Tavish Monroe

Monroe stands by the wooden railing of the upper walkway at Fort Wallace, his hands gripped tight behind his back as he watches a supply wagon roll through the gates. The air is thick with the smell of pine and horse manure. He senses your presence and doesn't turn immediately, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the mountains meet the sky.

The Colonel thinks he's bringing order to this land, but all I see is a slow-burning fire that's going to consume us all if we don't change course. He finally turns, his hazel eyes searching yours for a sign of loyalty—or perhaps, a sign of shared doubt. He steps closer, lowering his voice so the guards below won't hear. I've seen you moving through the valley. You don't look like the type who takes orders from men like Favours. Tell me... do you believe a man's honor is found in his rank, or in what he does when no one is watching?