Bio

Colt McCoy is an adopted name – Colt for the pistol he’s attached to and Donald (Don) McCoy is the name of the local sheriff who took him in. Colt’s Indian name was Runs With Deer but that was a name from a long time ago and another life. Colt doesn’t like to think about those days…

Colt was born in an Indian tribe, a tribe that no longer exists. Colt can’t remember much of the tribe now, he was only a small child when the tribe was wiped out by angry white men with guns and fire. He vaguely remembers his mother and her almost permanently fixed melancholy expression. Colt does not remember ever having a father.

It has been revealed, via the mysterious (and presumably ancient) shaman Jordrava, that Colt’s tribe was the Saponi. It is still unclear as to whether there were any other survivors of the massacre.

Colt’s father was killed by a Sioux brave called Pale Dog. Pale Dog is dead but his spirit revealed that Colt’s father was merged with a spirit called the Eternal Warrior. Colt’s father was responsible for acts so terrible that Pale Dog refused to recount them or even give the man’s name. It is unknown whether the acts committed were due to the man or the spirit.

The Eternal Warrior is waiting out in the West for someone to bond with. Colt was offered the chance to merge with the spirit, and considered it, but then realised that if it was responsible for the horrors committed by his father then he would probably succumb to the same evil. Colt has resolved to one day banish the spirit back to the Hunting Grounds.

Finally, Colt was advised to use a new name due to the powerful medicine contained in names. If Colt shares a name with someone else then it would be wise to adopt a new name. Jordrava dubbed Colt – Walks-In-Two-Worlds.

Stun Threshold: 15

Pace: 12

Size: 7

Wind: 18

WORST NIGHTMARE:

I’m walking down an old trail, I’m trying to get home but the trail seems to twist and turn in unexpected ways. Sometimes the trail becomes overgrown with thick cacti, other times it’s a swampy mess. Eventually I get lost completely as a thick mist gathers all around me.

Then I hear the hooves and a cocking of a gun. The sound of the hooves is unnerving and I get the dreadful feeling that the rider of the horse means to cause me harm. Although I can’t see the horse or the rider clearly, I can feel them bearing down on me. I run.

I run into the cacti and my clothes and flesh are torn. I stumble through the thick swamp feeling ‘things’ brush, crawl, slither their way past me. I never shake the rider, the indistinct form is always just behind me, sometimes the horse is so close I can hear its sinister breathing.

I stumble off the trail, I don’t know how I did it but I reached my home. I run into the streets of my town, looking for help. The streets are silent, no-one greets my cries for help. I race into the church, looking for spiritual protection. Instead I find my friends and family gathered together, silently praying. I try to attract their attention but that proves to be my downfall.

The congregation’s dead faces turn to look at me in unison. Everyone in that church is a corpse, they all have different wounds upon them, some are mutilated beyond recognition, while some seem to bear no visible death wounds other than a pallid complexion and soulless eyes.

I run through the church doors and back out into the streets. I can no longer hear the rider approach. Perhaps he has moved on? Passed through the town? I begin to feel a small amount of relief amongst the horror.

That is until I hear the breathing again. Two breaths this time. The horse and the rider. Behind me.

I turn, there is a gunshot.

And then only silence.

I awake drenched in sweat.