"The Outlaws"

NOTE: This was a characterization scenario assignment for one of my classes. If you want to read more about Lord Marrowsworth, please see my very first story on this blog: "The Contract"

Lord Marrowsworth was sitting at his desk, carefully examining a property development contract when his concentration was broken by the sound of horses galloping into town. He straightened his crimson Stetson and stood from his seat. Marrowsworth’s spurs clacked against the floorboards as he strode to the door. As he stepped out of the door, he saw five men dismounting from horses in the town square, not far from the oil well.

“What brings you fellows to Dustyville? Are you looking to get a lair built?” Lord Marrowsworth genteelly asked.

One of the men turned to face Marrowsworth. “We’re here for the oil and you best get out of our way… or I’ll put ya six feet under,” the man declared in a low, menacing tone, brandishing a revolver with his right hand.

“Well, if that’s what your lookin’ for, then I suggest that you leave,” Marrowsworth calmly stated, pointing a skeletal finger at the entrance to town.

The man opened his bandana-covered mouth to speak, but he froze for a moment when he got a good look at Marrowsworth. “What in tarnation is a monster like you doing in a rinky-dink little town like this?!” the man growled as his four companions unholstered their six shooters.

A half dozen animated skeletons wielding rifles began forming up behind Lord Marrowsworth. “I’m running a business, that’s what. And as I already said, and won’t say again, y’all best get back on your horses and go back to from whence you came,” he explained in a calm, yet threatening, tone.

“I thought you told us this was an easy job, and all we’d have to do was scare off some prospectors?” one of the bandits nervously enquired.

“I did, and now I am tellin’ you to shut up,” the man in front hissed, shooting his lackey an angry look.

“You won’t be needed. Go back to work.” Lord Marrowsworth ordered, waving his hand at the skeletons behind him, who lowered their rifles and hurried away.

“I have had about enough of this!” the man shouted, pointing his gun at Marrowsworth’s head. A shot rang out through the town. For a moment, the man stood there stunned, then collapsed to the dirt. The other four glanced fearfully at each other before hopping onto their horses and hurrying out of town.

Marrowsworth shook his head as he holstered his smoking, gilded revolver and ambled back to his office.