Life and Death on the Seas of Grass. | Roleplay | TORN
Life and Death on the Seas of Grass.
    • strange2 [68827]
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    Thread created on 02:00:13 - 15/09/22 (4 months ago)
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    Last replied 18:19:00 - 23/10/22 (3 months ago)
    The year is 1884, and America is determined to move west. Trains of settlers run across the prairie. Most head for the west coast and the promises of gold and fertile soil, but some stay on the prairie,content with their seas of grass. This is a story of and about those seas of grass. 

    The expansion of America to the west is capped at the 49th parallel by the border of the Dominion of Canada.The grasslands that run along this border, which is called the Dakota Territory, is a hard, frost bitten, and rocky land. Characterized by the scars of the badlands, the rolls of the prairie, the marshes of the knob-and-kettle, and the Big Muddy, the Missouri river which brings life to, and takes it away, from all of these. The ever diminishing bison are replaced with cattle more and more each year,and the beavers brought in by Fur Traders are smaller with each passing spring. It is a land changing. Small towns begin to dot the prairie. Cattle towns like Medora or Wibaux, trading posts like Fort Union, the farm-rush towns of the Little Missouri valley, and the burgeoning railroad cities of Dickinson and Billings. Of course,there are those who have long had towns here. The Mandan and Hidatsa have lived in their grand earth lodges along the river since the beginning of time.

    Towns can be dangerous, boisterous places, especially amongst the badlands towns. Cattlemen, coal miners, desperate immigrants, and jaded old fur trappers are all a bold sort. Many have come west to seek their fortunes with varying degrees of success, and many others have come to simply escape the hopelessness they left behind in the famines and political turmoil of Europe. And again, there are those that have always lived in these places. The Sioux resist attempts to place them on ever shrinking reservations with bravery and ferocity.


    The line between outlaw and roaming cowboy frequently blur on the frontier, and many are distrustful of those they don’t know. On the other hand, many have no choice but to associate as the frontier is a grand melting pot of those who meet here. General stores run by freed slaves seeking a new start sell flour and bullets to former confederates herding cattle, and on the lonesome plain Norwegian and Manchurian homestead half a mile from one another.

    It is to this place you have come for reasons all your own. It is October now, and winter looms like an oncoming train. The region braces and prepares as best as it can. most settlers of reinforcing their dugouts or sod huts, and the railroad work crews on the Northern Pacific redouble their efforts to try to make their mileage quota.What will you bring to this seemingly desolate land, and what will it give to you?


    ----------

    Small OOC things
    As with most of my threads, I am happy to leave you to your own devices for the most part. I have a story I want to create for my character and you may join in it if you wish, however I would encourage you to tell your own alongside it. This way we can see how they brush up against and color one another.

    There are a wide range of acceptable characters. People of all professions live in the towns, and many many more have small farms in the country or in small villages. Many people travel from place to place seeking works both honest and otherwise. Steamboats ply the Missouri River,and people of all sort travel up and down it with the steamers. In short, anything from Banker to Bandit, river boat captain to railman,barkeep to bargain-man, rustler to rat can be a start for your character.


    And hey, it’s just a western thread. Don’t sweat it. Go rob a carriage or something.
    • strange2 [68827]
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    Posted on 02:26:33 - 15/09/22 (4 months ago)
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    *The cold morning air turned his horse's breath to fog, and then did the same to his. The stood nearly motionless on one of the great bluffs that overlooked the Little Missouri River, taking in the sunrise. The scarlet and violet of the early morning light shamed the pale brown grasses of late autumn with their grandeur. Down in the valleys the cottonwoods shed their yellowed leaves with each gust of the cold wind. 

    It was another day. The wind still blew, the sun still rose, his heart still beat, and the river still flowed. As such, it was a good day. He pulled the reigns to the side and gave his horse a little spur, and he turned away from the majesty of creation, and faced back to his cattle. The wind tried to play a dirty trick on him as it tugged at the wide brim of his white felt hat, but it was tied beneath his chin to resist just this thing. He did pull the fur collar of his duck jacket a bit tighter with his free hand though, so in the long game the wind had the upper hand.

    He rode at a slow trot through the cluttered herd of his cattle. He took a quick count. 122 moo-ers moo-ing. The same as when he'd checked them last evening. That was a nice change. Soon he'd have to wrestle them down into the valley to his farmstead for the winter, but it wasn't cold enough for that yet. Let them get all the fresh grass they could before the dull flavor of old hay became all-encompassing.

    He spent the better part of an hour checking on his livelyhood before other tasks called him, namely getting something to eat. He guided his horse back down through the winding, steep valleys of his badlands home as they descended onto the flat river bottoms. Here he rode upon a worn, dusty, buffalo berry lined trail to his farmstead. It was situated on an old channel oxbow, and consisted of his small cabin, a large partially subterrian barn, a few small sheds, a workshop, and some dugout hay bunkers. Two horses could be seen milling around in the farmyard. On the flats around it he cultivated a few acres of wheat, but he was certainly more rancher than farmer. He rode right up to the cabin door and kicked himself off his mare. He unfastened her bridle and spoke. *

    "Well, you'd better get something to eat too, we'll be back out in an hour. Go on!" *He said as he gave the grey paint a pat on the shoulder, and she took off to socialize with the other horses. He lifted the iron latch which held the rough plank door closed, and let himself inside. His cabin was a long rectangle. Approximately 8 meters deep by 16 meters long, and was divided into two rooms. The larger of the two, which one entered into, was for living. The smaller of the two was for sleeping. A large clay hearth was built into the dividing wall. It was more efficient to heat both rooms at once, and the small brick chimney that came up through the center of the roof was currently cold.

    He took his hat off and hung it on a hook on the outside of the door, which he closed behind him. He strode past the rough table and chair which dominated the room an lifted a hatch in the plank floor. He let himself into the larder, selected a few things, and returned to the living room. A cold smoked sausage was a breakfast he supposed. He reflected to himself again that the house was too large for him as he saw dust accumulating in unused corners of the living room. It had been built with more people in mind.

    And here, we first see Strange truly. His worn trousers, dusty jacket, smoked sausage, and mop of sun-blonded hair going every which was from being in his hat. It was hard to judge age in ranchers, as they aged quickly. Strange looked 45, but was in his early thirties. His skin had been baked by the sun and frozen by the winter winds, and it took a toll. But perhaps now was not the best time to judge him, as he had lost suffered a loss recently. He wore a gun belt loosely under his jacket, and his boots badly needed a greasing.

    As he chewed he mused. He'd need to go to town soon, but as always, there were a half dozen things he needed to attend to before he could do anything else. He looked out a small window made of four small panes of glass. There was frost on the panes. He needed to cut wheat, and that would be a large job by himself...*
    • Ashlyn_Kalkeo [2738137]
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    Posted on 17:43:11 - 15/09/22 (4 months ago)
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    Talina walked through the town, gun in hand.
    she spun it a few times before almost dropping it.
    "okay... that was pretty fun but... nothing's
    convincing me to change my mind..."
    She had a slight irish accent. partially noticeable.
    but still noticeable.

    "i still dont want to be like a 'normal'
    woman tom... you have no chance in hell.
    at getting me in a dress..."

    "god... my sister and she-"
    Tom was cut off by Tali.

    "would you like to wear a dress?"

    "no..."
    he sighed

    "exactly!"
    She holstered the revolver,
    it was a 5 shot weapon but
    it had the power of a rifle.
    the kick of one too... but she
    was able to handle it. with
    some difficulties.

    "either way come on... in
    the bank... i gotta get some of
    my cash out..."
    The two walked into the bank.

    five people outside had masks and rifles,
    one had a shotgun... but still. after a few
    seconds, they finally kicked open the doors
    and entered. the gaurds were down before
    a round had even been fired.

    "DOWN! ALL OF YOU!"
    one yelled, whacking Tom in the face.
    "YOU TOO!"
    he pointed the gun at Tali. right to her neck.

    "okay..."
    she kneeled down, getting the gun away from her face.
    soon as the robber let down his gaurd, she whacked the
    gun. fortunately as the trigger was pulled, it hit the
    shotgunner's wrist.

    she took the revolver from her pocket and fired it at a heister.
    then bashing the one closest to her, taking him as a human shield.
    as she turned, she kicked the rifle on the ground to Tom.

    "thanks sis..."
    he stood up and aimed to another one of the robbers.
    "f~ck off now... while you still have the chance..."
    he then fired at the other two.
    one shot to the 4th's rifle.
    the other bullet to the 5th's head.
    "well... going to go or do we have to shoot you three too?"

    "three?"
    one asked.

    "yeah... three!"
    Tali yelled, knocking out her shield.

    "agh... fine..."
    the remaining three fled the building.
    they were chased from the town by
    some of the local sheriffs.
    Last edited by Ashlyn_Kalkeo on 14:27:58 - 16/09/22

    • Gameplayer75 [2805181]
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    Posted on 21:55:32 - 15/09/22 (4 months ago)
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    The ruckus attracted a Hobo named Marijuano. This Hobo is near the bank and coincidentally witnessed the action of a couple successfully defended herself against armed bandits. The sheriff's attention is towards the victims and the perpetrators. He takes this chance to sneak around and snatch a hidden bag pouch inside one of the bandit killed by the young man.

    After that he scurries away where his tattled rusty boots can take him. Underneath his thick beard is a mischievous smile. When he opened the bag, he is very happy to see some gold. Only a nugget of it.

    At the very least, I buy those herbal smokes. Hehehe...
    • Ashlyn_Kalkeo [2738137]
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    Posted on 15:10:00 - 04/10/22 (3 months ago)
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    bump {will respond when im on in a bit}

    • Wood [2175573]
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    Posted on 15:58:45 - 04/10/22 (3 months ago)
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    Horace Humboldt rolled down a rut filled road between fields of yellow. It was the time of the year where grain and corn, both grown in abundance, were soon ready to be harvested. In the coming weeks lots of men would descend on these fields with scythes and blades to process their season of hard work.

    Horace, however, had a different type of work, and it caused him to cringe with every jolt of his covered cart. He had been commissioned by a Miller, just down the road, to buy him a new milling wheel from Fort Union. He’d paid him half upfront, in a wheat flour that sold quite well, and would pay the rest on delivery. Horace rubbed the scruff on his face as he saw the windmill peek over the horizon.

    Aside from the Miller wheel, Horace had picked up tools, booze, books, and a few other odds and ends that farmers just couldn’t live without. He planned to set up a tentative shop near the Miller, who wouldn’t likely shoo him off. Especially if he was offered first pickings of Horace’s wares.

    Another hour saw the delivery of the wheel. Instead of the second half of payment, Horace traded it for hot meals for the next three days, and the right to settle down on the Millers land of course. The first day only brought a few people over who saw him as they passed the miller’s farm, the second and third day, however, where where Horace made the real money. He sold dresses, cookbooks, knives, knife stones, hammers, shovels, and jewelry even. His favorite sale was providing a young lad, just about 10, with his first rifle.

    “Now don’t you play bandit and come back tonight an’ use my own wares against me!” Horace exclaimed in mock terror. The boy shook his head vigorously and his father and Horace shared a chuckle.

    https://profileimages.torn.com/265895ca-48b6-c052-2175573.png

    • Ashlyn_Kalkeo [2738137]
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    Posted on 18:19:00 - 23/10/22 (3 months ago)
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    {bump}

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