The untold tales of The Dead Men

A Man in a Mask

It was the year eighteen hundred and forty - two up in Iowa, west of the great Mississippi River and the Dead Men were on a mission. The American frontier a place of conquest but also survival, where it was hard living and easy killing, only the most ruthless dominated the lands and of course where blood curdling magic thrived. They were traveling up north to an outpost near Decorah, where their target had last been seen. The target was Mevolent's personal hitman, a rather tricky man to catch and even harder to kill but then he had never faced the Dead Men.

There were Seven of them, all Irish though their accents where mixed due to all the traveling they had done. Saracen Rue, a man with kind eyes and a cheeky grin, the one thing Rue had learned over the years is that the ladies love a cheeky grin. Beside him rode Dexter Vex, the pair were joined at the hip, Saracen Says Dexter is the considerate one, though he's not one to show it.

Anton Shudder rode at the back, a more formidable man was hard to find. He often wore the expression of a stone, a very grumpy one at that. Then there was Erskine Ravel, the man with the golden eyes and moves almost as smooth as Saracen Rue's. Lastly there was Hopeless, a man of many faces.

Leading the assortment of riders was the scarred man, Ghastly Bespoke, brocken on the outside but gentle on the inside and beside him was a sight so strange that if you saw it with your own eyes you would question life itself because Skulduggery Pleasant was the only dead man walking, a living skeleton. His cloths where scuffed and warn, a jacket that had once been the deepest shade of blue clung loosely to his frame, on his hips two gun holsters that crisscrossed low held a pair of white handled, widow making 1840 colts.

They had been riding for days now and both horse and rider were sore, tired and chaffed, they needed a bed to sleep in and food to eat. As the sun slowly fell behind the horizon they stumbled upon the small town, with a crumbling sign that would of once read 'Welcome To Magnus'. It was a dirty town with dirty people, the buildings where falling apart and there was even a manky dog crawling across the road on only its front legs. The town consisted of a long stretch of dirt and running parallel along side were small wooden buildings, peeling and moulding at the seams. It was about four shacks down when they saw the Saloon up ahead, the perfect place to feed and water themselves.

However, as they approached shouts, screams and curses could be heard from inside. Through the windows of the grimy Saloon they saw chairs being smashed over heads, Men being thrown down stairs, they even saw a man bite off another's finger in a bloody show of panicked flailing and screaming, it was quite a sight to behold.

As the Dead men dismounted a man was hauled through the window, landing with a satisfying crunch at Ghastly Bespoke's feet. Another man appeared from the tavern, he was built like a tank and had blood on his fists, the one at Bespoke's feet screamed and hid behind him.
"You little weasel come out from there and fight me like a man!" The Man-Tank screamed in gruff American accent.
"Do I have to" the man called from behind Bespoke's legs. Ghastly turned and looked down at him and got a strange feeling of déjà vu. He was pale and had a thick head of red hair on him. Ghastly noticed how small he was and scrawny for that matter, he wasn't surprised he was so easily thrown through a window.
"Oi Ugly! Move aside so I can beat this little freak to a pulp!" The Man-Tank ordered
"What's the magic word?" Ghastly asked
"Don't try and be smart with me Ugly or I will beat you to a pulp"
"You don't have a very wide vocabulary do you?"
"Stop making up words and move aside"
Ghastly looked down at the man violently shaking at his feet then back to the monster wiping blood of his knuckles.
"I don't think I can do that" Ghastly said calmly
"Well if you won't move Ugly, il come over there and move you myself!" And then the beast charged, Ghastly took one step towards him and in one fluent motion his fist connected with the mans face with such a force he toppled over his own feet, a steady flow of blood running from his nose. "Il kill you ugly!" He sprang up but Ghastly was to fast and sent a knee to the gut - "will you" - followed up by two jabs to the ribs - "stop calling" - then a right hook to the face - "me ugly!" - Ghastly swept his feet from under him and he landed with a crack, out cold.
"Are you finished?" Dexter called from behind him, Ghastly looked down at the unconscious man, satisfied with his handy work he looked back up and said "unfortunately"

The man that had been cowering the hole time stood up and brushed him self off like nothing had even happened, he was pale and looked like he hadn't slept for days. "You handled that quite nicely, couldn't of done it better myself" he said to Ghastly
"You screamed and hid behind me"
"Ah but that was only to lull him into a false sense of security"
"And you did a wonderful job" Ghastly said with a sarcastic twang.
Annoyance flashed across the mans face but it was gone as quick as it was there. "Please let me repay you all for helping me back there, how does a round of drinks on me sound?"
"Sounds like the only good news I've heard all day" Dexter said.

They looked back over to the Saloon where Men were being dragged away kicking and screaming by the sheriff while others were looking down at there feet and shuffling back inside the Brocken bar like children that had just been told of by their mother "Missed a perfectly good bar fight" Saracen grumbled.

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Hi all, just republishing My "Bar fights" story from Dead Men tales and splitting it into smaller parts and editing it a bit.
Enjoy.
(Background from a Red Dead Redemption 2 snapshot)