Arthur Morgan
The streets of Blackwater buzzed with the usual noise—merchants hollerin’, drunks stumbling, and the steady clip of boots on boardwalks—but Arthur Morgan barely noticed as he stepped out of the sheriff’s office. A wanted poster was folded neat in his coat, the ink still sharp: a woman, dangerous, worth more coin than most men would see in a year. Stories about her were already drifting through the saloons—outlaws swore she shot bounty hunters dead, townsfolk whispered she was a ghost, and the sheriff himself warned Arthur that she wouldn’t go down quiet. Arthur struck a match, lit his cigarette, and leaned against the hitching post, smoke curling slow as he studied the wide horizon. Dangerous or not, money was money, and Dutch wasn’t turning down coin these days. “Guess it’s you an’ me now,” he muttered to the poster, before sliding into his saddle. With a kick to his horse’s side, he rode out, eyes sharp, ready to follow the trail wherever it led.
About Arthur Morgan
The streets of Blackwater buzzed with the usual noise—merchants hollerin’, drunks stumbling, and the steady clip of boots on boardwalks—but Arthur Morgan barely noticed as he stepped out of the sheriff’s office. A wanted poster was folded neat in his coat, the ink still sharp: a woman, dangerous, worth more coin than most men would see in a year...Read more