Fantasy Sin Wagon Character Sheets

[A.I.S.H.A.]

The wagon rocks like a mama putting her child to sleep and the Lord's eye peaks over the horizon on that fine Friday mornin' just outside of Jericho. The town is soon upon ya and the heavens glow with all the glory of the rising sun. It smells of mornin' dew and sawgrass fields that stretch out over the way to Jericho and a rooster cooped up in a rattlin' cage hollers out its alarm.

"We're just right passin' up the way now!" the wagon hits a stone and jolts up as the horses snort. The driver, Jameson Reed, lets out a mighty spit that streaks out the side of the road and stares out with hardened rusty eyes and tanned wrinkled skin tensed in a frown. "Somethin' ain't proper," he grumbled as the horses trotted along the road. "Smells mighty foul don't it?"

It did. Sulfur, gunpowder, and burning manure - a devil's smell. Either one was close or there were a whole lot in the place Jameson was riding to. "I heard a mighty lot about devils causing trouble further up the valley by the Georgia Line but I can tell you this much, no money gon' be enough to get me to ferry you to the gates of a town overrun by devils. Ain't worth my life," he lowered the brim of his straw hat and pulled his boys to a stop just atop a hill.

Indeed, Jericho had succumbed to all manner of decrepit and vile misdeeds. Petty beasts infested the high walls of that forlorn town and they crawled about like a horde of rats. "I s'pose them rumors were true. Lucifer is takin' Toosookee Valley one town at a time. Saint Stephen was sent up the way to free the city..." he lingered on those last few words as if wondering about something. Then, he shook his head and turned back to the troupe behind him. "Off with ya. No business with devils is business of mine but if yer lookin' to make a pretty penny collecting heads, I'm sure you'll find plenty up ahead. If the devils have got ahold of the horn of Jericho, I'd best be careful. It's said to shatter souls, that thing."

With no other recourse, Jameson's passengers are left about ten minutes outside the devil infested town and no matter the reason, they've inextricably entwined themselves in mighty foul business that will certainly involves a lotta shootin' and a lotta bleedin'.

So, you lot... what do ya call yourself? My name's Elbib and I'll be yer narrator.

Gotta mugshot? I'd like to get a good look at that mug of yours.

Tell me a fine tale, will ya? Where'd ya roll in from? Who'd you know? God or the Devil?

I don't imagine you walk these parts without packing some kinda ammunition. What's yer preferred method of crucifying a bastard? Be it witchcraft, gunpowder, or a mix of the two.

If you could have one wish, what would it be? Would ya ask God or the Devil for it?

What's yer favorite typa homecookin'? Apple pie's mine. I won't blame ya if its yours too.

What do ya think of the feller next to ya? (If you posted this after someone else's CS, write your char's thoughts about the char in the CS above you. If you were the first poster, write about the char below you.) Hope y'all get on and stay on amicable terms. Jericho won't be pretty. Not with the Damned they call Barabbas runnin' the show.

 

[L0ck0n]

So, you lot... what do ya call yourself? My name's Elbib and I'll be yer narrator.

"Hõla Elbib," He took off his sombrero and placed it on his chest. This was a gesture of respect when talking to another. "My name is Benito." He said with a sharp accent. Benito had heard that his accent was a mix of country and broken English, but as long people understood what he was saying there wasn't any reason to change it.

Gotta mugshot? I'd like to get a good look at that mug of yours.

Tell me a fine tale, will ya? Where'd ya roll in from? Who'd you know? God or the Devil?

The only time Benito thought about the past was when someone asked him about it. He wasn't big on tellin' people though, but those type'a questions always got em' reminiscing. "There is a time when tellin' a tale is not wort' it". He said. "Those memories are for me and god only." he lightly smiled while thinking of his wife. The way she lived, caried herself, and always gave him hell for not taking care of himself. She did it for him.

I don't imagine you walk these parts without packing some kinda ammunition. What's yer preferred method of crucifying a bastard? Be it witchcraft, gunpowder, or a mix of the two.

Benito walked over to his horse and grabbed a rope that hung from the saddle. "This." He unraveled the rope, revealing the length of it to show to the narrator that this was not just any rope. "I made this lasso rope wit' my hands, and it has been wit' me, always." His wife, may she rest in the kingdom of God, helped create the lasso. It was as much a memento of her as it was a weapon. "Let me show you."

He whipped the lasso rope onto the ground a few times to gain momentum, and then used that to fling the rope into the air as he did a few skilled tricks with it. The lasso was an extension of his hands, and was used to catch, ring in, or even kill.

If you could have one wish, what would it be? Would ya ask God or the Devil for it?

Carefully ending his show of skills with the lasso Benito rolled the rope up to put back on the saddle. "God." He simply said. "He has blessed me wit' what I need, forgave my sins, and saved me from the evil." He walked over to his horse and flung the heavy lasso on the saddle. "I only pray to God to give me strength to carry his will."

What's yer favorite typa homecookin'? Apple pie's mine. I won't blame ya if its yours too.

"Charro beans wit' rice an' tortilla's." He said as he remembered how his wife would pack him this food when Benito would be gone for more than a day. He never could make them like she does, but he's gotten close a few times. The tortillas are easy to make, and he loved making them with his wife.

What do ya think of the feller next to ya? (If you posted this after someone else's CS, write your char's thoughts about the char in the CS above you. If you were the first poster, write about the char below you.) Hope y'all get on and stay on amicable terms. Jericho won't be pretty. Not with the Damned they call Barabbas runnin' the show.

 

[EbonChevalier]

So, you lot... what do ya call yourself? My name's Elbib and I'll be yer narrator.

“Tristian Moreau.”

Gotta mugshot? I'd like to get a good look at that mug of yours.


Tell me a fine tale, will ya? Where'd ya roll in from? Who'd you know? God or the Devil?
“I’m coming down from paradisio to handle some business. I did live in East Cricketland when I was drawn’ breath, even knew Samson when both of us stood knee high. My Mama made damn sure I knew god, but a certain woman introduced me to the devil.

I don't imagine you walk these parts without packing some kinda ammunition. What's yer preferred method of crucifying a bastard? Be it witchcraft, gunpowder, or a mix of the two.

*Tristan pats a large revolver at his side from its handle hangs a somewhat witchy look crucifix and rosary beads.* “I mix it up.” *There’s also Bowie Knife in a sheath at his lower back.*
If you could have one wish, what would it be? Would ya ask God or the Devil for it?

“I’d ask god to help me save a woman damn by her own lot in life and made hard by cruel world.”

What's yer favorite typa homecookin'? Apple pie's mine. I won't blame ya if its yours too.

“East Cricketland Gumbo the way my Mama makes it!”

What do ya think of the feller next to ya? (If you posted this after someone else's CS, write your char's thoughts about the char in the CS above you. If you were the first poster, write about the char below you.) Hope y'all get on and stay on amicable terms. Jericho won't be pretty. Not with the Damned they call Barabbas runnin' the show.

 

[Ghostiiys]

So, you lot... what do ya call yourself? My name's Elbib and I'll be yer narrator.

" Name's Nevaeh. Just a whisper on the wind, like the secrets the tumbleweeds carry." She says solemnly, the name somehow ancient and new on her tongue.

Gotta mugshot? I'd like to get a good look at that mug of yours.


Tell me a fine tale, will ya? Where'd ya roll in from? Who'd you know? God or the Devil?

"Where I roll from? Not from any town you'd spit on a map. My dust settled from winds older than this land." A small smile appeared on her face. "I lie with a higher song, God hums my path and paints my wings with starlight."

I don't imagine you walk these parts without packing some kinda ammunition. What's yer preferred method of crucifying a bastard? Be it witchcraft, gunpowder, or a mix of the two.

"Crucifying? What a colorful metaphor!" Nevaeh let out a hardy laugh. Her fingers, long and elegant brushed against the worn leather strap on her shoulder. "This here.." She unholsters her springfield rifle before tapping on it. " Sings a beautiful lullaby that has soothed many troubled souls. She can sing a warning that would chill the devil's marrow." "But I got ways of making a heart tremble without a single shot fired.. A well-placed feather can carry a heavier message than any bullet."

If you could have one wish, what would it be? Would ya ask God or the Devil for it?

"I don't wish for anything, wishes are fickle things, twistin' and turnin' until you land someplace ya never intended." Harsh golden eyes peering at her hands. "A curious notion innit? Asking for something.. when the whole tapestry of your life is already woven. Thread by thread in the loom of fate." Nevaeh formed her hands into fists, examining the intricacies of the leather gloves, the way the folds were formed before continuing.

"But if I had to wish... it would be to unravel the tapestry of fate. Not to change it, mind you, but to see it whole, in all its glorious, terrible beauty."

What's yer favorite typa homecookin'? Apple pie's mine. I won't blame ya if its yours too.

"I ain't really one for consumption. But if I had to choose it would be a good stew and bread."

What do ya think of the feller next to ya? Hope y'all get on and stay on amicable terms. Jericho won't be pretty. Not with the Damned they call Barabbas runnin' the show.

Nevaeh's gaze turned towards the man Elbib was referring to. A neutral hum, neither warm of cold settled in her chest. "Can't judge a book by their cover now can we? Only time will tell if we'll sing in harmony or clash like thunder birds." She said in a raspy tone before cocking her head back and looking away.