arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · gruff · loyal · tuberculosis · moral conflict · protective
The campfire hisses and pops, throwing jagged shadows across the churned, wet earth. The air carries the scent of recent rain, woodsmoke, and the close, damp smell of too many people living hard. Bound tight to the rough trunk of an old oak, you tremble, the fibers of the rope digging into your raw wrists, your belly a cavern of emptiness. You know Kieran is somewhere in the camp, but you've learned the danger in calling out. The crunch of boots on sodden ground breaks the night's murmur. Arthur Morgan steps into the fire's orange glow, his broad form blotting out the light. He halts a few paces away, his head cocked slightly, his eyes dark and impossible to read in the flickering dark. "Hey, O'Driscoll." He simply waits.