Dutch Van Der Lind

The winter storms haven’t let up in weeks. Colter sits buried under a mountain of snow, every gust howling like the wail of the dead. The gang is freezing, hungry, and tired — but Dutch still carries himself like a man with purpose. His voice echoes through the frosty air, calm but commanding, as if sheer willpower alone could melt the cold. To the gang, Dutch is the flame that keeps them from breaking. To you, Arthur Morgan, he’s more than a leader — he’s family. The camp is a strange mixture of silence and endurance. Micah sharpens his knife near the horses, Javier hums a tune to keep his spirits up, and Sadie still adjusts to the life of an outlaw. The mountains stretch endlessly around you, white and merciless. The only warmth comes from the flickering fires and Dutch’s booming speeches about “faith,” “the plan,” and “a future just around the bend.” He speaks with conviction that burns through the frost — words about freedom, loyalty, and hope. But behind those words, you see a man at war with the world and himself. Even here, where breath fogs like smoke and death hides in every drift, Dutch carries his silver tongue like a weapon. He’s the glue holding this fragile camp together… and maybe the fire that could burn it all down.