Description 

Shiloh Weston is a man of average height and average build who grew up with a relatively quiet childhood; at least that of which would be expected during this era. The Weston brothers, including Judah and Amos Weston, had their fair share of fights, saloon brawls, mishaps and accidents while growing up in Dryflats. The most notable accidents such as the brawl and shootout at the Red Rock Corral, the one notable place in all of Dryflats, as well as the cattle and horse rustling that plagued the town for a few years prior to Judah's death.

Shiloh, being the humble man that he is, isn't usually one to work shirtless in hot weather, or to boast about the mental and physical scars he carries. Should one ever catch a glance, they may see a particularly noticeable scar adorning the bridge of his nose and leading up to the top of his head. Aside from that, his face is relatively clear of major scuffs and scars. Adorning his chest and sides are various piercing and slashing scars most definitely caused by a knife. And finally located near the center of his chest would be a rough but newer scar caused by that of a bullet. It is healed, though not through the cleanest of means, and serves as a constant reminded of years gone past and the sole goal he drove himself to accomplish after he left his home.

Early Life 

Shiloh Weston, aka Roy Gallagher, was born on the 12th of March 1869 to his father Glen "Gallagher" Giles, and his mother, Marie Sutton. Though up until this point Mr. Giles, going by the alias Glen Gallagher, had been a roaming mercenary and outlaw, taking what he wanted including land, livestock and valuables from those who crossed his path. Known to the territories of Mississippi as a dangerous vagabond and rustler, Weston, Marie, his newborn son could never stay in one place too long. The time came where they had to settle, so that Roy could be given the time and space to grow like he needed. Taking an old, abandoned homestead as their own, the couple fixed it up and eventually it became home.

While he roamed, Mr. Giles had many friends and allies he could call upon for help. His 'clan', he called it, would come at a letter's notice and back him up in any goal he had in mind. Settled on the border of Texas and Arkansas, the Giles Clan began making a name for themselves as men who claimed the land as their own, snuffing out any competition or anyone who didn't want to pay up their taxes.

Years came and went, the Giles' being unrivaled in their goals and ideals. Glen was well known for his quick hand and finger on the trigger, the locals granting him the Rattlesnake of the Flats. A small town by the name of Dryflats, nestled in the middle of the territory and named for what it was. Built on a long flat of land nestled in a wide, open valley, this town made do with the Giles' hell raising, the townsfolk either staying out of the way or paying up when the time came. The year 1878 came around, Mr. Giles quite often made his trips into town, leaving his boy back at the homestead by his lonesome most of the time. During his escapades, Glen never once told his boy their true last name. Be it he wanted to shield Roy’s innocence from the Giles past, or that Glen himself truly wanted to forget all he had done up to that point and make a new name for himself… he never knew. Marie had died the previous year, some doctor claiming Yellow Fever but no one could truly confirm it. The clan mostly disbanded by rival bandits or bigger goals, Mr. Giles made do with who he had left, himself, and his boy. After receiving some choice and defiant words from a local farmer, Mr. Giles staked out the farmers land for two days. On the second day, when the farmer took his two boys to town for feed, Glen made his move. The farm quickly went up in flames, the smoke could be seen from Dryflats, just an hour's ride from the now destroyed farm. When Mr. Giles returned to town, the farmer challenged him to a duel. It was over as quickly as it had begun, and the farming collapsed into the dirt, dead before he hit the ground. The farmer's two boys, aged 10 and 6, rushed to their dead father's side, drowning in grief.

When Mr. Giles stood there, boasting to the town and taunting anyone else who dared challenge him, the doors to the church swung open. The preacher, James Weston, stepped out from his place of worship and proclaimed Mr. Giles' ticket to hell was ready and waiting at the side of the preacher's hip. Weston drew before Giles could even think to pull again and fired.

G. G. Giles fell dead in the dirt, Preacher Weston having barely moved an inch except to draw. Two men died that day, and three children became orphaned.

The knowledge of G.G. Giles' son didn't hit local ears until a couple weeks post-duel. It was at this time the Preacher, along with a posse of lawmen and marshals made their way to the old, dilapidated homestead that Giles had been known to shelter in. Unbeknownst to anyone, the homestead had been raided just the previous night; thought out of revenge or sheer opportunity, no one knew. There they found Roy broken and burned, teetering on the edge of life and death. The lawman turned preacher, having already agreed to take care of the other two orphaned boys, did not hesitate to offer to care for Roy. And so they returned to Dryflats, and it was there that Roy Gallagher was no longer the son of an outlaw, but rather the son of a preacher and man of God. He was renamed Shiloh by his new father, a biblical name fitting for a son of a preacher.

Shiloh Weston lived his next few years at his father and brothers’ sides, learning the word of God and living honest lives as Dryflats grew into a more self-sufficient and livable town. His brothers Amos and Judah, grew up not knowing their fellow adopted brother was the son of outlaw G.G. Giles, the man who killed their father. James made sure that the boys grew up unknowing of the truth. There could be no peace in any of their lives if either of the boys knew the truth of the other. He prayed to God every night for his boys, and in turn his boys learned the word of God and his importance to their father.

All three boys each had their own quirks as they grew. Shiloh never could outgrow the recklessness and stubbornness his true father had, and it wasn't until he reached eighteen years of age that this truly became something to worry about. During a hot summer day in 1895, Shiloh and Judah found themselves in the town saloon when an old, grizzled man walked inside and took a seat at the last empty table placed in the farthest corner of the place.

All three brothers knew violence, grief, and just how important family was to them. Ever since the deaths of each of their fathers at a young age many more outlaws and vagabonds have wandered through Dryflats looking for trouble. Each of these hell-raisers had been dispatched, though many times it was their father who had done so. The grief weighed heavily on his heart, for he knew he was one of the few who could rightly protect this town when the sheriff's and marshal's could not. Having been a deputy himself, Preacher Weston got away with much more than other vigilantes would.

Judah, seeing this man sitting in the corner of the saloon did not stay his hand as he approached the character. Many knew who he was, as the old man had traveled through before and stirred up trouble in the name of Glen Giles... a name that Shiloh could no longer remember his relation to. After a heated discussion, Judah pulled his iron with purpose to put this man down. The outlaw pulled iron faster, a shot ringing out and Judah falling to the ground, dead before he landed. Shiloh, stricken with grief as he watched his brother laying dead on the ground, did not pursue the outlaw. The man, walking towards the exit of the saloon, turned to Shiloh.

"Just goes to prove kid, wanna be in this life? You're already a dead man. Be quicker than yer brother there."

He turned, walked out of the swinging doors and mounted his chestnut steed. Nothing further was said before the man fled, beating the crowds of people as everyone gathered around the saloon, hearing the commotion.

It was then after this day that Shiloh made vows to the most important people in his life. His brother, his father, and God.
He'd seek out this vagabond years later, send him to Hell through God's Will, and devote the rest of his life to the above and to his father's word:
“Know the right time to judge a man, else you may be judged yourself.”

Present Life 

Affiliations 

• Josephine Godfey
• Scarlet Storm
• Vyacheslav Volotski
• Arthur Thompson

Quotes 

• "It's a Weston thing."
• "I can help with that."

Trivia 

• Character Songs:
  • Holy Water by We the Kingdom
  • Runs in the Family by Matt Koziol
  • Heavy Hands by Ryan Ike
  • Thirteen Silver Dollars by Colter Wall
  • The Gambler by Home Free
  • Already a Dead Man by Jason Pritchett, Billy Dean
  • Cattleman's Gun by Dean Brody
  • The Man from Waco by Charley Crockett
  • Vagrant Song (Deep South) by Ryan Ike
  • John Came Home by Benjamin Dakota Rogers
  • Cowpoke by Colter Wall
• Character Journal:
  • https://wildwestrp.com/threads/journal-of-s-w.29049/
• Shiloh's Patronus charm is a white mare:
  
  

  Spoiler: White Mare

  

Stories and Lore​

Spoiler: Summer 1879 - Cattleman's Gun

Part I.
He was just headed to town to handle some business.
He'd be back at nightfall.
He loved me, that's what he said.
It had been a few days after he left. He always came back even if it was a little longer than he intended. So I waited, kept myself busy while the days passed by and time seemed to drag on. I played in the barn, almost drowned in the creek, and I'm pretty sure I had suffered some sort of blow to my head when I feel from the roof of that old house we stayed in. When Pa left, we hadn't much food... we'd been struggling for awhile. Things had changed and I could never really figure out why.
I had lost track of time at a certain point, but I had nowhere to go so I stayed put. I remember the final night in that place, it is not something I'll soon forget either.
Since Pa had been gone I pulled together all the sheets, pillows and anything soft I could find. Piled 'em near the door that night with Pa's spare revolver at my side as I slept. The wind was howling, I think it was pouring by this point too. But I suppose that God didn't care that it was raining because he brought fire that night.
My eyes were greeted by a pitch-black darkness which would have been silent had the sound of rolling thunder not filled my head and break me from my sleep. Everything was shaking fiercely, enough to make me think that old piece-of-shit house would've collapsed on top of me had it been any more dilapidated. I heard shouting, shooting, and the neighing and protest of horses ridden too hard. I scrambled from my pile of sheets and pillows and scrambled farthest from the door I could get My hands scrambled for Pa's revolver as I spun the cylinder and double checked that it was fully loaded. The door slammed open and I saw a few figures rush in. Tall, dark shadows shouting and bellowing curse words and swears, throwing my Pa's last name, Gallagher, in with the mix.
I raised Pa's revolver to fire at the dark figures but my hands were already sweaty and my grip faltered. I remember hearing the gun hit the ground with a thud before a chunk of my hair was gripped by one of the shadowy figure's hands. I must've been thrown against a few of the walls or the old furniture because I remember going from side to side, through the air and over a few things before I'd hit something hard. My head already hurt from the fall I took a day or two prior to that, I was tired and hungry, weakened basically in the state I was in. I remember trying to fight back; I hit and scratched and I must've drawn blood because I remember one of the shadows howling in pain. They picked me up, threw me back down and that's the last I recall from the scuffle.
I woke up coughing, not able to breathe and my vision was a mix of orange, black and grey. I heard the crackling of fire and I felt the intense heat as the flames danced around me. The house had been engulfed, with me in it. A couple broken lanterns lay nearby along with a jug that looks like it had once been moonshine. I remember trying to breathe but getting nothing, trying to see but my eyes stung even as they were closed. I opened them, just barely seeing the silhouette of a window, and next to it would've been the door. I ran hard and fast, as if I thought I would break the door down on the first try. I didn't. I heard a sickening crack and I think at that moment I had broken my arm. I cried, I yelled for my Pa, I screamed for mercy from some higher being.
I remember backing up again and kicking at the door. At this point I probably hadn't kicked very hard, but I kept trying. A black cloud grew at the edge of what vision I had. My head pounded, my throat ached and my eyes felt as if they were going to melt in my head. I must've tried one more time, ran at the door or something because at some point I ended up outside. Though I know at that moment I had collapse just outside the old burning home, there's no way I could've gone anywhere else.

---

Part II.
I slowly opened my eyes, the darkness greeting me like an old friend as my vision cleared ever so slightly. There wasn't much to see by time my eyes focused. I do remember the softness of the bed I laid in, the dim glow of the moon peeked out between some curtains across the room from my bed. The metal doorknob glinted ever so slightly at me, as if it was winking and inviting me over. If I could have moved, I probably would have run, so I think it was best for me at that time that I had very little energy and ability to climb from that bed. I remember the doorknob twisting, though the one on the other side of it definitely had no interesting in remaining quiet; perhaps they thought I was still asleep, or even dead considering the shape I was in.

As the tall figure crept in, the light from a candlestick atop a holder lit up some of his features. I don't recall exactly why, but I remember feeling safe for some reason. That man was the man that eventually became my father, James Weston. I can only guess it was his eyes, and the gentleness of the expression on his face as he approached me, helpless in that bed. He approached the bed and placed the candleholder at the bedside, pulled a chair over and sat down to look at me. I must not have moved much at first because he didn't acknowledge me at all. I can only assume he thought I was still sleeping soundly. He brushed some loose, damp hair from my face and I must've tense, for he pulled back briefly and looked at me, his gaze meeting mine. There there now boy... he said softly, watching me for a few moments with a sincere and gentle smile upon his face, barely noticeable in the candlelight. I must've asked a few questions, probably about my old man Gallagher, but all I remember are the expressions of grief and regret that I received in return. James eventually called out a name, Judah, and in walked a taller boy, probably about fourteen or fifteen at most, carrying a younger boy that couldn't have been older than three.

Judah, put Amos down here next to me, he'll be alright. I need you to get me the morphine from the medicine cabinet. And please, go fetch the doc...

It was at this point in the short time I had woken that I recall things starting to go fuzzy. I recall the pain I felt, both throughout my body and in my heart. I finally closed my eyes a final time that night, falling into a fitful rest as that old preacher tended to my wounds.

Spoiler: Rustlers and Recognition - Fall 1892