going to find any big game. And this time, I wasn’t going to get nearly mauled to death. I couldn’t afford it to happen anyway. Rufus wasn’t here to lead Pa to me. And Pa wasn’t here to begin with.

Misty reached a careful gallop as we maneuvered past giant wood-stalks and snowy rocks. His white fur almost sparkled in this scenery. The background looked all the same, yet I was moving past it time and time again. I soon realized I was losing my way. I turned around and left the snowy region, reentering the traveler-friendly green-grass sector. A group of campers invited me to sit with them. I gladly accepted and got my bearings. I didn’t listen to what the man was saying, instead looking around and choosing which direction would be best to head in next.

Not long after, I spotted two dark beasts roaming in the distance. I jumped up and onto Misty. I equipped my Pump-Action. Just as I thought – bears. One was reddish and giant, the other darker and smaller. Misty got close. My heart was in my throat, thumping away. They roared and rumbled, going into a charge. I headed away. They were behind me. I wanted to sprint away. C’mon now, Jack. Don’t be scared. I can kill these bears, no problem. In my feigned bravery, Misty went back and at ‘em. I shot at the larger one before it was even close. It groaned and ran past some shrubbery, disappearing. Dammit, should’ve waite-sh*t! Misty jumped up. I held on tight. The bear clawed at us. Missed. I could feel hot air coming from its roar. Misty’s back hooves clamped down onto the bears body as he landed. I got too close, oh no, I should’ve paid attention… Wait. It’s running away. I could see a bloody mark on its dark fur. Misty trampled it. It was injured! I felt just as confident as Misty must’ve and charged at the fleeing, baby beast. I spurred up and Misty nudged it some as I got close. It groaned out in surrender and tried to speed up. I aimed down with my shotgun and fired. It let out its death cry, echoing through the woods. Birds flew away. It tumbled and turned, landing face up - its paws limp. Reminded me of Jill. I quickly dispersed that image and began the nasty part. Meat, fur, claws, and teeth. Tough work. A successful hunt. I always knew I could take down a bear. Pa should’ve seen me now. I stopped and dismounted in a wide, clear, green-grass area and set up camp.


Journal Entry 9

"Hunting The Hunter"

The setting sun was beaming through the trees. The clouds were full, and orange, dominating the largely dark sky. A man was chasing a bighorn goat through the trees, shooting wildly at it, missing sporadically. It reminded me of my last hunt. I better go and get paid for Misty and I’s heroics. As I passed into Manzanita Post, the stagecoach man looked directly at me, squinting. What was it with these guys? I dismounted off the horse in front of the trading post at Manzanita.

“Fine day out isn’t it?” The shopkeeper greeted me as I walked in.

“Evening to you, sir.” We exchanged pleasantries, but it ended there. Grizzly meat, furs, claws… all topped me out still below 400. I couldn’t rightly believe it. My worth barely changed. I left the store in a huff. I wasn’t the only thing huffing – a train pulled in. Returning to Misty, I spotted a lawman nailing up a new poster at the train station. He looked at me as he did it, then back at the poster. Before he even began looking at me again he was already cussing at me, facing the poster.

“C’mon ya dumb nag, work!” I screamed at Misty in my adrenaline. The horse sprinted back up into the trail I came in from. Shots rang out, the stagecoach was leaving, people were running all over the place – even the train started to move on. I was about to enter the snowy, deeper area of Tall Trees when I looked back to see if they were there. It was all quiet on the southern front, until they rode into view, waving their repeaters around. I quickly turned Misty back and headed up north. Specks off dust popped out from the ground a millisecond after the sound of the shots reached me. The horse maneuvered through narrow trees, bullets implanting themselves into them instead of us with the sound of bark breaking and echoing up the stalk. Spotting a lonely house, I jumped off mid-gallop and barged on in with my left shoulder.
“You are a dead man, mister!” They circled the house, threatening me in numbers. I didn’t know how many there were, but it felt like a lot. I crouched behind a table at the farthest corner of the house, facing the window and door. My shotgun was resting over the table, waiting for one of them. Soon enough, a badge-wearing man was in view in the window, “We got you corne-“ A tremendous sound came. The glass shattered. He disappeared from view. Blood and snow appeared in the air for a short while. I replaced a slug back into the Pump Action. The voices stopped. I felt more confident and took cover next to the door. I saw shadows coming from under it, and backed up. The door disappeared out of sight, and a single lawman took its place. I fired immediately. His chest swung to the side and his legs flipped up, falling. I hurried out. No more? I whistled for Misty. He came out from the side of the house. Phew. Before leaving, I looted the corpses and a chest in the house. Now I had a little over 420. I made more money from this then I did from the hunting I did today. A slow rumbling noise came from the woods… oh god. Over half a dozen men in a single line were riding to the house. I hopped on Misty and left for the long trail on the side of the waterfall.

“Hee-yah!” Misty galloped at a desperate rate. It was dangerous going this fast right next to a huge drop into the drink. I had no choice. We rode down, over a train track and headed down into the Pacific Union Camp. I thought I had lost them, when a lone rider was coming from the same track I was – gun in hand. I pulled out my Evans and we circled each other on wide field behind the Union Camp. It was like an old medieval duel. The horses winded and tried to avoid getting too close. If either one of us dropped pace, that one would get dropped. I could sense him trying to outsmart me. I thought fast and started to lead my shots. One of them caught his horse; it slowed down, still alive. He fired rapidly as I slowed down and began setting up my winning shot. Bam. Caught in the shoulder. His now former horse lifted up, its two hooves in the air, almost vertical, his body dropping into the grass below. I rode on to a crossroad sign, ‘>Thieves Landing’. I should’ve chosen this road last time. The ground started to squish as I entered the swampy settlement and made way to Pa’s room. I thought I was about to get a rest when some shopkeeper lady ran up to me, telling me how she been robbed and such. She pointed in the direction he was in and I, being kind, ran off on-foot after the thief. I tired and groaned. He was halfway across the bridge back to West Elizabeth already. I shot the bastard in the back, his body spectacularly spinning to the ground from the high-powered bullet of the Carcano Rifle. I pushed on and ran all the way to him, picking up his loot - 72 dollars. My, oh my. This would make my day all the worthwhile. I jogged behind the lady’s shop, out of her view, and continued back to my cabin. This place was called Thieves’ Landing after all… Sorry mother, but you ain’t even here no more - and I deserve it.

This post has been edited by Linki on Monday, Jul 16 2012, 05:03

[Mokrie Dela]

Entry #4. PRetty good stuff though at times (the cougar's introduction) i felt it was a little rushed. The cougar came and went, and i got no tension or anything from that passage. Sure i have experiance with them but the bit of writing was missing that bit that would make me feel Jack's fear.

Some good imagery though, the sun blistering the earth, was a well done bit of writing. I like how you're tying events from the game to the narrative and insight - at times it feels a bit sudden, a bit of an out of place event, but that's the nature of writing such events. ive tried it and had trouble at times with it.

Another note about 'goldie' btw that i hadnt said: I liked the symbolism with that and John, and the metaphor of the horse dying as john's memory is put at rest was a good move done well. Part of me actually felt sad that the horse died (incidently often in the west, if a man rode a horse hard, the horse could die. EG if you had to gallop at full speed from Escualera (sp) to blackwater, it wouldnt be unheard of for the horse to die in the real world), i felt that it was, in some ways, the last thing of John's that jack had. Goldie i assume is the same stallion in "wild horses, tamed passions"

Another quick word: I think what's missing in this is an overall story arc. It's a collection of anecdotes that are entertaining but in someways it's lacking substance. I know this started as a list of events that happened to you in the game, but i think a little story could be added in, perhaps having a few events (gangs or bounties) tieing in to a larger story, and fabricating something that's going to build up into a good finale.


#5: I like the fact that Jack wants to make his mother proud. It's a good device to have i think. its a human connection i can relate to, and it prevents JAck becoming a cold hearted bastard. It also adds character.
Yeah we all want to kick herbert moon, but it's that guy in the duster, lyle something i think his name is, that bugs me "Lambrini's got a right old civil war on, sure as shootin'" AGH! I hear that a hundred times per poker game/saloon visit!
I enjoyed reading the shootout too. A couple of formatting issues; a bit more spacing would be welcome, but i think the flow worked well. I liked the breaks for description; the badges glimmering in the moonlight, something usually put in non-action sequences worked well here. at times the badges have been the only thing to help me target (i'm currently playing with no map, and auto aim off. it's hard, especially at night!). The dialog inbetween is well placed too - it can be hard at times to have dialog in with action.

"letting my bullet catch up with him. It painted his back dark red" - I personally would have written: "letting my bullet catch up with him, paintiing his back dark red" but i thought this was a fine bit of writing. almsot personifying the bullet gave it power i think.

Also enjoyed the last entry. Could see it happen and Jack's feeling like a lost soul, caught between being an honorable cowboy and an outlaw. In my eyes jack was a man who hated the world, but also longed for acceptance or something. His parents, though gone, i feel he wants to honor and at the same time resents them for leaving him. He's alone and broken.

Look forward to the next batch!

[Linki]

Indeed it is the same horse from that mission.

And as before, kept note of your advice. Really appreciate the kind words and feedback.

[Mokrie Dela]

QUOTE (Linki @ Wednesday, Jul 18 2012, 23:13)

Indeed it is the same horse from that mission. And as before, kept note of your advice. Really appreciate the kind words and feedback.

well you're very welcome man.

[Linki]

Might be the last couple entries, but maybe only for a little while.


Journal Entry 10

"Testing Grounds"

I noticed something about this place as I stayed in my room – it had no law. Nobody questioned me for keeping the stolen money, and at least four people were shot and killed in the last six hours. This was a gambler’s heaven (or ironic hell); play bad and get rich, but the chances of getting killed have increased tenfold! I couldn’t stay here for long, but I needed to get the most out of this place before I left. I walked outside and the world didn’t get any brighter - in fact it got darker. Grey, cloudy skies for this Monday morning. I walked behind the pigpens and the horse yards, through the tall swampy grass. I needed to break into the three stores that I knew of here – the tailor, the doctor, and the gunsmith. I approached the gunsmith's building. I barged into the backdoor and found myself facing the back of the shopkeeper. He didn’t turn around as he pulled his double-barrel shotgun out from under the desk. I whipped the back of his neck and he collapsed to the floor. I took whatever change he had on him, and took some spare dollars from the armoire. I ran back out and hurried to the next store. It was right next to the gunsmith, and was a two-story building; the doctor and the tailor. I entered from the back again, went upstairs, and barged through the second-story door.

“Hand it over nice and slow.” I kept distance from the top hat wearing doctor with my revolver. He gave me his money and ran out in his tired old-man jog. As I opened some armories and found some more dollars, I heard heavy rain hit the roof and the slow, washing rumble of a storm arrive outside.

“C’mon now, give me it.” The tailor ran out the door. I chased after him outside. He turned around with a revolver. My gunshot was blurred with the sound of the storm. The blood washed away with the rain. He had a good amount on him, so good that he decided to fight back rather than give it up. Three stores robbed in the space of minutes, but I wanted more. Pillaging this back swamp town wasn’t righteous, but the folk weren’t complaining. They were too busy getting drunk and whoring the very fine women of the Dixie Rose. I was just keeping in character with the nature of a place like Thieves’ Landing. And the way I saw it, I couldn’t get money any other way. I got on Misty as I rode out to the general store near the entrance of the town, right next to the stagecoach and a big warehouse. I entered the store through the front and waved the revolver in the man’s face. I didn’t get to threaten him. He’d already sprinted out back. I gave chase, running alongside the narrow wood bridges, inches from the deep murky water. There were a lot of men walking around this area, so instead of firing a shot and shocking them into a blast-fest, I lassoed the shopkeeper. He fell face first into the wood panel, his legs caught up with the rope.

“You’d best let me go.” He said as I picked up his hogtied body. I carried over to a lonely spot, on the edge of the depths below. The heavy rain and storm would just add to the certainty of his doom, along with his ties. I placed him so the top half of his torso was out on the edge, with the rest of his body keeping him on the wood panels from falling forward. Standing over him with my revolver pointing at the back of his neck, I gave him time to think it through. I think I needed to think this through, too… CRACK! The bullet appeared as small red circle on the clothing below his neck. The momentum pushed him below, head first, almost vertical into the abyss not far below, disappearing. The single, split second gunshot sounding was like a lone train station in a long desert, the rain continuing on with its dominance of my hearing. Then I realized – I didn’t even get his money. Where were my priorities? Was I just murdering for the sake of murdering? The rain damped my thoughts before they could get settled. I needed to leave. I ran back to Misty and galloped through the storm. I just needed to find some cover from the storm and rest over this. And not far out of Thieves’ Landing appeared an overhead train bridge, with a small campfire tucked underneath. I brought Misty under and out from the windy rain and set up a tent.

Journal Entry 11

"My Blessed Son"

I heard extremely loud thunder strike right next to my ear. I quickly lifted my head up, almost giving myself whiplash. Turned out it was just my tent billowing in the strong wind. The storm had worsened and now it was getting dark. I needed to find some new, tangible cover. I led Misty out and he sprinted through the storm. It hadn’t rained or stormed in quite some time, and now the sunny streak had broken. We reached MacFarlane’s Ranch and I put Misty inside their barn. I went to my cabin in a jiffy and got a change of clothes out of my soaking duster’s coat. I found Pa’s elegant suit, and as I fitted it on, a king of hearts dropped out from one of the sleeves – you cheat, Pa. I ran to where everyone was tucked in; a small building with a poker game going on. I got invited to take one of the last seats left and sat down. The stakes weren’t high, but that was OK. Sitting here was more about gathering my thoughts then making money. Before I could get comfortable, I noticed the sheriff sitting here. He didn’t notice me or didn’t care to try anything. But it wasn’t just him - nearly the whole town was packed in here away from the storm. One of them was bound to take notice. But I didn’t budge. I don’t know why. If they were going to arrest me, I wasn’t going to stop them. Why was I like this? I realized; I murdered a man in cold blood. I felt guilty. I felt wrong.

“I get mad when I lose, you hear?” I heard the sheriff threaten the rest of the players and I. Nobody even questioned him. Then I remembered something else; the law was f*cking scum! Why was I living like this? Because of them! My mood went from passive to violent in a second after hearing that idiot talk. I bet all in and wasn’t even paying attention to what was going on in the game. Of course I lost, but I didn’t care. I got up and stormed out. The sunset was still visible in the storm outside. Puddles were glowing gold from the dying sun. I ran to the barn and mounted Misty.

“Heyah!” Misty was anxious and jumpy. I was too. I took advantage of his behavior and spurred him hard. The world was a dark blur, with random, stark flashes lightening it up. Fleeting raindrops were coming at us from all sides. I could feel the wind pulsating in our speed. The ground splashed and squished in quick succession from Misty’s feverish hooves. If we were on a long straight, we would’ve created a hurricane, no problem! But we weren’t, and I stopped at the same perch overlooking New Austin that I had stopped at before, with Jill. The clouds were huge, and dark blue like the ocean at night. The thunder was tremendous - it changed pitch and length wildly, from long deep rumbles to multiple, successive strikes. The possessed sky crackled and exploded like cannons were being fired just above my head. Millions of lining rain was shooting down through the air, landing on the once scorched earth below. I felt intoxicated by this otherworldly atmosphere. In the convulsed and erratic weather, for once I felt at ease. For once I felt I could be honest. I could be at one with the truth; my life wasn’t going to get better. My father thought his life would - that he could change. But I of all people know how that turned out. His time had passed. The time of governments and agents were trying to root out the seeds of what made the West Wild, so the government men could live in their own time without struggle, or having to fight for their place. My Pa was one of them seeds. Now, in 1914, it would appear that the only remnants of the Old West were in rare, backwater locations like Thieves Landing and pocketed gang hideouts - and me. I was born and raised in a gang. I can’t ignore that. I’m a product of the purgatory between one dying time and another flourishing one. I need to choose which time I will live in, which one I will believe in, and which one I will fight for. But, honestly, I don’t really have a choice. I never did. It’s now time. It’s time to give the struggle this new time has desperately tried to avoid - via deception, backstabbing, and silencing the death of the Old West. It’s time to become the most wanted man in the West. It’s time to become the outlaw. It’s time for me to become Jack Marston.