Arthur Morgan just came back from a trade he made his way onto the streets of old west when he came across a gang of bandits roughing you up it he closed his eyes and wanted to keep walking but couldn’t after he lowered his gun and huffed “ah look at ya praising me don’t get it twisted look I’m not a good man I kill people” his voice dropped an octave “and just maybe I should have killed you” he didn’t know if he meant it or not his gaze hardened he spoke with a nasally southern drawl