P E R D I T I O N
Special thanks in the design of this RP, from the roles down to the applications and elsewhere, to Reverend Norv, Rupudska, Rudaslavia, and anyone else for the service they provided to me.
An Introduction to Perdition Valley
"Perdition. That's the name of the Valley; Perdition Valley. Used to be nothing with a lot of something. Indians didn't show up until the '40s; Cherokee from Appalachia marched here under armed guard. No whites lived out here, in this part of Arizona, and so the Cherokee lived out here, feuding with the Apache and Commanche war parties that pushed to join in on the Valley."
"That was until your war ended; the War Between the States. I fought in that war and came West, nine years later, with all of the other desperate people. All roads brought us here, into the Perdition Valley. The Sandoval River breaks off from the Salt, and much of the land here is fertile, as a result. Eastern part of the Valley, from the Salt, is part of the White Mountains. Mountain forests turn into rolling plains along the Sandoval, and it gets more arid the farther west you get. Davis, the town, is closer to the Badlands on the southwestern edge of the region. Desert town, like Tombstone."
"For a town stuck in the desert, Davis has come a way. Now you have the railroad, saloons, businesses, and a town council that can keep everything on the up-and-up. When I got here, there was none of that. Everyone looked for minerals, but didn't want to dig deep enough. It was abject poverty without money, and we also had to contend with the Indians. Between sickness and death and people just packing up, Davis dropped down to half of that number. Crime was everywhere, and pretty soon you had whole bands of robbers out in the Badlands, Sandoval, even White."
"I came here, to be a rancher. I gave up my commissions in two armies, to come chase these stories of a mystical frontier. I learned quick that success comes at its own pace. When I bought my land, my herd, and hired my hands, I was too deep in the red to even build suitable housing. My savings were depleted, loan sharks were knocking, and revenue just wasn't coming in."
"After I lost my first herd to a mixture of bad business sense and unfortunate disease, we were at a major loss. I stood to lose absolutely everything, and I had nowhere to go, to fall back to. My hands, however, stood against the same odds. I hardly hired any 'real' cowboys in the old days; I hired outcasts, from war veterans and aspiring naturalists, and even women. One reason or another, they were kept from society at large, and they had nothing, nothing beyond what they carried and their employment under me. I told them to get lost; they told me that they were going to keep working. And work, we all did."
"All of this transpired around 1876, eleven years after the war. The wars against the Indians, on the other hand, are still raging. Perdition used to have an Indian problem; now it's just the Cherokee up in the White. The Apache, Commanche, and all the other bands were a serious problem. Travelers and caravans coming into or leaving Davis risked getting their throats slit and their valuables stolen. You couldn't homestead without having to deal with war parties. My hands and I saw this, and decided to exploit the problem. On July 4th, 1876, we were given a genuine 'Letter of Marque and Reprisal' from the Governor, to kill Indians and be paid per-corpse. There were no soldiers here, so the responsibility fell upon us."
"Back in war, we were, for the next two years. By the grace of God, we fought the Apache first. Out of my band of twenty, we split up into bands of five, and went a-riding to wherever we saw smoke. Often, we found nothing, but with dogs, we hunted after the raiding parties. Brutal fights, coupled with hit-and-run tactics and nighttime raids. We took casualties, but staying away from traditional cavalry doctrine allowed us to wrongfoot the Apache.
The Cherokee, who were on the verge of being wiped out completely by the Apache, came to us for peace and affiliation, and we gained another friend. I met Chief Snow Blanket and befriended him. We made three dollars and fifty cents off each dead Indian; fifty for scalps, and eight dollars for prisoners. Made over two-thousand dollars off of the first batch sent to Yuma, more from private grants and awards from various benefactors."
"The railroad came through the following year, as did ten new replacements. Us and the Cherokee; we were unstoppable. Those Apache and Commanche who didn't escape or take a bullet were sent to Yuma. By Summer of '78, we were moving in on the bandits. This time, a Federal Judge had given us bounties amounting twenty-five dollars per dead man, and thrice for live ones. These bounties covered the 'Big Four' of bandit groups operating in our little spot of Arizona; the 'Cowboys,' 'La Rocha,' 'Gelder Boys,' and the deceivingly-named 'Hell's Riders.' We killed more of them than we caught, but still strung up the bodies in the areas where we knew they prowled. That told the bandits that they were on our list, and it reassured travelers that something was being done about the crime. Once the Marshal and Sheriff were established in Davis however, my hands and I got things back on track."
"The close of 1878, I bought another hour, raised them up, and did our first ride to the railyard in Davis. We bred more cattle so we didn't have to buy as many, saving us tons of money. With more money, we built a proper ranch; stables, pens for the cattle, barracks and bungalows for my hands, an armory and storehouse, and - the pinnacle of my ranch - a two-story ranch house. With Black Dove Ranch in full swing, Davis felt the benefits. Our rides into town brought money into the railyard, my hands brought business to the saloons and brothels and theaters, and soon more businesses established themselves to supplement the needs of the growing economy. Even the Cherokee were flourishing, largely by selling skins, collecting bounties, and protecting the roads. For two years, Perdition Valley grew without much change from this model."
"At the dawn on the new decade, come my newest predicaments. No longer am I the sole ranch in the Valley. From the banks of the Rio Grande, Josiah 'Red Joe' Duncan has made his appearance. He gets his nickname from the blood he can't wash from his hands. A rustler whose herd is all from stolen stock, he has murdered thirty men in three separate range wars in Texas. Here in the Valley, he's been able to establish himself here with much more ease than I could ever have dreamed of. His hands are not much better; cutthroat rustlers like him, 'desperados' from Mexico, and even some 'Red Tail' Apache. I've seen them stalking my land, and my hands report that their drives are often scouted by Red Joe's men. That snake will never admit it, but he is here for a range war."
"Red Joe is only one such potential adversary. The other game in the Valley is that of the Culpeper Mining Company, but I would do well to avoid calling them an outright threat just yet. They're a Northern-run company, out of Connecticut. I personally served with half of their board during the war, including Donald Culpeper. We fought side-by-side at Gettysburg, Five Forks, Shiloh. We parted ways soon after Lee surrendered, and he has since become a trusted confidant of his boss and father, Elias Culpeper. No one has found gold along the banks of the Sandoval since '74, but Don Culpeper himself, six months ago, discovered gold once more, in Cherokee territory. Now, he's bringing in tens of workers, every color and every walk of life. They have machinery, and equipment that hasn't been seen in this part of the world."
"This is where the conflict is brewing; thirty acres of land that touches my property and forms the southern end of Cherokee territory. Snake Bend, as it is called. It's the only source of water for the Cherokee, sacred to them by way of their history, all the way back to their forced arrival in the Valley. Technically, the land lawfully belongs to no one and is not subject to any treaty signed between myself, the Town of Davis, the Territorial Governor, or the Cherokee. Over the years, it's been accepted as 'shared' property, but still up for grabs. Another complication is Red Joe, as those sixty acres separate his land from mine. What I have been told is that Red Joe intends to cast in his lot to buy the property. Unable to pay for the land himself, Snow Blanket has petitioned me to buy his sacred land on the promise that he will repay me."
"It's a difficult scenario for me, for all of us involved. Old men, leaders for our people, on the edge of war. The Bend has something for everyone, but some want it all. I desire only to keep my ranch prosperous, and to keep my hands and their families fed and paid. I am too old for war."
"If war comes, mark my words: we shall be ready."