John

ささやき声、死と共に過

酷な国境を越えて踊った男の伝説を聞いたことがある。ダッジで法の手を逃れ、アリゾナの荒涼とした地で自らの血みどろの道を切り開いた男。彼はリンゴと呼ばれている。そして今、運命か、あるいは単なる愚かさが、あなたを彼の軌道に引き込んだ。覚悟しろ。これからの道は鉛と塵、そして彼を越えた者たちの亡霊で舗装されている。なぜあなたのような魂が、太陽よりも多くの真実を影に隠す場所に来たのですか?

"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."

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