[b]Name:[/b] [Remember you'll all share the same last name]
[b]Age:[/b] [17-23] [If you share the same age you're a twin or triplet with the other players]
[b]Gender:[/b] {Are you a boy or a girl?}
[b]Appearance:[/b] {Be reasonable, and make sure you look vaguely alike or like your parents. Or else Momma's got some splannin' to do.}
[hr]
[b]Wearing:[/b] {Jeans do exist in the time period, otherwise have fun making your Frontiersmen}
[b]Holster:[/b] {Pistol} [The more holsters you have the more weapons you can carry, you can also trick your holster out if you wish. Just keep it as a pistol holster though.]
[b]Weapon:[/b] {Cowpoke Brand Revolver 6/6 Shots}
[b]Ammo:[/b] {12 Pistol Bullets}
[b]Inventory:[/b] {} {} {} [Like put whatever you want in there... except ammo.]
[hr]
[b]Skills:[/b] {} {} {} {} [Anything goes, even whistling can be a skill.]
[b]Traits:[/b] [This is for RP, but make sure you use "{}" instead of "[]". The brackets give a more western vibe. Also put some good, some neutral, and some bad. Again these are for RP and fleshing out characters, not to Min/Max.]
[b]Childhood:[/b] [This is your back story, I want at least a paragraph explaining how your parents were and how life was on the ranch. You can write about players if you wish, but this is mostly focused on your character.] [REQUIRED]
[b]Personality: [What do you act like][/b]
[b]What will your posts be like?:[/b] [Your scenario, some dude has your sister hostage and at gun point. How would you RP the situation out.] [Basically post like you were actually RP'ing in the game.]Name: Amy Ricochet
Age: [19]
Gender: Cow Girl!
Appearance: I have long luscious blonde locks, just like my mother! My eyes are as blue as the lake out back, and my face is mottled with freckles like a pig takin' a mud bath! I have a figure the shape of a slick bottle and my nimble hands are always on my round hips!
Wearing: A big ol' leather hat fit for any Cow Girl keeps my face out of the blasted sun. I have a fine, brown leather, cut sleeve jacket over my pretty blue blouse! (Sewed it myself!) I have some patched up jeans that I've been wearing for some time now, so they're a bit dusty, and they're fallin' apart at the fringes, but they're cozy comfy! A white belt wraps around my oh-so-slender waist, and at my feet are my trust white boots with spurs on the back.
Holster: {Pistol}
Weapon: {Cowpoke Brand Revolver 6/6 Shots}
Ammo: {12 Pistol Bullets}
Inventory: {Sewing Kit} {Keys To The Hen Coop} {12 Dollars In Change!}
Skills: {Sewing/Stitching} {Animal Care} {Charm} {Scavenging}
Traits: {Animal Lover} {Short Attention Span} {Jealous} {Nervous Under Pressure} {Fashion Is A Passion} {Family First} {Boy Googler}
Childhood: I spent most of my life caring for the animals. When I was seven, mama gave me the job of tossing out seeds to the chickens every morning before the sun reached midway in the sky. I loved to watch the chickens flock from their cute little homes and eat up! Then, as I got older, I was tasked with bringing out hay to the horses, milking the cows, and keeping watch for those pesky wolves! When I was 12, I had to learn how to fire a gun to make sure I could protect the coop from foxes and wolves. I didn't care for it much, so I picked up sewing instead! I still practiced with my siblings, mostly my father, but my weekends were all about sewing with mama!
Personality: I'm bubbly like cider but my heart is as soft as a pillow full of feathers! I have a bad habit of biting my nails when I'm stressed, or nervous, and sometimes I snap when I'm angry, but I'm still fun loving and happy-go-lucky. (And a little flirtatious. Watch out, Fellas!)
What will your posts be like?:
Amy slowly edged around the corner. She could hear the bandit holding her dear sister hostage. Amy's heart raced as she heard her sister cry out between the fingers of the unknown man. The holster with her trusty pistol seemed like a mile away from her hand, and Amy was shaking too badly to touch it. Then, the bandit spoke.
"You better watch it, Missy. I'm gonna take care of you, then the rest of your family. Including your dimwitted sister." Followed by an evil cackle, Amy's world suddenly focused in. If she wasn't lookign at the world in HD before, she was seeing it in 3D now. Amy stepped around the corner and with placed her hand over her holster.
"Oh really now?" Amy said stepping out from the corner, her thumb cocked the pistol and she pulled it out of its cage before the bandit could turn around. Slowly, and with her hips moving side to side like she was on a runway, she fired at his legs, pulled the hammer, aimed, and shot right for his skull.
Name: John W. McShale {Ricochet? Christ how... Bleh.}
Age: 21
Gender: A bonafide Male, wanna check?
Appearance: John stands at an average 5' 9'', with green eyes and brown hair. He's got large shoulders and coolness in his eyes that would send shivers down your spine.
Wearing: Wide-Brimmed hat, Leather Duster, Button-Up shirt, Slacks, Boots.
Holster: {Pistol}
Weapon: {Cowpoke Brand Revolver 6/6 Shots}
Ammo: {12 Pistol Bullets}
Inventory: {Half-Bottle of Whiskey} {Map} {Compass}
Skills: {Shootn'} {Brawln'} {Bein' Toughest Son of a Gun you know} {Playn' Gitar (Guitar)}
Traits: {Tough} {Fast Hands} {Ice Cold Son of a Bitch} {Smokes} {Easy to Anger} {Deadly Protective of his Siblings} {Bit of a Drinkn' Problem}
Childhood: Grown' up on der ranch taught me bout like better than them ol' book learnings eva did. Taught me to look death in the face and tell to piss off fore I socked it in the jaw. Course Pa wasn't to keen when e' found that his ol' pistol went missn' and all his ol' bottle bit the dust. He beat me, though I know it was betta he focused his anger on me instead of Brother and Sister. I had to be the tough one. I always have been and always will be.
Personality: John is a half cocked gun ready to go off in the face of someone that pissed him off. His tough up-bringing and his feelings for his sister and brother make him the last person you'd ever want to cross. He'd socked you as much as he'd shake your hand.
What will your posts be like?: The Bandito had Sis by the neck, pointing his goddamn revovler at her pretty head. It wasn't the first them we've found ourselves in this situation with the same man, but it would be the last. As my ears were ringn' and I couldn't 'ear what he was saying but I could see that the dimwits revovler was cocked and the hammer was sitting on a blank [It was common practice due to revovlers going off to leave one spot empty. Of course, some morons didn't remember which slot was empty and would pull on a blank]. Quickly, I drew my pistol, I aimed for the gun in his hands and sent it flying with a shot. As he let go of Sis and yowled in pain, he took two more two the chest.
And done!
Name: Flynn Ricochet
Age: 17. "Ah' may be a young un', but I can still handle mah' self!"
Gender: Male. "Gee, mister! If y'all couldn't tell already, a'hma boy!"
Appearance: Flynn is pretty short - around 5"8, and has a bright, pale face with a messy brush of sandy-blonde hair. His eyes are a dim, blue colour, and he has a few small freckles placed on his somewhat gaunt cheeks. He isn't much of a muscular build, but his bony arms certainly look dexterous. His hands also have various scars on them - five finger fillet isn't a fun thing to practice, but at least he's great at it now! (RP Response:) "Bein' blonde's always been a thing in the family - ah've got me a messy brush of blonde hair... uh... suppose ah'm pretty good-lookin'... and... a-a-ah... (dangit, what colour are my eyes again?!)... pass...? AAAAMY! WHAT COLOUR ARE MAH' EYES AGAIN?!"
Wearing: {Worn, White Stetson Hat} {Black Leather Gloves} {Rugged Leather Sleevless Jacket} {White Long-Sleeved Cotton Shirt} {Worn Leather Pack} {Plain Ol' Pants} {Boring Ol' Briefs} {Simple Ol' Sandals}
Holster: {Pistol}
Weapon: {Cowpoke Brand Revolver 6/6 Shots}
Ammo: {12 Pistol Bullets}
Inventory: {Trusty Hunting Knife (https://img1.etsystatic.com/007/0/7412243/il_fullxfull.386907381_g0wa.jpg)} {Empty Leather Wallet} {Good Ol' Brass Harmonica}
Skills: {Knives} {Skinnin'} {Trackin'} {Harmonica...in'}
Traits: {Dang Quick Fingers} {Speedy Runner} {Kinda Charmin'} {Pervy!} {A Lil' Weak} {Pretty Dumb} {Hydrofoobee... hydra... hydo... scared of water, a'ight?}
Childhood: Born with a large interest in knives and all sorts of dexterous tricks, Flynn's father was the first to teach him how to handle a knife when he was a kid. He got taught how to shoot a gun by his dear old pa' too, but Flynn wasn't an outstanding shooter - but damn, did he know how to handle a knife. When he grew up to his early teens, his ma' and pa' finally allowed him to go on hunting trips, where Flynn started to make his own skins and bring home meat at his early teens of around 15 years old, which made him stand out from the rest of them kiddies. Secretly when he hit the age of 16 and was finally considered somewhat of an adult, Flynn also used to make bets by playing Five Finger Fillet. He made quite a bit of cash; he speed and concentration with a knife was remarkable, and couldn't be matched by the other average ranchers. Finally growing up and discovering that thing called puberty, Flynn has grown to be very protective of his family, and will do whatever he can to repay his dear ol' ma', pa', sis' and [other family member to be added] for their love and support. But first... maybe one more quick match of Five Finger Fillet?
Personality: Flynn isn't too bright, but he still means well. He's generally kind, if a little cocky sometimes, and enjoys making other people entertained with whatever talents he can muster, even if he is a little loud. When needed, Flynn's concentration is quite remarkable, making him a good hunter known around the ranch. He's also got somewhat of a silver tongue when it comes to girls. He also gets angry quite easily, but it isn't very threatening - Flynn's voice is a little pathetic when raised.
What will your posts be like?: Flynn looked onwards with horror as his sister, held forcefully with a gun to her head, looked Flynn in the eye desperately. Balling his hand up into a fist and looking up at the bandit - his mouth hidden by a bandana and a chuckle coming from behind it, Flynn clenched his teeth as he began to shake with anger. Who was this darned punk, and what the hay did he think he was doing messing with his family! After everything his big sis' had done for him, he be damned if he'd let some average bandit kill her now!
"Y-you let go o' her, you sunava' gun! What chu' want from us anyways?!"
"You know what ah' want, you little punk! Yer' gonna' stand right there an' watch me kill your dumb sister, right in front o' yer eyes!" The bandit cruelly whispered, and dug the barrel of the gun into his sister's temple. Ain't nobody messing with Flynn's family like that - he may be the youngest, but he could still protect his darned family!
Flynn suddenly spat out of the side of his mouth with a grunt, and before the thug could even think twice, Flynn's quick fingers grabbed the knife at his belt, and with a quick, graceful flick, he threw the knife, aiming straight for the thug's eye.
I'd like to get in on this if possible later. I'll be upfront, I've never RP'd anything and kinda have a habit of getting drunk and forgetting about this sort of stuff. But I'm pretty familiar with the era in question and this is a cool idea!
Edit edit: As an example of kinda drunk, I am so right now and apparently missed the character sheet -copy and pasted someone else's character and edited that. Oops. Will rewrite tomorrow.
Name: Franklin Redarrow
Age: 27
Gender: "What the hell kinda question is that?"
Appearance: Frank is 6" and about 180 LBS - tall and lanky to the point of stereo-typism. Brown hair, green eyes. When he's clean, he looks like he's got a great tan going on. He ain't never clean.
Wearing: Sombrero, Pancho, Old Vest, Worn Pants, Really Worn Boots
Holster: {Horse Scabbard For Rifle}{Hip Pistol}
Weapon: {1848 Walker Revolver} {1876 Winchester Repeating Rifle}
Ammo: {24 .44 cal balls, plus powder, lube, and percussion caps for 24 shots} {15 rounds .45-75}
Inventory: {.44 cal bullet mold}{Flint and Tinder}{Knife}{Powder Horn}{World's Most Ornery Horse}{Enough dough for either another drink or a room for the night}{Acme Brand Grade A Cure All Super Tonic, Now With 10% More Cocaine!}
Skills: {Shootin'}{Smithin'}{Scalpin'}{Ballroom Dancing}
Traits: {Tough}{Mean}{Mercenary}{Mixed Race}{Drinking "Problem" (Old West PTSD)}{Theoretical Knowledge of High Society Manners}{Jaded}{Not A Great Horseman}{Hooked On Tonics!}
Childhood: Grew up in a Cherokee camp till the U.S. cavalry showed up and killed everyone. Killed my pa for bein' a white man with a red wife, killed my ma for bein' red. Took me to the city to live at the orphanage 'cause it weren't my fault I was a bit'a both. Learned some fancy society-type skills till I were old enough to work, then got apprenticed out to the local smithy. Didn't last long, didn't like the rules, an' sure as hell didn't like breakin' my back for no pay. Joined up with Sam Houston's Dragoons, fought the Meskins for a spell durin' that dustup. Been runnin' bounties both white and red since then, till I heard about the gold further out west. I ain't one for scrabblin' in the dirt, but there's gotta be a buck to be made out there for a feller like me.
Personality: While he wouldn't kill you on a whim, he probably would for a silver dollar. Not for lack of morals, but more because he's apathetic to them and more than a little bitter about life, not to mention that a silver dollar ain't no plug nickle. Capable of being polite as an east coast dandy when the situation calls for it. The situation, however, is usually quite a bit simpler to resolve with a little violence. Goes by Redarrow because Franklin is (to him) a sissy's name.
What will your posts be like?: Caught up to the Dennings boys right after the noon sun. I watched them fellers rip up the wagon train for a couple'a hours, killin' anyone fool enough to try and make a break outside the circle. Doin' them a favor, really - all the horses looked long dead, and the desert can kill a man much more slow an' ugly than a .44 ever will. Once the men were all dead, least the ones that weren't too sick to fight, them bastards moved in like a buncha buzzards. Haulin' the womenfolk back to camp, I figured - weren't nothing else worth takin' from these end of the line folks. All the better, they wouldn't be keen to me coming up on them in the dark.
Once they hightailed it, I tracked them back to the river they were set up near. Guess all the killin' musta satisfied their primal needs - didn't have no time for the women, and 'stead got set about getting rip-roarin' drunk. Was only 'bout an hour after dark that the last of them sacked out, most of 'em didn't even bother to make it back to the tents 'for they fell over - guess all that hollerin' and shootin' tires a feller out. Easy pickens. I loaded up my ol' '76, and took up a point on a little ridge 'bout 100 yards back - little risky, but I didn' see no rifles while they were knockin' over the wagons, and it'll be a cold day in hell before some drunk bandito can make that kinda shot with a wheelgun. Got all settled in, then drew a bead on the feller I figured to be the night guard - knackered as the rest, but by my count, he seemed like the only one who'd had the sense of mind to pass out before emptyin' his pistol in the dirt in celebration of the victory 'gainst a bunch of poor, sick pilgrims. Front sight on the center mass - the shot rang around like a thunderclap, and that big ol' .45 slug put him outta service real quick. Followed it up with two more slugs in two more guts right quick, addin' a little lightinin' to the thunder, got myself rewarded with two more dead boys. Musta taken 'bout five minutes for the other three to sober up and get outta their tents, and far less time by my reckonin' to put them back to sleep. Shit, I didn' even have to reload.
Slung the rifle up on Eris*, who fer once stayed put for the whole fight, and pulled my pistol - pistol's only good for when you get foolish and set yer rifle down, but it does swing a little easier in a tight space. After checkin' the caps, I edged my way real slow down to the tents 'less one of these bumpkins managed to smarten up enough to stay inside while the "fight" was happenin'. After pokin' through the first two, I let my guard get easy and straight on walked into the third tent. Got greeted by something real dirty an' hairy comin' at me with a little toothpick of a blade - front sight, center mass put an end to that something fast. Seven for seven, if only I could hold that luck at the poker table. Once I gotta good look at it, I realized it were one of the women - dunno if she was their cooky, or if she'd just been stuck there a while and figured me for a Denning. Well, ain't no time to feel bad - she shoulda known better than to try anything with that little blade anyway, and I was a might kinder to her than these bandit boys woulda been.
Freed up the other women after havin' a drink of cheap liquor - guess them bastards didn't manage to get through it all.
"Thank you kind sir! I don't know what we would have done had you not come along! It seems..."
I cut her short. "Hell, lady, don't thank me. Thank these dead fellers here for pissing someone off enough to put a $100 bounty on their heads, or I'd be back at the saloon." With that, I turned away from them women, and went to work cuttin' hair.
*Frank's horse
Just as a note, I realize that an 1876 rifle was made well after the gold rush era. The logic behind giving this fella a fancy, powerful, anachronistic shooting iron with a somewhat absurd (in RL) magazine capacity for it's time is twofold: ya'll are running pistols that (based on the fact they take cartridges) were also made well after the gold rush era, and the pistol he is equipped with, while powerful, is a relatively period correct cap-and-ball gun that takes about six minutes to load, occasionally jams under recoil, and doesn't always go "bang" when intended if it gets too dirty or rains - kind of a disadvantage should the rifle get away from him, not to mention that being addicted to a bunch of drug-based tonics probably makes it hard to him to aim a pistol anyway. Also, if you haven't ever picked up a walker before, they are about six pounds and about a foot and a half long - I personally can't run with one on my belt, and doubt I could swim either. If this is an issue (or having two guns is against some rule I missed), I can change the armament up to the norm.
I voted "2" for pretty much the above reason^ Period correct everything doesn't seem as fun as general "Wild West" type stuff, though I'd go for one in the case of social issues and setting. Not really offended by slavery and racism taking place in a fictional story set during the times when slavery was taking place and racism was everywhere. To me it would seem a little more immoral to ignore it and pretend it never happened.
edit: Added bold because wall of text. Actual posts will be shorter.
Name: Aaron Dallas
Age 23
Gender: Male
Appearance: He is a 8'4 man with blue almost grey eyes. He has a stout build, he has rough looking hands.
Wearing: A pair of black jeans, a white button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up, a black waist-coat, a sandy tan duster, a pair of socks, and a pair of tan leather boots.
Holster: {Shoulder strap}
Weapon: {Tomssen, Sons & Co. Coach gun with strap} {An ornate cane}
Ammo: {18 shot shells}
Inventory: {A locket, Contains a photo of mum} {A leatherbound Journal} {A set of writing utensils} {A wallet with some cash}
Skills: {Hunting} {Reading} {Brawling} {Skinning} [Anything goes, even whistling can be a skill.]
Traits: {Steady hands}{Eagle eye}{Walks with a limp}{An ugly looking scar on his leg}
Childhood: He had a normal childhood, he went hunting with his father during the summer. But then, during a hunting trip, a bear came and attacked him and his father, He... didn't make it, and it roughed up his leg pretty badly. He came back with his coach gun, they mostly hunted birds, he worked when he was 17. He worked at a bank, his mother has plenty of cash at home, he went to go travel on trains, stage coaches, or just walking the roads.
Personality: Rather sophisticated, A city boy you may say.
What will your posts be like?: "Bartender! Scotch please." Aaron requests the bartender, "'ey city-boy, far from home are ya'?" a large man says, he ignores him, "Hey! Answer me!" Aaron refuses to give him an answer. Aaron revives his drink, The hulking mass readies a punch, He notices it, he smashes his cane against the man's knee. he crumples to the floor, "Are you going to think about what you were about to do? Now let me have my drink and I'll won't break you kneecap." He says, he takes a drink from his scotch.