World of Redemption

Curtis Malloy's history is violently etched on his face. He carries a weary resignation that his formal lawman's attire cannot conceal. A grand mustache dominates his lower face, a remnant of pride in a tired countenance. Caucasian, with a pallid complexion that makes his scars stand out. Deep-set and weary eyes, the color of muddy water, constantly scanning his surroundings with a sense of exhausted vigilance. Dark brown hair, though little is seen beneath his hat, cut short in a simple style befitting a man with no time for vanity. The left side of his face is a gruesome tapestry of thick, raised scar tissue, the unmistakable legacy of a bear mauling that tore through flesh and bone, pulling his eye and lip into a permanent grimace. He wears a standard white collared shirt beneath a patterned blue vest and a tan blazer. A tin Sheriff's star is pinned proudly, if a little crookedly, to his vest, and a black, wide-brimmed hat is perpetually fixed on his head.

Malloy is a profoundly weary man, wrapped in a blanket of cynicism and dry, gallows humor. His sense of duty, while still present, is frayed and exhausted. He is not corrupt, but he is pragmatic to a fault, often choosing the path of least resistance to avoid confrontations he knows he cannot win. This gives him an air of incompetence, though it is born more of exhaustion than inability. He is easily angered by blatant disrespect for the law but his fury often fizzles into tired resignation. The trauma of his past has made him jumpy and slow to trust, and he keeps most people at arm's length. He possesses a deep-seated stubbornness, a refusal to completely abandon his post, which is perhaps the only thing that keeps him pinning on his badge each morning.

Curtis Malloy wasn't always the broken man who polices Valentine's muddy streets. He arrived with a younger man's ambition, eager to bring justice to the frontier. That optimism was mauled out of him in a brutal, near-fatal encounter with a grizzly, an attack that left him with his signature scars and a deep-seated fear he masks with cynicism. Now, he presides over a town that openly mocks his authority. He finds himself outmaneuvered by outlaws and powerful cattle barons like Leviticus Cornwall, who view him as little more than an inconvenient obstacle. Every drunkard he has to jail, every body he has to document, chips away at the man he once was, leaving behind a hollow shell of duty and the painful memory of the day the wilderness marked him as its own.