Chapter One
The dawn sun rising over Dryman's Ranch shone down on a scene of frenetic activity. Various farmhands lugging crates, barrels, sacks and equipment, family of those going on the drive wishing their loved ones a safe journey, and the lovely Mrs Dryman moving through them all, radiating beauty and good humour as she directed various people in their duties. Amos Dryman, a man with many troubles on his shoulders, stood watching the scene from the north-western side porch of the farmhouse. Despite its fairly simple-sounding name, the farmhouse was a rather imposing affair, three stories with an attic and basement, large, white-painted and roomy. A wooden sign hung prominently from the front second-story verandah, neatly painted some years ago with the words
Dryman's Ranch by the many-talented Mrs Dryman and a group of eager, giggling children from the town. The sign was a reminder of happier times, times before the ranch had been run into the ground by ever-decreasing profits, and ever-increasing harassment from Alistair Merrick. Most of those children had either been driven out of the county along with their parents, or were prisoners of the uninviting orphanage run by Merrick on the outskirts of town, where he insisted on keeping the children of those his men had put in the ground, under the guise of aiding them.
Indeed, though the house was large and well-built, it was in a state of disrepair. A few windowpanes were cracked, and a couple even broken; some shutters came loose and banged noisily throughout the night, a few roofing tiles were missing and the floorboards creaked. After all, who would spend money on fixing such small problems when the money had to go elsewhere? Still, the sorry state of the once-grand house served to highlight the ranch's problems in recent years.
Elsewhere on the ranch, the majority of the farm's workers were either helping to pack the wagons or readying their own posessions, Jack R. Flint the Doc had just finished operating on one of the workers who'd somehow managed to crush his hand beneath a heavy crate, whilst the two gunmen hired by Amos for the hazardous journey had been given lodgings in the bunkhouse, in two small rooms of their own, reserved for important, or slightly untrustworthy visitors.
After a while, Amos noticed a figure detach from the group crowded around the wagons and head over towards him. With a slight feeling of distaste, he noticed Ezhno, the Indian he'd hired to guide them through the forest.
At the moment the man looked almost respectable, in simple worker's clothes and servicable boots with his long black hair restrained in a ponytail behind him, the only visible weapon a bowie knife in a worn sheath at his side, but Amos had seen him packing his primitive bow and arrows in the wagon earlier.
"Hello, boss. I am ready to go, most everything is packed." The Indian's dark eyes watched Amos absently as he nodded once.
Shortly after the Indian, another man came up to Amos. This time it was Murray Brownsen, a perpetually gloomy, long-term worker on the Ranch. He eyed the Indian uncertainly with his long face and tired eyes, then looked to Amos.
He held his winchester repeater hanging from one hand. "Well Amos, I wish yer luck. We'll do our best keepin' that bastard Merrick of'f here."
He made to say something else, no-doubt a grim prediction of the outcome of the journey, but bit his tongue and simply shrugged his shoulders.
Sorry for not starting this for so long, but RL stuff has conspired to cut short both my internet time and my inspiration... And I discovered SS13.
Roleplay your characters in however you like, wherever you want.
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Topic: Blacktree Trail - A Western RTD- First turn of Chapter Two about 30% done! (Read 12303 times)