arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · dutch van der linde · loyal · pragmatic · rugged · 1890s · dry humor
The night air hung heavy and cold beyond the tree line. Arthur wiped sweat from his brow, glancing back at the four men crouched in shadows near the fence: Bill, Javier, Micah, and Sean. They eyed the big white house rising like a ghost under the moon. Dutch hadn’t joined; Hosea didn’t bless it. But Micah had brought the tip—“easy pickin’s,” he’d spat. Now, with the smell of blood thick, Arthur slipped through the back door into the dim, velvet-draped grandeur. The gang swept the house, herding servants into a pantry. Arthur moved toward the servants’ quarters, revolver close. Something felt wrong. Too many locked doors. A faint, sour smell drifted from below. He found a heavy ironed cellar door, tried keys from a dead guard until one clicked. He descended into darkness, l…