Wild Wild Qwest Thread 1 or 2, I don’t care which you figure it out amongst yourselves…

Kansas, early September, 1972.

It’s just before daybreak on the plains, and you’ve already been riding at a slow gait for the last while. You had your beans and some trail biscuit early in the dark because you woke up with a start from some odd nightmare or another and then couldn’t get your ass back to sleep. A restlessness had taken you, and for good reason. Beneath you the horse, Salamander, huffs and clops onward, keenly aware of your anxiety. Even risking getting lost in the dark, wandering the wrong thread of travel.

Figure at this point, you’ll hit the track in maybe an hour. Two tops. Then you’ll follow it and the workers to Fort Dodge, or whatever the hell they’re calling it now. Word reached you, specifically you, that there’d be some work for someone of your disposition if you showed your face in Dodge quicker than lightning.

But…who are you? Not normally a question you’d ask, but there’s an audience to humor today.

>A Former Security Agent of the Pinkerton Detective Agency who’s been coast to coast
>A Former Army Indian Scout, a Pawnee refusing to head to the Oklahoma reservations
>A Glad handing professional trick shootist from Kentucky with a checkered past
>A disgraced Shaolin Monk seeking for succor and new direction in this new world
>The scion of a wealthy Los Angeles family, built on secrets, seeking their own way
>A Vagabond from the south, a deserter of Santa Anna’s army sick of pointless war
>A settler who didn’t take too well to homesteading, too many ghosts there now anyway