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Name> Beauregard "Judge" Moore
Gender> Male
Age> 35
Appearance> Judge is often called a warm man with hard eyes. Both could be called his 'true' self, or perhaps his personal and professional self. He often has a smile for his friends, of which he has no short supply in town. These days, that smile is surrounded by the beginnings of a beard, and his ever-present mustache. The stress of his career was beginning to see the colour fade from his hair early, but the reddish brown still showed prominently. He tends to forego the popular duster jacket in favor of more 'civilian' clothing, only dressing heavier for his rare rides out of town.
To a first time observer, what sticks out most is his prominent limp, one of his legs replaced by a near worthless prosthetic. He always joked that it meant he had one less limb to worry about in a firefight, but it effectively put an end to his days of leaving town. In a firefight these days, he'd much rather work methodically behind cover than try to keep up with a fully-able young man.
Physically, he was well muscled, if not extremely large. His role as the man who carried out justice in town meant he needed to stay fit, so when required he could make a clean cut of a man's neck with the broadsword that always rested at his side. At his other hip rested a rather ordinary looking revolver, although a keen observer would note both it's craftsmanship, and unique barrel.
History>Beauregard, or "Judge" as most of the locals know him, grew up the son of a local saloon owner. The son of two alcoholics, he often found himself looking back on his childhood with disgust, but at the time it had seemed normal enough. Indeed, drink was the most common vice in the region, so he supposed it was normal enough in the end, although that didn't seem to stop most others from taking up that same vice when they were of age to.
He was trained from an early age from the lawmen that frequented the saloon in the use of firearms. He decided when he was just a boy that he wouldn't be taking over the family business, having understood that drinking changed men, usually for the worse. At first, of course his family was furious, but he had younger siblings, and it was decided at the very least he could help escort the shipments that were brought in for the saloon.
And when he came of age, that was exactly what he did. In truth, it was mostly uneventful. The saloon was successful enough to hire adequate protection, and while the region was never particularly safe, there were always easier targets for looters. Still, it was not an easy life, and the few times their cargo came under attack he proved himself a competent gunman, not prone to panic.
However, as the years went on competition sprang up in town, and the excess of his parents' habits increased as well. Bad decisions were made, loans were taken, and shortly before turning twenty-five Beauregard found his home, and family, had turned to ashes. Standing in the burnt out ruins of the saloon, he made a crucial decision; while he had little love for his family or the business they did not deserve their fate.
At least, not at the hands of loansharks.
Begging to be deputized by the lawmen who trained him, Beauregard set out to see some proper justice done. It wouldn't be a hard hunt; everyone suspected the local "Lead&Whiskey" (as the called themselves) gang of doing the deed. They had been suspected of numerous incidents throughout the region, particularly against the debt-ridden.
Assured they wouldn't need help, he set out with the sheriff to the edge of the Elenor mountains where the gang was known to have set up camp. The two figures of the law set upon the outlaws and... talked. Beauregard sat, both dumbfounded and boiling with rage as the sheriff was treated to a glass of his family's whiskey, and joked with the gang for hours. Finally leaving them with a warning to lay off the funny business for awhile before the two made their way back towards town.
"See? Now we'll have a couple months of peace from them, the order's maintained."
It was the only explanation he was given, and he never asked for another. Never demanded a reason for why they were allowing murdering thieving arsonists to live. Instead, he waiting until the two were a ways away from the camp, and drew his pistol.
A single shot behind the head while the sheriff rode ahead of him. It was an execution, and Beauregard watched as the blood was absorbed by the ground beneath them, like corruption leaving the world. It was then that he was set in his duty, the region needed true law. Not corrupt sheriffs, not gangs allowed to roam free and burn families, not the illusion of order, but real stability.
Steeling himself for the bloodbath he planned to invoke if the town believed him, he buried the sheriff and rode back to town. Screaming at the top of his lungs for revenge, the Lead&Whiskey gang had opened fire at them as they approached, and the sheriff had been struck in the ensuing firefight. He called for a posse, and the town answered him gladly. The everyday men and women had seen the gang causing trouble without repercussions for years, and the few deputies who were in on the sheriff's corruption were forced into silence at the town's call for blood.
In all, twenty men were picked, and Beauregard was chosen to lead them to the gang's encampment. They fell upon the gang at dusk, and against a group that expected to be left alone for months, it was a total massacre. The entire camp was burned to the ground, much like his family's saloon, and the bodies were left out to rot. A final testament to the townspeople's rage.
That night was the only time Beauregard ever drank until he was completely drunk. He had heard stories about that night since, and each time he thought back on it he shuddered. Womanizing, firing his weapon in the air with no regard for public safety,
ripping his shirt off while singing songs of merriment in the middle of the street.
He was a lunatic, if a happy one, while wasted. He prayed for the sake of his reputation alone that it would never be allowed to happen again.
In spite of that, though, he earned the respect of the townspeople for his swift action against the Lead&Whiskey game, and was quickly elected sheriff. Things... changed then, most would say for the better. Crime was dealt with swiftly, the gallows always had a man hanging from them, and he began carrying a sword. The latter was for criminals that held his respect, and partly to appease the local gentlemen who threatened to take their businesses elsewhere if any of them were forced to swing from the gallows in public view.
As the rate of imprisonment and executions rose, crime began to taper off. It was the bloodbath he had predicted, and it nearly cost him his position more than once. However, its effects could not be denied, and by the time he was thirty "Judge" had gained the region's respect and support.
Then the apocalypse hit, and all his work was seemingly undone overnight.
Scarcity created desperation, and at the end of the world there wasn't anything that couldn't be called scarce. During the massive storm, his home collapsed with him inside it, destroying his right leg and leaving him crippled, if alive. Unable to personally lead parties against bandits in his present condition, he focused on keeping order within town. It was his pride that the residents hadn't descended into chaos and destroyed themselves. However, keeping order wasn't enough to keep the town alive. They needed supplies, they needed business, and Judge was woefully unable to provide either.
Then the Baron showed up out of nowhere, half dead but with a fire and determination in his eyes that compelled men to follow him. Judge watched his ascent to power with fascination, and a little worry. However, when he saw the results of his tenure as mayor, his respect for the man won out over his wariness. At the very least, he had helped keep the region alive, and the two formed a sort of partnership when it came to the law.
Judge never considered himself one of the Baron's elite, a fact that he made very clear to the man in private, but he supposed the townspeople saw it that way. Still, the two were on as good of terms as he supposed the Baron was with anyone, and until he was given proof the Baron was on the wrong side of the law, Judge gave the man his open support.
Personality>Despite the harshness of his role in keeping order, Beauregard tended to be a relaxed individual when not performing his duties. Having seen and sorted out the mess that partaking in excess always seemed to cause his fellow man, he was not one prone to drinking. Sure, you could occasionally find him at a bar, giving patronage to the owner, but his glass usually sat full in front of him while he chatted up the locals, keeping an eye out for signs of trouble.
His most notable, and troubling to some, trait was his ability to 'switch off' that relaxed amicable side of him to carry out his duties. He was a fair, but harsh instrument of the law. He would lend an ear to extenuating circumstances, but mercy was rare unless truly deserved. Order had become something of a religion to him since the collapse of the world, and maintaining his vision of it became his purpose in life. Wealthy or poor, man or woman, nothing was above justice.
Abilities and Skills> The ability to 'switch' off his emotional side when keeping the law. Less of a quick draw expert, as an expert at maintaining a high level of gunplay once lead starts flying, steady results over immediate effect. If forced into the situation, he is a competent swordsman, although he prefers using it for executions than combat. Other than this his reputation, if considered a skill, was extremely good within the region, and he could find much support from the locals when required.
Weapons> A rare revolver from a now dead gunsmith, fires from the 6-O-Clock position, reducing recoil. Also a broadsword, mainly for use in executions of the gentry. In his rare trips out of town, he also carries an ordinary over-under double barrel shotgun.
Alignment> Lawful Neutral
Family or Friends> Many friends, however he's been more or less married to the law for his whole life.
