LeeRoy — Roleplayer Guild

Criteria: Unranked
Power Level: Normal Human, Armed
Arena: High Noon

Wager: The Khaki Killer's Six Shooter 
Victory Requirements: Death
Stipulations: Western Themed Characters Only
Theme Song: Cheyenne

Character:
Name: Monty Maddox, The Twice Hanged Man, The Khaki Killer

Universe: 1

Race: Human (Caucasian)

Sex: Male

Age: 76

Height: 5'6"

Weight: 136 lbs

Personal Description: 
Imagine a lawman, renowned for doing nothing but justice. Imagine him being thrown from his town for shooting the man who killed his daughter. Imagine what life of crime he would turn to just to survive in the inhospitable wastes of early Arizona, Nevada, and California. Imagine what that would do to a man. Imagine what awful things he's done, and imagine the regret he feels for his actions. 

Monty is that man. Once a man of justice, now a campfire story told to children to keep them from wandering off into the wilderness at night. Sullen, quiet, and ruthless. Monty doesn't hesitate to end a life, but would never instigate. The sunken eyes of an old man, the lines that run through his face. The hope that one day he'll just fall asleep and never wake up. The hope that maybe someone will finally come for him to end his miserable life. To all others, he's a monster. To himself, he's just a tired old man.

Physical Description:
Very gaunt and only average in height, Monty's not much to look at. Lines of age crease his face, his eyes sink deeply into his skull. The hair that was once flowing and blond is now grey and combed against his head beneath a khaki shaded leather hat with a bullet hole on the left hand side. Everything that adorns his body is crafted from leather, and everything he wears is that same shade of khaki. It's where he got his name, it blends almost perfectly with the desert sands. The clothes include a duster held to his body by a gun belt with only one holster on his left hip, filling that holster is a well maintained six shooter. At his right hip he has a satchel bag that contains ammo, a worn photograph of his daughter, and the bounty posters of his face. 

His pants are worn at the knees and hem, exposing dusty old cowboy boots with broken spurs. A vest is all that covers his chest beneath the duster, leaving his chest hair exposed to the wind. It too is grey. Despite all odds, these clothes have clung to him for years. All of the weight he has lost, the height he lost as he grew into a bent old man. The way they blow in the wind gives him an almost ghostly appearance. 

Monty's eyes are the most piercing shade of blue you have ever seen, it is almost supernatural. They shine out from behind the shadow of his hat no matter how dark it gets, staring directly through you. As if you weren't even there. Monty's skin is loosened from age and deeply tanned from being in the sun his whole life.

Skills, Powers, and Abilities:
-Remarkable Marksmanship: From 100 yards he can blow the cap of a bottle off without breaking the glass. From the hip he can accurately fire a shot directly through the eyes of a still standing man. Years of practice have also taught him how to reload a revolved with one swift motion, instead of the repeating motion of loading the individual bullets. He tends to fire from the holster instead of actually drawing his weapon. Giving him a split second on his opponent. He doesn't draw his weapon until he has already fired a shot and even then only if his misses his target.

-Skills with a Knife: Though very rarely used, he's very proficient with a knife. Able to fend off coyotes and bears with accurate cuts to the eyes and nose, he's only used his knife to kill another man when his revolver was stripped from his hand.

Equipment:
Well Maintained Colt 1873: The grip is made from walnut, it is well polished and engraved with a picture of a rose. This gun has been with him since he was just a young lad.
-Type: Revolver

-Caliber: .45 Colt

-Capacity: 6 round cylinder (typically loaded with 5 rounds)

-Fire Modes: Single Action

Old, Heavily Worn, Repeatedly Sharpened Hunter's Knife: A four inch knife used to gut prey, it is as well kept as you can keep a knife. Its blade has lost almost a full inch of width from repeated sharpening. Though it is still a useful weapon. It is kept in his duster in a secret pocket, only ever drawn in the most dire of situations.

Backstory:
Some people are born to greatness. 

Some people live forever in history. 

Some people just refuse to die.

Born in the earlier days of the wild west, his father was a civil war vet on the wrong side of the war. Though he never told his son what side that was. Monty became a lawman in a little town known as Chumluck, a little town in the middle of Arizona just southeast of Nevada. Before uniform law had become a thing, Monty was the only law in his town. He took a wife, her name was Lucile. They sired a daughter, her name was Rosie. The two were the most beautiful in the whole of Arizona, and they lived a good life in Chumluck. The Mayor of Chumluck wasn't a good man, nor was his greedy little fat bastard of a son, Ross Handsow. During Monty's twenty second year as a lawman, and during Rosie's fifteenth year of life. Ross Handsow demanded Rosie's hand in marriage, and when he was refused he went ballistic. Days later, he cornered the girl. She fought against him as he tried to have his way with her, biting off Ross's left ear in her panic.

A mistake if ever there was one. The fat pig strangled her behind a grain silo, leaving her body to rot. The farmer who owned the silo found her body and told Monty. In a fit of rage, Monty went to the only man that had any kind of grudge against his daughter. Dragging Ross from his father's house by the fat of his neck and throwing him into the street. Monty tossed him a gun and walked twenty paces away from him, telling Ross to shoot. Without ever having raised a gun in his life, Ross fired off a shaky shot that blew a hole in the left side of the brim of Monty's hat.

With a cold silence, Monty blew Ross's brains across the sand. 

The Mayor ordered the deputies to capture Monty and hang him at once, throwing them money to give them a bit of motivation. With his revenge justly fulfilled, Monty willingly surrendered himself. No last words, no eulogy. On that day, Monty was hanged in his own yard. Darkness overtook him, but after the hanging had ended he woke to find himself fallen from the tree. The noose was poorly tied, it had only strangled him to unconsciousness, instead of breaking his neck. At least a day had passed, his wife was so distraught that she hadn't left the house. Understandably avoiding looking at her husband's corpse. 

Like a ghost, the hanged man walked into his own house. Lucile saw him and screamed in terror, a god fearing woman if ever there was one. Her husband, once thought dead, was alive once again. She fainted, and so Monty opted to let her sleep it off. Deciding to skip town, instead of being hanged once again. 

Lucile told the mayor that the vengeful soul of her husband had come to her house in the dead of night, that he shouldn't have hanged him. That now there was an angry demon who was once her husband wandering the world.

Monty never returned to Chumluck, but legend did spread from the paranoid masses through letters and word of mouth. That a dead man was walking among the living. 

Years passed, Monty aged. Living off the land wasn't quite cutting it. Survival was getting more and more difficult as he grew older, so he threw himself with a band of roving thieves. At first they were hesitant to let him in, but when he demonstrated his ability with a revolver, there was no way they couldn't say yes.

It worked out for a time. The more bloodthirsty sorts would do the killing, Monty would stage the heists, and the money would be split evenly among them. They all got their fair share, and it was enough to pay for food and drink and bed. 

Everything seemed to work out great, even though it directly contradicted his morals.

Then the bandits went too far. 

Mirroring the day that his daughter was murdered, the band of 20 cornered a wealthy woman from east of the Mississippi. 

Taking her money was fine.

Taking her jewelery was fine.

Taking her clothes? Wasn't.

Monty had taken what he wanted from her, a fine pearl necklace with a gold chain. So he had left the bandits to take what they wanted from her and her carriage. Then he heard her screaming even more loudly than before, Monty turned to see them having their way with her. 

Something in Monty snapped, without hesitation he gunned down every single one of them. Insidiously splattering their brains one by one, leaving their corpses with their pants at their ankles and their brains in the dirt. Wordlessly he left, back into the wilderness, leaving the woman with all of her jewelery and money. 

The Rangers caught up with him, and hastily hanged him for brutally killing 21 men in his day. Again, he woke to found himself alive a few days later. 

Since then, Monty has roamed the west, looking for nothing but death. Knowingly entering towns with wanted posters of the Twice Hanged Man. 

One day, and one day soon, he intends to die. Either by the cold hand of the reaper, or by the cold steel of a big iron.

Skidding to a halt on the ground, the Hero of Pundambaya panted softly. A few beads of sweat staining his brow and running down past his eyes as he sat up. The hand of his foe was sparking with a murderous energy and Kanitah knew that all he could do was move away and keep running. 

This was his fiercest foe, the strongest person he had ever fought.

The only foe he had faced that compared was the general of the invasion fleet, way back when he gained his fame. But he was a coward, and once the fight had begun, he showed no honor. No bravery in the face of possible defeat. The battle ensued and he lost because he was too afraid to begin. 

Fury was something else. 

Dead set on accomplishing whatever insane goal he set his mind on, Fury didn't let up. No matter what was thrown at him, no matter how much force Kanitah put into his foe, Fury didn't yield. 

It was the most fear that Kanitah had ever felt, the first time he stood against Fury. On that wretched planet, where so much adversity emerged. Where Kanitah had to stop some random peons from sabotaging another man, saving the life of some weirdo whose name he never learned.

Now there was nobody. 

It was just Fury and Kanitah.

The Hero and the Monster.

And Kanitah didn't know what to do. 

The slide had torn his shirt up the back, exposing more of his scars and the metallic shine of the word engine, so he grabbed his shirt with one hand and tore it off. With only one eye open, Kanitah looked towards Fury. Putting his right hand back on the ground and raising his right leg so his foot was touching the ground. Shoving upwards and leaning his weight forward, standing back upright. Lazily lifting his hands back upwards into a similar stance to Fury's own. Knowing that whatever Fury was about to do with the energy in his right hand, it wasn't going to be good.

With a few deep breaths he spoke. "Why? Why do you do this?" The words would fall on deaf ears, of course, Fury's a madman. "Of all the things you could do with your power, why this mindless violence?" As the words left his mouth they raised in volume until he was shouting. "You're a psychopath, I get that, but what drives this senseless violence!?"

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