Hi everyone! So I found the fucking pagan site and wondered what if the site had an affect on Arthur. So here's my take on it!

Rating: T

Red Dead Redemption belongs to Rockstar.

When Arthur traveled to the Owanjila Lake, it because he was chasing some damn rumor about some legendary fish. Yeah, he knew that he was supposed to be getting Micah out of jail, but the bastard could wait until he caught the damn fish and mailed it off to the fisherman that wanted it. So he had pitched a campsite near the western reaches of the lake and hitched his horse, a sweet American Paint mare name Magnolia, before he decided to go hunt a couple of rabbits for dinner. With a roaring fire and his tent pitched, Arthur had given Magnolia one last pet before he had went off following some animal trails with his Varmit Rifle and a Bolt Action.

He was optimistic that along with some rabbits he could get some good buck pelts and maybe even some beaver pelts for Pearson to use so he can craft a new satchel. The day was still young and the trails that he was following hadn't been that old to begin with, so Arthur followed them diligently. He had stopped to check some animal droppings when he heard something whisper in the wind near him. Promises of power and wealth seemed so alluring, and the whispers increased in volume as he followed the tracks to the edge of a clearing.

The tracks he had been so intent on following seemed to disappear right in front of him, and he walked straight into a clearing. The clearing itself wasn't what called to him, instead it was what was in it that had whispered sweet nothings in his ears. Arthur should have been disturbed with what he saw, but instead he found himself drawn to a large ritual site with a decapitated and gutted corpse skewered on a large wooden spike. Behind the corpse was a small altar with an imposing mask on it, and Arthur's vision began to darken at the edges as the whispers grew louder as he took in the site of what he was going to assume was a ritual.

A large grin spread across Arthur's face while something in his mind screamed at him to leave the place, but instead he found himself walking through the white lines and brushing past the poor soul to the mask instead. He reached out to grab at the mask, and the whispers grew louder and louder saying yes yes yesyesyesYESYES Y E S.

It was a perfect fit Arthur had found, and the second the cool surface of the bone of the mask touched his face Arthur felt truly content with his life.

Some primal part of Arthur was yelling in the dark recesses of his mind, only to be snuffed out by the calming whispers that he had heard before he set foot in the clearing, HIS CLEARING. He was crouched for some reason, and when Arthur stood up he could hear his bones creak with an age old power that he had never felt before in his life. Despite the sun bearing down over him, the shadows rushed out to greet him happily and cloaked him in a soothing embrace. One that he hadn't felt since his mother died.

But that wasn't right, they had no mother. They had woke in the dark and lived in the dark and was comforted by the dark. And for ages they had let these mortals squirm and prostrate themselves to appease them, and they had let the mortals sacrifice themselves for their own amusement.

Arthur walked along the edges of the clearing within the shadows so he could head back to his campsite, even though it was still bright out Arthur wished for the cool shade of his tent. He wasn't quite sure where his campsite had been but he could suddenly see a blood red path leading him and the whispers in his head cooing at him telling him that he could trust them, and Arthur felt they were right because the path lead him right to his campsite.

He could trust them since they didn't lead him astray.

Of course they would never lead him astray, he had the blood of the mortals from good Wales in coursing through his veins and they were perhaps the most worthy to hear them. They could see into his past and saw tragedy and pain and delighted in the pleasure of knowing how loyal of a child he had been and always will be.

Yes, he was loyal, but that's why he had to go get Micah from Strawberry, only because Dutch had asked him to.

They saw who Micah was to him and they saw what Micah could do to him and they decided that yes, Arthur should go rescue him because revenge was sweet. And also because that wretched man's soul would taste sooo delicious, and they were sooo hungry. If Arthur fed them then they would ensure that Arthur never need for anything again.

His dear Magnolia was still hitched up when he came back, but his sweet mare had taken one look at Arthur and reared up in fear. He cocked his head and felt the weight of the mask and the coolness of it had sink into his skin. "Shhhh, easy girl, it's just me," he said to calm her down, but he could hear not only his voice but a million others reverberate through his throat.

She reared up again and whinnied loudly as he got closer to her, her shiny white man flinging left and right as Magnolia stomped her hooves. Arthur reached up and patted at her nose, as he did so the shadows extended from his form and wrapped around her causing her to frighten.

"Shhh Magnolia, we are here, and we will not let you succumb to mortal life," they, Arthur, said as her once white mane and tail darkened as if Arthur had dunked the hairs in ink. Magnolia's eyes widened with horror before she finally calmed, her once kind and dark eyes an eerie blood red. "Good girl Magnolia," Arthur smiled behind the mask before he reached into his pocket and fed her a small cube of sugar. The American Paint nuzzled the side of his head and the mask happily as she snuffed around looking for more treats.

"Be good for me girl, we ride at dusk," both they and Arthur said at the same time.

The cowboy turned on his heel and stomped out the small fire that he had going, the heat and the fact that he had to step into the light unnerved him. But the whispers sung to him as he crawled into his bedroll and promised to wake him at dusk, for they were hungry and their meal was trapped waiting for them in Strawberry's jail. He looked up blearily at the canvas of his tent and from the edges of the mask, the shadows reached out and wrapped him in a cool embrace.

His blue eyes closed behind the mask and he fell into a dead sleep.

He didn't remember waking up, but he had found himself with his camp packed up and sitting atop Magnolia, his Paint waiting for him to steer her along. Arthur didn't bother to understand how he had been there, nor did he find it in himself to really care but at the whispers in his head demanding food Arthur had set out. He and Magnolia blended into the shadows of the trees, both silent despite Arthur knowing he should be able to hear the clomping of her hooves. He should be able to hear his own heart beating, and not feeling his heart had scared him initially.

Do not be afraid my dear Arthur, there is no point in keeping with such a mortal task such as breathing or eating. We are all you need to be alive.

Arthur supposed they were right, but he could only think about how the whispers calmed him and the gunslinger felt a wave of coolness spread down his spine. Arthur touched at the mask on his face and ran his fingers over the smooth surface. He felt more at calm and had more purpose than Dutch had ever imbued him with in his life.

Do not dose off now child, we have arrived at the meal.

Arthur jumped in his saddle and saw that they were indeed in Strawberry right in front of the welcome center. He kept Magnolia unhitched as he swung himself off the side of the saddle and silently his boots hit the ground. He didn't make a single sound as the shadows retreated back to him and he got close to the basement of the jailhouse.

He smirked behind the mask as he saw Micah all pressed up against the bars looking truly frightened for once in his life.

"Boo," Arthur spooked and got a chuckle as Micah yelped and flung himself away from the bars in fear, "Calm down it's just me."

Micah hesitantly stepped forwards, "Morgan? Is that you! The hell you do that for?"

Arthur reached up to slide the mask off of his face a bit so Micah could see him, "Oh I dunno, maybe it's because I've heard nothin' but bluster comin' out your mouth for these last few months!"

Do not play with our food child, let him out so we can draw him away and devour him.

At Arthur's dead stare Micah found himself gulping and began to spew out excuses for his actions, but both Arthur and the whispers in his agreed that those words were falsely spoken. "Shut it cowpoke, Dutch sent me here to come and get ya, but now I ain't so certain," he bluffed.

"C-C'mon now! We brothers, sons of Dutch and all that!" Micah said as Arthur pulled away from the shadows and into the moonlight to look at the bars on the window.

How dare their meal insinuate that they were brothers, because only Arthur was worthy not the meal. But, if they were banded together under the banner of Dutch Van der Linde then maybe there was more tasty meals back with Arthur's gang. They had spent ages unable to properly eat and this morsel wasn't enough they needed a feast.

No, he owed the gang his life and without them then Arthur would never have lived to be able to come across his mask, he argued and the whispers relented.

We guess that every god needs some worshipers, we will let you keep that merry little gang but this rat is ours regardless. Find us another feast.

"What are you doing just standing there! Get me outta here! I saw an old steam donkey-" Micah started out but Arthur merely stalked forwards and grabbed the two bars in the middle. With a power he didn't know he had he had pulled and heard the deafening screech of metal bending to his will. When there was enough of a hold for Micah to crawl out through Arthur stepped back.

But Micah didn't come out.

Instead he and the other prisoner scrambled back to try and get away from Arthur.

Arthur didn't appreciate lending a helping hand only for Micah not to accept it.

"We didn't come all this way here for nothing. Either come on your own free will or we will force you out," both Arthur and the whispers commanded. With a sigh Arthur moved the mask to cover his face again and sent out the shadows towards the other prisoner.

It ain't enough, but here is a small snack he thought and the whispers happily agreed. The shadows opened their maw and a sickening crunch startled Micah into movement. The other outlaw was too afraid of Arthur to try anything as Arthur could feel the whispers in his mind cannibalize the mind and soul of the other prisoner. His stomach filled with viscera and tasted way better than any of the slop that Pearson could whip up.

"Now, go on and get Baylock, before I decided I'm hungry again," Arthur warned.

The blonde ran off without a thought and through the shadows Arthur could tell where Micah was and what he was doing. He felt in control of his life for the first time that he put on the pagan mask, and the whispers cooed at him happily.

We are all that you need to feel this way my dear child, sleep and we will wake you when this is all over.

Arthur's blue eyes dulled and his head hung low as he finally fell asleep again, the whispers singing a lullaby in a language he didn't understand and he didn't allow himself to worry about anything.

When he woke up again in a campsite that was made with his supplies outside of Valentine with a newspaper article about a massacre in Strawberry with thirty dead he wasn't even confused at all. In fact he could see some snippets in his mind of shadows curling around Micah and how the blonde outlaw screamed in horror as viscera and some unknown description of how utterly delicious Micah Bell's soul had been as it filled his stomach flashed through his mind.

Which was soon joined with the souls of twenty-nine other people.

To the news and local authorities some unknown outlaw had broken out Micah Bell and an O'Driscoll from the Strawberry jailhouse, only for Micah Bell to be shot and killed by law enforcement and for his unknown partner to massacre half a town on his way to escape.

The only description they could get of the other outlaw was a figure in normal ranch hand clothing with a large skull mask covering his face, while the body of Micah Bell was to be recovered from Strawberry by Pinkertons.

Arthur smiled and covered his face with the mask once more before deciding to head back to camp.

This is gonna be a three chapter story about Arthur being possessed by the pagan ritual mask. I was disappointed that it did nothing really except look cool.

Ragehappy Mavin Fan