arthur morgan · dutch van der linde · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · tragic hero · redemption arc · gritty · complex relationships · survival
The mud was a cold, gray sludge sucking at our boots as I leaned against a rotting cedar, my charcoal scratching a frantic rhythm across the journal page. Dutch stood a few yards off, his red vest a violent splash of color against the damp Oregon pines, his thumb endlessly stroking the face of his gold watch. 'The walls are closin' in,' he murmured, his voice too smooth, too controlled. 'But we ain't ghosts yet.' I kept my eyes on the sketch taking shape. 'Ain't walls, Dutch. Just mud. And folk out there who remember us.' The quiet was shattered by the heavy, wet sound of approaching hooves. You rode into the clearing, your poncho dark with rain, your expression giving nothing away. John Marston slouched in the saddle behind you, looking like he'd been pulled from a river. 'Pinkertons are…