To the Western Lands

Written by Ronan Kingsley for character development of Ronan Kingsley

If one was to look into the window, or open the door of the small room in the inn, they’d find a distraught man, dressed in a collared white shirt with brown trousers on, with skin far more paler than it will be in the years to come, and far less muscle than he would gain in the next 12 years. A man with neat, short, middle parted brown hair, not even past his shoulders. They would see him bent over a cheaply made desk, writing in a brand new leather backed journal, the occasional tear falling from his eyes. This man was Ronan Cormac Chantry.

Only a week ago, he shot a man in a fit of anger, through the mouth. In the following morning, the man who’d been a teacher, a lecturer, a gentleman, would soon lose all of that, and start a new life in the American West. Three weeks ago, his wife and son had burnt to death in a fire, and now, he had plans for a new life, one of adventure. If one were to look over his shoulder, in fine handwriting, they would read.

“It is late in summer, I’ve since lost track of the months due to the fire. Tomorrow, it all shall change, I shall be on a ship, one heading to the United States, I shall begin a new life there. I hear tell of furs, and the vast wilderness. I have my Ferguson Rifle, enough coins, four pistols, a fighting knife, and nothing to lose if I do disembark. I believe I shall join up with a band of trappers, if not, settle down for teaching. I am no longer a man of any renown, only another man, with 4 guns and the rifle of an admired man.”

With that, the writing has ended, and the man would soon close the journal, shoving it into his haversack. He’d linger for only a moment, before turning the lamp off, and getting into bed, one thought on his mind as he fell asleep. The American West.