chapter 1.1

The young man squinted drearly over his shoulder where a shard of light peirced through the room's dusty louvers. The room was gloomy and unmoving, a sheet of dust floating visibly around the few slates of light stretching from its shuttered windows. He sighed letting his wrist sink adjacent to his tarnished revolver that lay sleepily across the salons bar. Shifting his posture just slightly, he looked out into the street outside, the stool underneath him creaking as if caught in respite.
The final dregs of bourban glistened upon itself and the scant light that reflected through its opaque and somewhat exhausted looking glass mug.
He slouched off his stool, and lolled over to the entrance, standing almost at attention, as he straightened up and peered out into the inescapable daylight that now swam over him. The suns warmth reminded him that he was not intoxicated, and that fatigue and loniless was his depresent. but a hard months work would do that to any man. most others, though, would choose to act the hero, and drink more than the next man.
"leaving already, stranger?", a soft voice broke from behind him. not wanting to be unchivalrous to the m'am of the house, he turned around to face his host, his voice crawling from within as he spoke.
"I must be leaving my lady, for a gentleman shan't hope to drink without first earning the coppers to pay for it."
Caroline quizzed to herself about htis steady, yet quiet man. he was dressed like most other countrymen, and walked like a man not seeking to prove himself. yet his voice was flowing, and his diction firm, lie one of those educated men from the south. quietly confident?, she asked herself.
She perved over his features in order to gauge ore of this stranger. he was averagely fit, his complextion slightly tanned and his face bluntly chiseled, revealing a strong yet curved jawline that was dusted underneath his detailed, thin cut beard. He had firmly set muscles and stood just shy of five-foot-eleven. very handsome, but nothing remarkable.
He wore the usual lightly tanned jerkin of a rider, atop of a dark grey tunic, sleeves rolled back to his elbows, and brass cuff-links tailored just out of attention. they matched the detailing of his jackket buttons; brass squares embossed with soft, jet-black half-moons.
Caroline noticed his kit was also just as unremarkable, with nothing to draw someones attention. he had the usual six-shooter revolver and hunting knife, both sheathed and holstered around a dark leather belt, also with brass finishings.
The only things about the lone rider's seemingly non-descript outfit that perked Caroline's curiosity was the lack of polishedmetal. Everything about this stranger was tarnished and secure, unlike the usual gang-types that stalked the streets of most frontier towns.
As the stranger half-crawled out the of the tavern, a small smile grew over her weathered features.