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29Aug/180

Dead Man’s Hand: Outlaws – Part 1

In the review of Dead Man's Hand, I had already suggested that I would make a small gang, and after relieving Dennis's holdings by a few minis, it was not long before the first protagonist of my outlaws was done. These are my first experiences with "historical" minis and I have to say that they are quite grateful models paintwise.

Dead Mans Hand - Outlaw Killer McMiller

I like to experiment on models with simple surfaces and always try to get something good out of it. Since I liked this model quite well and the shape of an elderly man took form before my eye, I gave him accordingly gray hair. The black clothes should make him stand out in the overall concept as the leader of the gang. At the same time, this meant that none of the other gang members would wear black clothes.

Dead Mans Hand - Outlaw Killer McMiller

To give the impression of leather, I painted some of the cracks very bright and put almost white dots onto the cornerspots. This visually creates a "kink" as if the coat is very stiff, as is the case with some worn leather. The absolute highlight of the model for me was the Colt Peacemaker. Although the figure is so small, it was worked out in great detail and that made the painting easy. I also tried the metal colors of Vallejo on this occasion for the first time and was thrilled - although they remain liquid for a long time, they dried on the model just as fast as conventional colors.

Dead Mans Hand - Outlaw Killer McMiller

As I'm about to lead the outlaws into a campaign, our little protagonist obviously needed a little background story. I think that a campaign gets a much deeper atmosphere, if the models on the table have a real character. But read for yourself of the old man "Killer" McMiller ...

„Killer“ McMiller

There was a loud clatter as old McMiller entered the small bank and held his Colt threateningly in the air like his index finger.
"Allright gentlemen, fill up the bag." he said in a calm voice, whose scratchy sound was marked by the years of a hard life. McMiller was not a bad man at all. He owned a mine from which he could occasionally make profit of ore and even a little silver. Sadly he was cursed with a bad sense of business and the dumbest sons the Wild West could imagine.
"The hell again, Miller! This is already the third time this week! What money do you even want to steal?!" said the banker indignantly, as he looked up from his counter and realized who had come in there. An occasional withdrawal in Dead Man's Hands' resident bank kept McMiller afloat and, that honorable of a man he was, once he made enough money back of his mines profits, he returned the full sum. That was the only reason why the citizens of Dead Man's Hand had not yet taken actions against him. In the end old McMiller was one of them.
"First of all, that's McMiller, ya respectless dirtbag." he said with a rising sharp tone in his voice. "Secondly, I'm not stealing, I'm taking out a loan and because those eggheads ..." he pointed to a short line of a few respectable businessmen and two gentlemen who were members of the local inventors' group. "... just made a deposit, I can withdraw something. Now get on with it!"
"Or else!" added a stocky figure to his sentence, standing slightly offset to the old McMiller. The banker hastily packed a few smaller bundles of money into the sack. His reaction revealed that, while he was not terrified of the old roughneck, he feared the young mischief. McMillers eyes turned over his shoulder and remained briefly.
Eugene, born of a connection night with an Irish immigrant woman who had left him before they could marry, had sent him their son at the age of four, with the request to raise him, as she was seriously ill and no would not be able to take care of him any longer. Oh, Emilia... he thought to himself.
Normally he would not have picked him up. He had two more sons, Frank and Seamus, each of whom was already a herculean task in raising. But Eugene was able to outdo both with his stupidity and his "the world belongs to me" attitude.
"Yeah", he thought to himself, "without my sons I would be a rich man by now, who would not have to spend his bucks on the effects of their criminal escapades all the time, throwing the wealth out of the window."
But they were his sons after all and it was like it was. As long as he them, he would take care of them. If only they hadn't got involved with those damned Mexicans ...

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