Alright, got this finished up - if there's anything you need clarification on/would like changed, just lemme know.

[hider=Wrapped Desperado]
[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/7WbIDrD.png[/img]

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171114/951d3d968c0d2b012e6e61d16ba83587.png[/img][/center][hr][hr]

[indent][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171114/8e36e078d764435bdf4f00f04f9b9e22.png[/img]  Human, Undead (?)

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171114/3fd0aa9e32643924d18105726c6622ec.png[/img]  Ties to the demon, Aglan

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171114/f19ef9198f11af1321dc95d69fe902d7.png[/img]  [i]Rumors been driftin' 'bout, speakin' of a white-wrapped vigilante ridin' through the snow on a bright white skeletal steed; fast as the wind, he roams through the Weeping Winter wilderness, stirrin' up the souls o' the dead. Men burst into the taverns at night shaken from the wind and bitter cold, but a great deal of 'em learned to be home before midnight, lest the [b]White Rider[/b] came to lop off their head. They say he came from up north, in Nebraska territory - or up past that. A lotta folks don't much care where he came from, so long as he ain't stayin'.
	Hell, some folks say the man's just a tad bit lost - in fact, a feller we had here a couple months back said he spent an evenin' with the shrouded figure, after he done lost his horse to the freezin' waters of a river. Said he was quiet; of course, since he's all bandaged-up past the eyes. But he pulled the feller right from the stream and dragged him up to a nearby cave - what a lucky guy he weren't [b]ate[/b] by the thing! Nobody believed him anyway, but I seen the boy's eyes, and they were cold stone; he'd stared death right in the face and it gave him a fire and some game.[/i] "Awe-struck"[i] don't do it no justice.
	Have I ever seen him? Only once - well, I think so, anyway. It's said he only arrives durin' the coldest of storms, and is only ever on the horizon 'til a man peeks his head out the door - and in a flash, he's gone. But I seen 'im, and I felt right stricken to the bone - I've never felt such a haunting cold in my life.[/i]
[right]-- David Finlay, barkeep[/right]
[hider=The Tale of Henry William Koch][indent]Henry William Koch was born on December 9th, 1840 in a small sodden homestead just south of Fort Atkinson, Nebraska territory. His father, Joseph James Koch, served in the United States Army, being stationed at the first fort west of the Missouri shortly after its completion. Having eight older siblings, Henry was often picked on for his thin, wiry hair and long ears, but grew into a handsome young man as he worked out in the fields with his brothers. However, he quickly tired of the settlers life, and decided to head east - Chicago was the destination. Spending a few years of his adulthood there, he sprung up in arms with the impending likelihood of war with the south. He had no motivation, really, beyond the thrill of adventure - but this thrill would later get him in trouble, and cost him dearly.
Henry's service in the military was wild and short-lived. Spending most of his time in Missouri, he was a Union fighter in the trans-Mississippi theater, and a fairly good marksman to boot. But, after an explosion left him bandaged-together and dying in a medical tent, Henry was almost certain it was the end for him. Stranger still, he kept hearing a muffled voice in the back of his head, telling him to [i]let go[/i]. Then, even worse news - disease had broken out in camp, and he was surrounded by it.
They called it the Rot - and for good reason. Most who caught it usually knew after twenty-four hours, when they would develop a hoarse, scratchy cough, followed by splitting headaches. The following week could only be described as a gradual descent into hell, with increased heart-rate, thickened blood, hacking up strange blood-ridden chunks, and the stench of decay. Many who caught the disease died after only a week or two; many more killed themselves before they would let the pain overwhelm them. It didn't take long before Henry caught it himself, but his case was unique - despite suffering the traumatic symptoms, Henry's will seemed to persist past week one, and week two, yet the symptoms worsened further than they ever had previously. His body was eventually moved to a separate tent, simply because the smell was so overwhelming. But, regardless of how much pain he was in, he believed he was going to overcome the Rot, no matter how many nights he had to wake up in terror and pain, unsure of whether the screams he heard in his dreams were his own.
Henry William Koch was buried on December 3rd, 1863, six days prior to his twenty-third birthday. His body was first sent to Chicago, then transported across Iowa, toward Atkinson. The funeral was somber and cold, with his family and some neighbors surrounding his closed casket as he was lowered into the ground. He would lay there undisturbed for two whole years.
When Henry Koch awoke, he wasn't quite sure where he was. It was dark, quiet - the air was filled with a rotten musk, but seemed almost familiar to him. But perhaps most notable of all was the absence of pain. He thought to move his arms, shift his body, do [i]something[/i]-- he heard a shifting above him. Then a scratching, and a thumping. Suddenly, he was blinded by the brilliance of the sun, and he lifted his hands to cover his eyes, before he noticed that, well, he [i]couldn't[/i]. He tried, time and time again, before a figure stepped between his gaze and the fire ablaze in the heavens above.
This figure would identify itself as Aglan - a demon proclaiming itself as the late Henry's liberator. After a great speech surmising the tale of the murder of the Koch family and the restoration of life into Henry's corpse, Aglan poured into the casket the blood of Henry's parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews, rejuvenating all of Henry's faculties and slowly gluing the man back together. Aglan's deed was not out of the kindness of its heart, but rather the introduction of a business proposition - Henry Koch would continue to murder and binge in blood to ensure his continued survival, and Aglan would receive the souls of those who perished. Of course, Henry didn't recognize much of anything that Aglan had done for him as being any good at all, and swore upon his fallen family to destroy the wicked spirit in any way that he could. Thus, the tale of the Wrapped Desperado began.[/indent][/hider]

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171114/7014c0b91df2d00867bd740ea8803d3e.png[/img]  Silent. Watchful. Vengeful.

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171114/e41c3cecd15c487f4d0281fda573c151.png[/img]  A hunting axe, strapped to the side of his horse's saddle.

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171114/9cb22e2badcc81ea4db9312d19001823.png[/img]  Two revolvers, holstered on either side of the hip. Recent sightings suggest there's a rifle slung across his back, or at least something close to it in size. Other reports infer his usage of a bow and arrow, which is entirely likely, but the vast majority of sightings only detail the pistols at his belt.

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171114/54beae05b9434ca4506b36a92bb0ee78.png[/img]

[list][*][b]Sharpshooter:[/b] Raised by a U.S. veteran and having spent time in service, the Desperado's eagle-eye and quick draw make him a force to be reckoned with by the untrained fighter.
[*][b]Green Reaper:[/b] The Homestead life left an impression on the man, compounding his familiarity with the West with his knowledge of crops, livestock, game, and foraging. Though not incredibly useful in the dead of winter, the Desperado's expertise on local flora and fauna has more than likely been of help in his survival.
[*][b]Physical Fortitude:[/b] Though cursed with the persistent pestilence of the Rot, the Desperado does what he can to keep in peak physical condition - at least, as much as his undead body will allow.
[*][b]Part-Time Physician:[/b] Having spent as much time with the Rot as he has, the Desperado has to take the time to clean and change his bandages and patch up any decomposing bits of his body. It may not be a certified practice, but it proves pretty helpful in the midst of a fire-fight.[/list]

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171114/06bfe2ca55b0757e61de2e80fc71555c.png[/img]  

[list][*][b]Rotgut:[/b] Some of the transformations upon the Desperado's body due to the Rot weren't necessarily destructive, but rather helped perpetuate the body's decomposition. The acids inside of the Desperado's stomach began to warm and bubble, jumping out at the rest of the body to try and eat it away. If he doesn't somehow expel the toxic liquid regularly, it would continue to boil and fester before it started cooking and melting him. Instead, he makes sure to drain his stomach about twice a week, creating a strange concoction that, coincidentally, is just as flammable as it is toxic. Though he has yet to employ his stomach-juice for any sort of combative usage, the Desperado is well aware of it's pernicious potential, watching once as a small drop of liquid ate clean through a felled tree he was sitting upon. Alternatively, the substance is an incredibly great source of heat, probably acting as the single barrier between his freezing solid from the cold.
[*][b]Dead Nerves:[/b] Being undead does have its perks - particularly if one has to get in a lot of fights. The Desperado doesn't feel pain - in fact, he can't feel the touch of much anything at all. Whether it's the stinging cold or the bite from a bullet, the Desperado never flinches - but a well-aimed shot to the skull means it's all over for the lone rider.
[*][b]Snow Nonsense:[/b] The Desperado always seems to be able to tell when a snowstorm is on it's way - at least, so long as it isn't conjured up in an instant. Thus, he spends a lot of his time following storms and learning their patterns, often using the impending downfall as cover for whenever he needs to get close and comfortable with the locals.
[*][b]Boiling Blood:[/b] Part of the deal made with Aglan was that if his body ever was falling apart beyond repair, then it was time for the Desperado to seek the blood necessary to replenish it. Unfortunately, this meant draining the life from another human being - which also only worked if that individual had the correct blood type. Thus, the Desperado was doomed to wander as a murderer - but there was another clause that Aglan failed to mention. On moonless nights, if the Desperado feeds, he will be filled with an unfathomable power, surpassing any strength or speed capable of any man. The mind will shut down and bend savagely, flicking on a purely primal instinct to feed-- there's simply no telling what mass of carnage would ensue.[/list][/indent][hr][hr]
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