[hider=Silas Travis Greyson III]
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[h3] Silas Travis Greyson III 

[i]"When we are above the sky, you think God'll hear us better?"[/i]  [/h3]

Nationality and Race: USA, South Carolina. White.

Age: 30

Sex/Gender: Male

Appearance: 
Silas is a rather intimidating figure, a fact that he often plays up when interacting with people. He stands just over six feet in height with a broad frame, gifts from his father's side of the family. Another thing he got from his father's side of the family is his black hair and slightly red tinted facial hair. While the style of the time for gentlemen in the South was to have impressive and well kept beards, Silas keeps his facial as short as he can with the razor he keeps on him in his pocket. This task often proves less than doable though as he needs to shave twice a day to keep the stubble at bay. His mother's side gave him her green eyes and rather pale complexion, as well as his rather this lips. His body is supported by a set of stocky legs and larger than average feet. This caused him some issue when he was in the Confederate Army and forced him to end up buying his own boots, a part of his kit that became rather envied by his poorer companions. 

The former Confederate Cavalryman turned sheriff sill wears his old gray Army long coat, with all the insignia removed from it. The right shoulder of the coat now sports a sheriff's star. The coat is often worn open revealing his dress shirt and gun belt. Belted over the hips of his rough working pants sits a thick gun belt that holds a Schofield single action pulse revolver. Power cartridge loops surround the belt, all filled with ammunition for his pistol. On his left hip sits a sheath holding a long hunting knife. At the bottom of his dusty trousers sit a set of thick and tough leather riding boots with electromagnetic spurs set into their heels. On the top of his short cut hair sits an old brown wide brimmed hat, folded lower in the front and higher in the back. In the band of the hat is the feather of a falcon. Either on its sling, or tucked into the holster on his Thoroughbred 1865 Steelsteed, sits a new wonderful piece of hardware the Remington M1 1867 repeating lever-action laser carbine. During Silas' time in the cavalry he used a Sharps carbine, but, he has no love for the old weapon and has fully embraced the faster, more powerful lever-action carbine and its new cartridges. For those with money, it is the best money can buy in his mind. 

Personality: 

[i]"I can command and intimidate all I want, I just do it politely."[/i]

Raised in a system of people doing their best to act like gentleman and ladies, Silas has impeccable manners. He was taught how to eat his food properly and how to act when in the presence of a lady or superior. This is, of course, almost in direct contrast to his time as a non-commissioned officer in the military. While the officers and high command came from rich families and could afford to act like war was a game, Silas lived with the men. He saw the need for a firm hand and a reasonable tone. He developed those skills well. He has a natural air of authority about him and easily falls into a leadership role, even when he ought not to. However, he never does so as a bully. Often with a smile and a tip of the hat he would inform people that they would be listening to everything he said that disobedience would have dire consequences. This polite tone while speaking either blatantly threatening or direct orders is often what most people remember about the large man.

[i]"They're like us, only, they need a guiding hand." [/i]

Silas lived in a rural state where most of the work was done by slaves. They were needed to keep the ecomy running and the plantation owners in their place. As far as he could tell, it all seemed to work. He thought of the slaves and in extension, all black folk, as children in need of a strong father figure. You did not have to hate them or beat them like some cruel owners did. Silas never liked the type of men who could just whip away and never care. It was the same as a father who got drunk and beat his children, it was dishonorable. Silas and his family treated his slaves well enough. they had food, housing, discipline, and a chance to learn about our Lord Our God Jesus Christ. What more could a race of people who needed civilization and education want? The war made Silas very uncomfortable. He learned that many slaves wanted to run to the North and they despised their place in the Southern system. He didn't think they were ready for that choice, but, his side didn't win now did they? Look at it now, poverty and crime is what the rewards of freedom were. 

[i]"I fought for honor damn it!"[/i]

Many fought for what was considered Southern Honor, Silas was one of them. In the end it was really about slaves and economics, but, to him and his men, they fought for the right to be their own masters and the preservation of their culture. Silas never drew a bead on a blue and thought 'this is for money!', no, it was always the rebel yell and 'For my home and hearth!'. The war was bloody and his home was destroyed. They fought long and hard for what they thought was the right thing, for freedom of Men and the individual rights of states. However, the power of the Union's industrial machines crushed them down until they were eating boot leather and throwing rocks. It all starts out as honor but in the end you'll kill a man for his shoes. 

[i]"Any port in a storm, God forgives." [/i]

The horrors of war drive men closer together. It was in this desire for comfort and companionship that Silas found something different about himself. While he did like the touch of a lady and the sweet way they smiled, and, what was under their skirts. he also had a strong attraction to the hard men of war he fought with. There was something different and interesting about a strong jawed and hard eyed fighter that just drew him in. There were plenty of nights in the winter where they kept each other warm in body and spirit. Returning home, that all stopped. Here there were rules and ways to act, repopulating to do. Silas liked the feel of a soft lady under his hands and body, but, on some of those cold nights, they just weren't as warm as his corporal. 

[i]"Law's the law and word's your word."[/i]

Silas might not have liked the outcome of the war and the way it hurt his people, but, fair is fair. Lee surrendered and if that man was willing to capitulate, who was he to argue? Silas has the utmost respect for the law and its administration. In his capacity as sheriff he is often quite serious and ridged when it comes to the application of the law. He is unwilling to break his word once given and will not go against the law to achieve his goals. Laws and rules exist for a reason and man is little more than an animal when he doesn't have them. Sometimes those animals need to be put down, but, only if there is other way and the law is on his side. That being said, even laws he does not agree with are upheld to the fullest of their effect, without exception. 

Skills, Abilities and Profession: 

[i]"Learned it in war, use it in peace." [/i]

Former Cavalry Sergeant and now Sheriff: Having served the Confederacy in war as an NCO of a cavalry unit, Silas has become very comfortable both riding and fighting from the saddle. He can do pretty much anything he needs to do with some exceptions from the back of his robotic horse. This makes him a dangerous foe in open areas where he can fully take advantage of the machine's speed and the fire rate of his 1867 M1 carbine. His time as a commander of the common soldier also made him a perfect candidate for a sheriff. He is good at getting people to listen to him and obey. The first job of a sheriff after all is to make sure people treat each other nicely and keep it calm. Outside of his professional life, Silas, is an avid consumer of music and fine drink. While many people in the frontier are rather rough, Silas, tries his best to keep a cultured and fine edge to himself. It does not always come across well though since in truth he's not as refined as he would like to seem. The sheriff has a particularly sharp memory able to rattle off odd laws and little quotes that he read somewhere and can usually remember any face he sees well after only one meeting.  

He volunteered to be a law man on the Trail. He needed to get away for his life and knew there would be need of hard law men on the great Trail of Stars that was to come. Poor folk tend to break down and act real foolish when they don't got a strong arm holding a piece of iron letting them what they can and can't do. 

Biography: 

[i]"I's raised right and proper. Church every Sunday and discipline when I forgot what we learned."[/i]

Silas, named after his father and his father's father, grew up on a South Carolina plantation of medium size. Well, maybe not even medium size. They did fine as far as most folk were concerned though. They had them some slaves, some indentured Irish fellas and plenty of hired local help. They grew the best cash crop of the time, fine cotton, and, a little tobacco on the side just to keep things a little interesting. Silas was the eldest son and the one given the most responsibility of his seven other siblings. Six sisters and one small brother mans a man learn how to be polite and firm real quick. Young Silas spent most of his time in the shadow of his father, a grizzled and painfully smart man. Silas picked up the lessons his father taught with words or fists. He looked up to his old man with the reverence that is reserved normally for God himself. Silas grew up quick and by all accounts, grew up well. He learned to hunt, fish, dance, sing, read, and fight. He put those skills to work as he learned them whenever he could. Soon enough, his siblings knew not to cross the family scion and to listen to his commands like they were given by their own father. Silas was set to head off to get some college learning in him and find himself a wife, something he only moderately looked forward to. Women was something that Silas liked a great deal and the idea of only having one for the rest of his seemed a little odd, not only that, but, there sure were a large number of fine looking men kickin' around. He always banished those thoughts though. The Bible and his father, equal as far as he was concerned, beat that out of him plenty. It wasn't to be though. That feared day finally came. Secession.

[i]"They talked about freedom, but, what about our freedom?" [/i]

In a few months that had the entire force of Leviathan built behind it, the Union erupted into war. It was brothers against brothers and no one would be left unharmed. Silas did what he knew he had to do. He signed up to fight and ride for the honor and values of his people. The young man didn't have the training and money to be a proper officer like many of the other men of his station, but, he had the prowess, will, and force of command to quickly move up when he enlisted. 

Silas and his cavalry unit were deployed under the command of some truly forgettable commander. They marched South and West to join up with the forces that were working to secure Tennessee and the surrounding areas as well as screen the flanks for the main infantry body of the Confederate Army. Silas and his brigade ended up under the command of someone rather impressive, one  Nathan Bedford Forrest. Silas was excited to be under the command of such a renowned and excellent cavalry commander. He fought like hell and so did all of his men. He was not in command of his men in truth, but, they listened to him more than their lieutenant and even his commanding officer listened to the young sergeant. It started to seem like Silas was born for sitting the saddle of his pumping steam machine and riding down poor Union boys and screening maneuvers. 

Silas wanted more though. They always felt like they were not doing enough and another commander was off giving those blue backs hell not far off. His entire unit was excited when they found that their battalion and much of their former commander's forces were to be transferred to the command of Joseph Wheeler, a real damned lion. While most would agree afterwards that Wheeler actually might not have been as good of a commander as Forrest, but, at the time he was giving those boys a run and Silas wanted to run at them with the man. 

Silas served with distinction through the Tennessee, Chattanooga, Chickamauga, Georgia, and the Carolinas. He served well and fought like a devil according to his men and his commanders. The young man was growing up hard and fast. Silas' unit took part in many operations that seemed like the things of legend and yet the South was getting strangled more and more. They captured the highest ranking prisoner of war The Confederate Army ever got and it didn't even slow the Union down. In a matter of time, Silas found himself with Wheeler himself as they were trying to cover the retreat President Jefferson Davis' flight to the Trans-Mississippi, he was captured. Him, his whole damned unit, well, those left of his blood brothers, and Wheeler himself and three of his staffers. They spent three months rotting in Fort Monroe waiting for the damned end of the world it seemed. That end didn't come. A month after their commander Wheeler had been released, so were they. They took the long and painful walk home. All of their gear and mounts had been taken. All they had was the poor uniforms left as a reminder of their loss. Not that they needed a damned reminder. 

[i]"I made it home. Home just didn't make it to me." [/i]

Silas went back to him home. His return to South Carolina was not met with a warm reunion. Instead, he found all his slaves freed, his father dead, mother dead, brother dead, and his whole damned childhood home reduced to little more than ash. It was another casualty of war, it seemed. His siters had fled North to the waiting home of his Aunt's home in Boston. At least they lived. They wanted nothing to do with their last living brother. They still remembered the beatings he gave them, beatings he learned first hand from his father. Nothing left but the land and all of it in his name. He sold it off as quick as he could, taking a fair shake lower than he should have gotten for that property. 

He took that money and went West, running hard and fast from what he become and what he knew people thought of him. There were plenty of territories out in the expanding West that needed help and he had a mind to go try to be someone else. He found work as a horse ranch hand in Nebraska Territory. 

[i]"You know what? You can run from fighting and who you are, but, you always find it again."[/i]

Silas found his time on the ranch very short lived. He found out quickly that he was not the only one who had run off from the war and were looking for a new life. However, he seemed to be the only damned one who planned on following the law. Too many former Confederate coats and patches were covering the rustlers and bandits that roamed these parts. Silas knew there was one language these men understood. The hissing pop of his Schofield was a language pretty much everyone spoke it seemed. He found himself in pose after pose in the service of the old sheriff of the No-Name town he lived near. Not everyone came back every time they went out. After a year of trying to root out the dastardly folk that had taken root, it was the sheriff who didn't come back. 

The people voted, Silas, was not about to argue with them. He was the one in the town with the most combat experience and had a knack for command. Even the sheriff was listening to the much younger man by the end. Silas didn't put together a posse. He made a damned militia. He took a season and trained his willing men and taught them everything he could about war and combat and the next Summer, they rode out. By the end of that bloody Summer men were dead and the bandits learned better than to come within a far sight of Silas' town. The excitement of the fight and the command had brought Silas back to his time in the war. He thought it would make him sick, but, he found he longed for it. Wanted a chance to ride out and out think his enemies. 

Silas got no more of that though. Instead he settled into the real job of being a sheriff of a small town spread out into ranches and homesteads. He rode from place to place, talking men out of killing their wives because they touched another man, or, stopped wives from slicing their husbands balls off because he spent too much time at the brothel. Silas spent a fair amount of his time there himself. He became good friends with the maddame there. Mama everyone called her. He liked her. She was interesting and hard a four month old piece of ship biscuit. He even considered asking her to marry him at one point. Sure she was ten years older than him and he had a taste for other women and men, but, she could understand that, right? It wasn't to be. Not only would not priest touch that union with a twenty foot pole blessed by Peter himself, but, she wouldn't have him. She didn't want to settle down and being with a sheriff was just asking for heartbreak. Heartbreak was what Silas got instead. 

When they came a-askin' for folk who wanted to turn their back on this world and see what the stars held for them. To go forth and see if they could meet God. Well, he left his town behind. You can run all you want, run forever all the way to heaven. You ain't never gonna forget who you are and who you were. Might as well get them boots dusty though boy, keep on a-runnin'. 

Dependents: Harper, robotic Horse.  [/center]
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