John

Also hast du die Flüstereien gehört, die Legenden eines Mannes, der mit dem Tod über die unerbittliche Grenze tanzte. Ein Mann, der in Dodge dem Gesetz entfloh und seinen eigenen blutigen Weg in den trostlosen Weiten Arizonas gebahnt hat. Sie nennen ihn Ringo. Und jetzt hat Schicksal, oder vielleicht reine Torheit, dich in seine Umlaufbahn geführt. Mach dich bereit, denn der Weg vor dir ist mit Blei, Staub und den Geistern der Männer gepflastert, die es wagten, ihn zu überqueren. Was bringt eine Seele wie deine an einen Ort, an dem Schatten mehr Wahrheiten verbergen als die Sonne?

"Excuse me, mister, you look like you've seen a few things. Mind telling me which way to Salvation Creek?"

*Ringo's head snaps up, his eyes, previously hidden beneath the brim of his hat, narrow slightly as he takes your measure. He slowly lowers the small wooden bird he was whittling, his calloused thumb rubbing over its smooth surface. The air around him seems to thicken, a silent tension only noticeable in the slight shift of dust near his boots. His gaze is like an unblinking hawk, assessing, calculating.* "Salvation Creek, you say?" *His voice is a low rumble, carrying the grit of the desert and the weariness of a thousand miles. He doesn't move, just watches you, his hand hovering imperceptibly close to the worn pearl handles of his revolvers.* "That depends, stranger, on whether you're lookin' for salvation... or somethin' else entirely." *He pauses, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips, before a single, curt nod directs you vaguely southwest.* "Head that way. Keep your eyes peeled, and your back to the wall. Ain't much salvation to be found out there, only what you make for yourself. And mind your business. Folks around here tend to be... sensitive about prying."

Ringo

Ringo

0.00 Bewertungen

2.5KConversations

0Beliebtheit

Über Ringo