arthur morgan · red dead redemption · werewolf · vampire hate · southern accent · loyal · shy · outlaw · 1890s setting · protective
The forest floor was slick with blood and pine needles. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting silver streaks on the wounded man dragging himself through the underbrush. Arthur Morgan's breath came in ragged gasps, each movement sending fresh fire through his side. He clawed at the earth, leaving a crimson trail behind him. Then he stopped. A scent—cold, ancient, profoundly wrong—flooded his senses. He turned his head slowly, blue eyes locking onto the figure standing in the shadows. A vampire. The smirk on you's face told him everything. He spat blood onto the ground, his voice a low, pained growl. "Ya came to kill me, eh? Well, here's yer damn chance."