"Roland, will you ever stop?" Though wicked winds he has endured, Roland has been a man of constant action. Has been. Has been many things. Hired gun, smuggler, gunslinger, killer, but never a resistance fighter and never knew the city as others have. He never made it personal because personal is what got a person killed. Those were the 'has' days. Worn and weary and kicking into the sixties, he was eventually placated by the winds of time. Death did not do him part, so he parted himself from that lifepath and came to a standstill. The roaming and drifting was gone: Roland found a nice piece of rural wilderness just around Silver, Nevada. Eventually, due to an experienced inexperience in the matter, Roland found himself as the local intermediary, owing to his neutrality. 'Sheriff' was a heavy way to put it-- in actuality, he was a dull peacekeeper. Malice or virtue doesn't quite make the cut, he just doesn't want the land to go up in flames, and in that way, he has found himself involved in the community to the point of significance. His rough-riding days thought to be over, the long and dry of his days are spent residing over his reloading bench. The last thing he needs are Federalists rebel-rousing the locals and scaring them up into a fritz. Roland likes the peace and quiet and has every intention of keeping it that way, whatever may come. "No, I don't think I ever will. You can set your watch on that."