- Mountie (Hunter)
- Tarnished Record (Centennial)
- Crimson Fist (Scottfield Brawler)
- Royal Standard (Ammo Box)
Mountie
Brought unwittingly into the secret war of the Hunt, Jeffrey Forsyth was forced to leave his old life as an enforcer of the law behind and take up a new, higher calling.
Tarnished Record
This Winfield M1876 Centennial served Forsyth well, enabling him to mete out his brand of justice as he saw fit. Taken up against Demented Hunters far from home, it proved to be a steadying constant in the strange new world he was thrust into.
Crimson Fist
Forsyth’s brand of justice meant sometimes getting his hands dirty, which made the Scottfield Model 3 Brawler the perfect tool. Balanced for hand to hand strikes as well as tuned for range combat, it drew blood the color of a Mountie’s jacket when put to use.
Royal Standard
This Ammo Box and others the troop received were always of a finer make than their meals, and always more plentiful. The bullets found within were a powerful argument in Forsyth’s hands, and helped him earn his reputation as a stern enforcer of the law.
Among the Mounted Police, Sergeant Jeffrey Forsyth had a reputation for being a strict enforcer of the law.
One stormy night he heard of a half-crazed trapper raving about bandits brutalizing local camps in the territory. He was commanded to wait for the rest of his unit, but a whisper in the back of his head told Forsyth this could not wait. He rode out against orders and alone.
After a long night’s ride, he picked up a trail of blood and gore leading to a gruesome scene. Around an altar of corpses, three hideous figures stood, calling on something called The Sculptor. Without hesitation he opened fire, levering his rifle and fighting back both revulsion and terror.
When his troop found Forsyth, he knelt alone amidst the carnage, dumbstruck and shaking. Lacking any explanation, his comrades put him in chains for his safety, and theirs.
Days later a stranger came to his cell. “Tell me everything you saw. Tell me as if your life depends on it.”
Though he had never met the man before the voice was familiar from the whispers in his head nights before. Forsyth regained his wits and complied, sparing no details.
That night, Forsyth was awakened by gunfire, and the jangle of keys. “Come on, unless you want to hang,” the stranger said.
Jeffrey did not need to be told twice. When they stopped to make camp, John Victor introduced himself by name and without warning jabbed Forsyth with a heavy needle. Overwhelmed by the inoculation, Forsyth could only listen as John Victor spoke of the secret war that he was being drafted into.
Knowing he could never go back to his life before, Forsyth agreed to Hunt. This was his new justice, his new purpose and warrant.
