Ezekiel Stringfellow, alias Silver Spur, apporte son tempérament de chasseur de primes à la traque. Ce vagabond mort-vivant, frappé par la tuberculose et hanté par des visions de montagnes obscures, piste hommes et monstres d'une main sûre et d'un regard perçant. Sa solitude et son goût pour les chasses mortelles donnent à cette poursuite une intensité sans relâche.
Les joueurs manient son arsenal dans des affrontements violents : carabines à levier pour frapper à distance, pistolets de précision au recul brutal, et injections vitalisantes qui apaisent les souffrances des plus fragiles. L'histoire raconte comment, après une fièvre qui l'a frôlé de la mort, il est passé de proie humaine à chasseur de primes inhumaines. Les amateurs d'action exigeante trouveront en lui un allié de choix pour des traques impitoyables.
This DLC contains one Hunter, two Weapons skins, and one Tool skin:
- Silver Spur (Hunter)
- Yawning Grave (Mako 1895 Carbine)
- Dry Bones (Caldwell Conversion Uppercut Precision)
- Grave Robber (Weak Vitality Shot)
Silver SpurÂ
A walking dead man they call Silver Spur, Ezekiel Stringfellow has hunted his fellow man all his life. Cursed by illness to wander, he followed a vision to the Hunt, where his keen eye and steady hand have made him a formidable foe.
Yawning Grave
Death claims its victims from afar with this Mako 1895 Carbine. The distinctive click of its lever action is one of the last sounds its victims will hear, and one can almost see the fleshless grin of the skeleton carved into the stock grow wider…Â
Dry BonesÂ
Not for the weak of heart or the weak of grip, the Caldwell Conversion Uppercut Precision recoils like an angry snake when fired. When asked if the bone worked into its making was human or animal, the gunsmith just smiled.Â
Grave Robber
Long favored by Hunters with physical infirmities, this Weak Vitality Shot alleviates momentary pain and revitalizes the Hunter who takes it. What’s in it remains a subject of much fearful debate.Â
Ezekiel Stringfellow was a bounty hunter by trade, and a good one. He had the wiry strength of a sidewinder and he never, ever let his target get away. Once Stringfellow was on the trail, his man was as good as captured—or dead.
Truth be told, he preferred the latter, as dead men didn’t talk, and he was a solitary and silent man by nature. Even if his target surrendered, Stringfellow would like as not shoot him. The lesser bounty for bring proof of a corpse didn’t matter to him. Pure and simple, he enjoyed the hunt.
Life changed for Stringfellow in the spring of 1891. After coming down with a hacking cough, he went to see a sawbones for a cure. The doctor had bad news. He’d managed to contract tuberculosis, and the best he could do to preserve his life would be to find a sanitarium in the mountains where the clean air would do him good.
Stringfellow rejected the diagnosis, but after a coughing fit gave away his position to a band of train robbers he was tracking, he was shot up and left for dead. As he lay there, bleeding and feverish, he had visions of a fear-shadowed mountain, with inhuman things moving through the woods on its slopes.
Eventually he was found by a friendly local, who nursed him back to something approximating health. Stringfellow repaid the man by stealing his horse and heading for the Rockies. He searched high and low for the mountain of his vision. There, too, he found the monstrous shapes he had dreamed of, and it was an easy transition to start hunting them for Bounties instead of—or in addition to—men.
