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Registered on December 17, 2004
and last updated on April 27, 2008.
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Arcey
Ess |
| Location: |
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* Virginia *
* United States of America * |
| Age: |
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| My Chosen Alias
(The story behind and how I picked it): |
The character is a product of my demented mind. His roots don't stray far from mine though.
Born in the small southeastern seaport city of Norfolk, Virginia in 1851, Arcey was an average city kid who grew up playin' by the river. He took a city police badge there following reconstruction in 1870 at the age of 19.
He started like everybody else on the department walkin' beats, bustin' up fights 'n heads in the process. Went up the ranks ta eventually work in towny clothes, ram-roddin' a team of detectives specializin' in workin' swindlers, cheats, dead beats 'n con men.
Arcey loved the docks 'n the sailin' ships. Raced yachts belongin' to the rich folks every chance he got. Loved fast horses too 'n always kept a quick one.
He longed for open spaces as well. Makin' trips whenever he could west on Three Chopped Road to the mountains 'n the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.
One fine day, facin' middle age 'n the turn of the century, he decided "ta hell with it", chucked the badge, packed 'iz stuff 'n headed west to try the life of a cowboy, which he ain't 'n never will be, as he criss-crosses the country on his way to California where he plans to board a Clipper (if any are left, the railroads are puttin' 'em outta business), sign on as a deck
hand 'n sail back home.
Arcey will do whatever it takes to get by on his journey. He'll run with the law or run agin it. He'll help any poor farmer he meets up with raise a barn, dig a well or what have ya, just askin' fer meals 'n a dry place ta sleep 'til the work is done 'n he moves on. Then he might hire on as a deputy in a rough town fer a few bucks Federal. From time to time......better not say. There might be ah Pinkerton listenin'.
He's havin' fun in the travelin', sheddin' all responsibility. He sure ain' t lost his love fer good whiskey, tobacco 'n warm company.
Gets 'izself in a gunfight a couple times a month, just 'iz nature. Usually for sumthin' not really werth fightin' o'er.
He'll make it back home. There, he'll sit on the docks watchin' with disgust as more 'n more stinkin' iron ships 'n fewer 'n fewer beautiful sailin' ships move on the Elizabeth River. Coal burners'll be the death of him yet. On the riverside, he'll reflect on his cross-country adventure 'n tell tall tales of cowboyin' ta the young 'uns. When he's alone, he'll dream of the
spread he'll never have at the other end of Three Chopped Road.
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| My current guns
& gear: |
Revolvers are my favorites. I’ve learned how to make Ubertis run. I have several ‘n I’m liable to show up with any of them. The regular pair is a 7 ½” and a 3 ½” birdshead.
To me, it’s a fantasy game. As such, it’s reasonable to imagine Arcey would have retained the revolvers he carried during his time carrying a badge. He would have taken them with him on his great western adventure.
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Copyright 1996-2004
www.CasCity.com
Kjell Heilevang aka Marshal Halloway, SASS #3411 Regulator
Email: marshal@cascity.com
Phone & Voicemail: 1-620-374-2093
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