History:

           My father was a crooked lawman in Rhodes. Mum was an English Immigrant. She was a loving woman with a gentle heart but she died from yellow fever when I was just a boy. I grew up in a nice cabin on the northern outskirts of Rhodes. Saw little of the shady dealings Pa made with the Lemoyne Raiders.

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Joshua Wesson

"Growing up in the midst of a fast paced, rapidly evolving society, Joshua learned quickly how to thrive in it from his well accomplished father. However, as Josh grew older he struggled to understand the complexity of his father's principals...This would then be exacerbated even further after discovering his father had been killed by the notorious Lemoyne Raiders defending the very principals he instilled in his son."

  • Sharply balances Justice & Mercy

  • Expert Marksman & Wrangler

  • Loves whiskey and brawling

  • Never leaves a brother behind

One might say my Pa became a liability...

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trying to flee until the sun came up. Nothing but silence and smoke to greet it on the horizon. Feeling of even more emptiness in my soul and a wildfire in my heart, I rode West leaving Rhodes behind but keeping my

            He had a hand in the moonshine smuggling business. I saw much of his unrighteous anger towards the evils of men that did not benefit him, nor his town. Pa taught me many things: right, wrong and sometimes in between. He taught me how to ride fast and shoot straight. He taught me swift justice succeeded mercy in all accounts of life. His ruthless disposition made him well liked among folks, and he felt he was well suited for a politician’s suit in Saint Denis. I was just beginning

to get hairs on my chin when he was gunned down in those stinking streets. Butchered like a dog in a dark alley The dealings with the Raiders had gone south as they moved

I sat atop a hill with the last swallows of

my whiskey and Pa's rifle. Shooting those

from moonshine to underground slave trade

When I got the news, I became an empty

shell of a man... I stole.. killed and sold

furs to get by..Drowned in whiskey

rivers to get by... One night, in a

drunken stupor, I stole a wagon full of

explosives and liquor and rode to a

known hideout of the Lemoyne

Raiders and burned it to the ground.

The wall of flames engulfed the

compound as it lit up the night sky.

The stench of burning flesh and

shrieks of agony filled the air...

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           It was one fateful day that I met him. I was west of Blackwater tracking down a kill for fur, I saw a native man at the end of the blood trail. There, he kneeled beside the dead buffalo. “Such a shame.” He said without turning around. “Back off, this is my kill!” I said, raising my hatchet. “Kills” The natives corrected me. “She was pregnant.” The

demons in tow. I moved from place to place, hunting for meals and furs indiscriminately. Meeting bandits and cutthroats on the road only to introduce them to their death; courtesy of my blood-stained hatchet. Many nights I spent alone under the stars, cursing God himself.

           It was one fateful day that I met him. I was west of Blackwater tracking down a kill for fur, I saw a native man at the end of the blood trail. There, he kneeled beside the dead buffalo. “Such a shame.” He said without turning around. “Back off, this is my kill!” I said, raising my hatchet. “Kills” The natives corrected me. “She was pregnant.” The

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native said somberly. I was puzzled at the calm to his voice. “So? Things die. Death is a part of this world!” The native slowly stood up and turned to me.“So is life.” He said. “Death without meaning is almost as tragic as life without meaning.” He looked down at the buffalo again. “This gentle creature is sacred to me. She was just grazing and caring for her young. Surely you must hold something sacred in your heart?” I was speechless. I looked 

down at the buffalo and her oversized belly. A single tear rolled down my cheek as I thought of my mother for the first time in years... It occurred to me that I was living a meaningless life producing meaningless deaths. “Will you help me bury them?” I asked, astonished at my own question. The native gave a sympathetic smile. “Yes.” He said simply. It took all the hours of the night, but we worked diligently to give the buffalo and her unborn calf a proper burial on top the tallest hill overlooking the meadow. The native said what I assumed was a prayer. I joined him in a moment of silence. He told me his name was Uncas and that he and his Brothers rode together for a true purpose in this life: each other. Honor in life and death. They took me in and I found peace.. I do not kill meaninglessly, nor for power, nor do I feed the endless wildfire in my heart. Now it is a white hot candle flame, honed so that it lights the way for my brothers....

I kill for them...I honor mercy for them

I am a Born Brother