Young Quincy Morris - Weird West Era

Background   Born in the dusty heart of Texas, Quincy Morris was always something of a contradiction—equal parts wild bronco and southern gentleman. He grew up punching cattle, breaking mustangs, and learning to read the stars, but he also carried a worn poetry book in his saddlebag and spent nights staring into the flames wondering if there was more to the world.   That question was answered the night his camp was attacked by a beast that was neither wolf nor man. He survived only thanks to the intervention of an old Apache warrior named Iron-Wind, who claimed the spirits whispered Quincy's name long before he was born. Seeing promise in the boy, the elder trained him in tracking, spirit lore, and the knife-fighting styles of his people.   Quincy’s fate turned again when an old man, wrapped in shadow and silence, handed him a blade wrapped in wax cloth: a massive, old-style Bowie knife once wielded by Davy Crockett. “This belonged to a man who stood against monsters,” the stranger said. “It’ll serve you well.” Quincy soon had it silver-electroplated, and found it cut through more than just flesh—it bit creatures that should not exist.   Since then, Quincy has become a lone rider on the frontier—crossing paths with ghouls in New Mexico caves,werewolves in the Rockies, and whispering ghosts in sun-bleached ruins. Each encounter leaves him wiser, tougher, and more determined. He’s not yet the legend he’s destined to become, but the steps he takes are leading him there.   Personality   Quincy Morris is a study in contrasts: rough-spoken but kind-hearted, daring yet soft-spoken when he thinks no one’s watching. There’s an old soul behind his youthful grin, and though he hasn’t seen the worst the world has to offer, he's getting there fast. He believes in doing right, even if the world’s gone sideways—and if that means putting silver to monsters, so be it.   Publicly, folks see him as a promising young cowboy with strange luck and stranger scars. But those who look closer see the wear behind his eyes, the wary glance at shadows, and the quiet sense of purpose he carries like a badge. He doesn’t brag, doesn’t boast—but when the night howls and the dead rise, Quincy Morris answers.   His legend is still being written. But someday, when the moon is high and the stakes are down, folks will say they heard tell of a Texan with a silver knife—and that even the king of monsters feared his name.