OXBOW RIDGE

OXBOWRIDGEHQ is a semi-appless skeletons & oc roleplay that draws inspiration from yellowstone, the red dead series & other work of media.

Status: semi-hiatus for the holidays 🎄

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@cowboytumbleweeds

HEY THERE! You can find that information on our NPC page. The Byrne are all siblings. Cooper, Sawyer and Bethany are siblings, Logan and Olivia are siblings.

And I never wanted to change, it’s taking me over, It’s taking me over, it’s making me colder

STATS.

NAME: Sawyer Walker GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis woman & she/her AGE: 35 OCCUPATION: Owner of Stevenson AFFILIATIONS: Walker FACECLAIMS: Hassie Harrison

ABOUT.

It had been in her blood, the call of the wild, the untamed mustang running free across the unclaimed territories of Montana. Or perhaps, if she listened closely enough, it was in the fields beyond the town where she'd been born, in the wind that swept over the boundary lines that she’d never crossed for long. The call lived in her blood, steady and constant, but it was never louder than the one that kept her rooted, to her family’s stables, to the pastures where the cows roamed before the cowboys wrangled them home.

Born in the middle, Sawyer had been the child that was overshadowed by her siblings. The golden boy, who shaped himself into their father’s successor, argued by tasks and responsibilities of how he would be the one to take the ranch with both hands. And there was the dramatic one, with her high hopes, wild dreams, cutting a spotlight that had been little more than a streetlight in oxbow ridge. Between them, Sawyer had stood quietly in the shadows, the kind of soft dark that hid the curl of her smile. For while their parents’ attention was split between her brother and sister, Sawyer had been given something far rarer, freedom.

Growing up on a ranch taught her early what it meant to belong to a ranching family. She learned to ride before she could reach a stirrup, learned to rope a calf, learned the grueling weight of mornings that began before dawn. Ranch life ran deep in her, and she fit the rhythm so naturally that she embodied the ideal candidate to run the ranch. If she had ever wanted it. But it had never been her dream. Not the way it was Cooper’s, or Olivia’s, or their fathers before them. 

It was in the rodeo that Sawyer found her dream. In the roar of the crowd, in the challenge that sparked something fierce and familiar inside her. For a time, she competed, collecting ribbons and medals, earning the admiration of those who hadn’t expected so much from the girl in the shadows. She was ruthless, she was competitive, and without meaning to, an example for the girls who came after her. The ones who felt that same tug in their blood but were taught to trade it for pageants, for anything safer than barrel racing or show jumping or, on her wildest days, reining. 

Everything held steady until the day everything broke. The day her mother walked out. Out of the ranch, out of the family, but most painfully, out of Sawyer’s life. She’d always been told she looked like her mother. How she shared her eyes, her wild spark, her stubborn lean toward the world. Perhaps that was why the abandonment had hit sawyer the hardest. She hadn’t known what the taste of being left behind should be, but she learned it quickly. It filled her mouth and stayed there, long after days bled into weeks, into months.

Soldier keep on marchin’ on Head down ‘til the work is done Waiting on that morning sun Soldier keep on marchin’ on

STATS.

NAME: Cooper Walker GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis man & he/him AGE: 40 OCCUPATION: Ranch Owner AFFILIATIONS: Walker FACECLAIMS: Scott Eastwood

ABOUT.

The seed of hatred only grows with time, and David Walker ensured there would someone to continue on that toxic legacy. Cooper was trained - manipulated - into the perfect heir, ready to inherit the ranch and everything his father believed. What did Cooper believe, though? He never cared to find out, only believing David's every word as fact.

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NOVEMBER 30TH, 2025

Snow had been falling for two days when it finally stop, the residents of Oxbow Ridge waking up to a record amount of snow, at least in their lifetime. That would be enough to explain any slips on the roads, if anyone was foolish enough to drive. But David Walker was an experienced driver and these roads never scared him. Nothing scared him and that was maybe the problem. That sense of grandeur was bound to be his downfall. Maybe it was the slippery roads or maybe it was the faulty breaks, something surprising considering he had his truck serviced about a week ago. Not in town, he never went to Cormac, but by his trusted mechanic out of town. And now an investigation launched by Cooper Walker, a private one, made light of that fault with the breaks. As David Walker laid in the hospital, in a coma, it was impossible to know what truly happened.

DECEMBER 3RD, 2025

The day Cooper Walker learned of the faulty break was the day he called everyone home, including the disgraced cousins. He wasn't as much asking as ordering, and the same was communicated to Bethany Walker. To Cooper, it was clear what happened, a declaration of war from none other than the Byrne. He had warm his father of such a thing, of the Byrne growing influence and the small empire they were building. And now he was proven right and ready to strike back. The Oxbow Cowboys were already fired up, aching for a fight that they had been long promised. None of it was the New Year celebration they had planned but they were determined to make the best of it.

DECEMBER 12TH, 2025

It was a Friday night like all others and Lady Luck was full. It wasn't such a smart move, and it wasn't entirely planned either, more like a few cowboy who had drank a little too much. It wasn't ordered by Cooper, but then again, they had been told not to waste an occasion. It didn't matter if the occasion was mostly created by them or not, they walked in the casino like they owned the place and were thrown out, not without a few good punches given to the Clovers. And while Declan Byrne never said he was responsible for David's accident, and he intended on keeping it that way, now was the moment he'd wait for all his life.

THE APPLICATION COUNT has been updated.

There ain’t language for the things I’ve seen, And the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams.

STATS.

NAME: Nikhil Rahman GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis man & he/him AGE: 38 OCCUPATION: prospector AFFILIATIONS: Civilian FACECLAIMS: Riz Ahmed

ABOUT.

Harsh winters and scathing hot summers bore the resolve of Nikhil; a North Dakota born man gifted into the brunt of an oil trade legacy. It wasn’t his father’s business - no, that title belonged to another - but Nikhil knew young that this was likely the only opportunity he’d get to crawl out of the small nothingness of his local town. A blip on the map compared to the oil trade which dominated the state, if Texas was leading the charge, North Dakota was sweeping in fast to try and take the title of being the leading oil producers. His childhood was spent swimming in the lakes during summer, forming close bonds with the neighbors' own children, and learning to stoke an optimal fire with preparations made in the fall. North Dakota was a brutal expanse, but it primed him with such resilience that was needed to face what was to come in his life. 

The tough environs of the state did little to dispel the strengths of the community; as oil trade grew and grew within Williston, so did the backbone of its residents. Food came to plates easier, money no longer felt so tight; Nikhil knew the essence of hard work as his coats and jeans went from being stitched with patches to brand new. His father had been in the business for some time, but Nikhil grew at the height of Williston’s oilboom; millions of barrels of oil preceded his teen years and though his father groveled through the ruggedness of the job, credit for such esteem was thin. 

Nikhil began joining his father when he was a spry fourteen, education was not quite the paramount in this section of the upper midwest; this was a ranching and oil county, and Nikhil had qualms shifting from sitting in school all day to seeing the how and why behind food getting to his table and clothes being upon his back. It was a unique experience, ever fluctuating as oil prices dipped and soared, but Nikhil found his footing and often did his best to stand out within the company. Hardly an easy feat, as oil boomed, many felt less inclined to retire, long standing individuals who Nikhil once saw as father figures, but those who clung to their positions with little remorse to those beneath them. 

The Bakken shale proved to be his goldmine; a man of the trade, Nikhil had once been better getting his hands dirty upon the heavy machinery, but he’d soon prove a knack for being a proficient talker when it came to convincing the farmer who owned the land to let them finally access the projected billions of oil obscured within the formation. It was Nikhil’s first ‘win’ within the company, years of tension and arguments between the farmer and those high above Nikhil ended promptly as Nikhil related to the man. They were both North Dakota bred and within that Nikhil had earned his respect from the farmer which also came with the agreement to begin the drilling process. 

He could have stepped away willingly from the hard work of oildrilling, but Nikhil hadn’t been ready to part with what had built him from the inside out. Long hours, careful excavations and planning; it had kept his mind sharp and allowed his spirit to be fulfilled. Where broiling days under the sun pushed him to the limits, his senses were often restored once the stars filled the darkness brightly overnight. If Nikhil had been more of a cityman he likely would have had the reason and wit to shift positions, for he soon learned the meaning of being scorned and burned. 

The farmer hadn’t been protected in such dealings and when the kettle boiled over and tensions cracked a messy legal case right open, Nikhil was caught in the middle. He tried to be a reasonable man, not one of business, but one who was bred with the heart of the midwest. That didn’t quite fly in the company he grew under and Nikhil instantly saw the evils of the world right out in the open. His own family looked the other way, a community he’d grown with for ages; none wished to go against the monument that was the oil company. The moment Nikhil had tried to reason as a voice for the farmer instead of a voice for oil, he was practically ousted and Nikhil learned not only the heat and cruelty of such scorn, but he learned a great deal of shame. 

Years of such ‘mistake’ stretched on until he crawled forth a shell of what once was. Barely skating by, barely paying his own bills to stay afloat, Nikhil made what could perhaps be classified as yet another ‘mistake’, but this one was his personally to bear; grovelling back to the company who accosted him for everything. Nikhil would drift wherever asked, work in the deepest caverns to build his way back further. Perhaps he should have been seen as a liability considering the way his heart often navigated him, but the businessmen within saw something of a lesson, perhaps even something of a shredded promise. 

And I’m out here tonight, so if you want to start a fight, We’ll get loaded on the things that I can’t change

STATS.

NAME: Carver Brunswick GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis man & he/him AGE: 33 OCCUPATION: ranch worker at the Oxbow AFFILIATIONS: Byrne FACECLAIMS: Austin Butler

ABOUT.

Carver was just a piddling little juvenile, barely off the ground, lanky legs still learning to walk when he caught wind of the haphazard mess of faith and evil. It’s an eloquent meshing and Carver would come to wonder if the lesson had been preternaturally decided, delivered especially for him, miserably catered to the trembling teeth and shaking fists that fabricated every stitch of who he would become. The family Carver was surrounded by, born into as the youngest, is hardly even a splotch on the map, insignificant in wealth and status, but mighty in number — he had six siblings, after all and the devil, dressed up as a mere man, would do anything to tear his family apart it would seem.

Cook County, Minnesota is the antithesis of Carver’s bustling family; a scarcely populated town teeming with mine shafts that allow his father to pay the bills. Their business within the coal mines spanned back generations and it’d be inevitable for Carver to pick it up, if he’d had any interest. He grew up in the mines, bearing witness to exhausting days for his father and elder brothers, a mere child struck with delight at the copper, coal, and iron they had to painstakingly collect. Vital minerals in the mine shafts inevitably became sparse, the trade unsustainable, and desperation marred by tension is produced by the conflict. Carver is forced to witness fragments of arguments and a span of days where they return regretfully empty handed. Bills pile high and the food to feed such a boisterous cluster of budding boys grew woefully scarce as time tallied on; back when he was just a youngin, he didn’t quite understand the hushed arguments fragmented by fearful worry, he didn’t know the target on his father’s back.

His father, in desperation, resorted to long abandoned mine shafts, closed off and unregulated due to the passing of time. Carver is explicitly forbidden to follow him down into the unsecured labyrinth, but he was just a defiant child, the youngest Brunswick, and it’s innate for him to disobey and do the opposite of what he’s been cautioned on. Carver scoured the unexplored portion of the mines for his own prize to be regaled by, only for a rockslide to almost take him out of life early. His father saved him, just in the knick of time, but his father was never the same again.

Carver then learned the lingering effects of the shadows, how a debt unpaid transfers from one life to the next. They didn’t know this man’s name when he first came knocking, but Carver and his brothers dubbed him the cowboy. A trivial and juvenile name but a shadowed face obscured by a cowboy hat and echoed with spurs hitting the oak floors that would change the trajectory of where his life was once headed. Pay up the debts of his father, a massive price, or life would become even more difficult for a large family who barely scraped by as is. The scales tipped quickly, if money from the eldest Brunswick boys could not be scrounged together to cover the costs, then Carver learned to be quickfooted and swift pickpocket. 

Pickpocketing was juvenile work and crimes snowballed in severity, the house fell into irreparable disarray, overdue bills piling high as much of their change drifted to the pockets of another. The Sheriff’s department became a continued nuisance in Carver’s juvenescence, boasting inevitable eviction and his father was sent to a long-term care facility for none could be around to care for the addled man any longer. It no longer sounded like a prayer, in fact, it’s quite the opposite and Wade prayed with more ferocity than ever before to combat whatever darkened matter had suddenly tainted his father’s soul. The two jobs he’d picked up wouldn’t make a world of difference to the debt attached to his last name, and though some of his elder brothers abandoned the debts of their father, ran to greener pastures, Carver just couldn’t help what the grief had turned him into. There’s a twisted sense of accountability when he ties himself to the Cowboy, learns his real name and authority and begins peddling product beneath him. No longer is it his father’s debt, it’s his own and he’s signed onto it willingly. 

Intense regret pocketed his mind as time rallied on; cruel memories of homely family dinners, intricate explorations in the mine shafts, and nostalgic images of his father’s smile plagued the elder teen. Carver began this pursuit for he knew no amount of prayer was to fix the fragments his life had become. The puppet strings this monster had on Carver’s family are deeper embedded than formerly understood, but denial had always been a dear friend. Carver is considered a man on paper now, though still miserably too young to legally purchase liquor. He’d always been a scrawny kid, but had developed now into all muscle and sinew, hoping physical strengths and his own street smarts would inevitably, hopefully, be the ticket out of this crafted hell. Abandoning his faith in God proved the final severance to his miserably stagnant stance as a by-passer to his own life, it seemed his siblings, his mother, all had tried to run from the debts of their name and now it was Carver’s turn to try.

He disappeared for a while, it was a necessity after what had happened, after what names would come searching for him, but Carver had odd jobs and music to keep him afloat. Tasks he could easily adhere to, manual labor, but also more unsavory occupations that none else would feel so morally bankrupt to take. There are many days where the oppressiveness of the debt he’d consigned himself to many years ago feels too smothering to escape from and old habits continue to die hard, but Carver is used to the ruggedness of this world and has no qualms being the only one left, bloodied and standing, if that is what it takes. 

Everything’s a game, and everyone’s your toy.

STATS.

NAME: Anike Johnson GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis woman & she/her AGE: 40 OCCUPATION: Polititician AFFILIATIONS: Civilian FACECLAIMS: Yaya DaCosta

ABOUT.

Bitch. Hysterical. Anike has heard it all and never cared because it always came from those that were jealous, those she had gotten ahead of. From as long as anyone could remember, Anike was driven and competitive, always having to be the best at everything, the be above everyone else. When she started to talk, she did it with a lisp, something she eventually realized as she heard other children talking and she fixed it, practising talking to herself for hours, until it came naturally. Anike made everything look effortless, as if winning and being the best was just what she was born to do but it wasn’t the case, not always. Just like with her lisp, she was good at working hard without letting anyone know. She was ambitious and demanding, of everyone in her life but mostly of herself. Everything had to be flawless, had to be perfect. Anything else was a failure, at least according to Anike. 

High School was easy, and she discovered that her charms could easily help her get her ways, that she didn’t have to work for something if she could easily manipulate someone. She thrived with competition, when she felt like what she had could be lost, even if she acted as if it belonged to her and no one else. With her GPA and resume, getting into the Ivy Leagues was a sure shot. For a while, she hesitated between Harvard and Yale but in the end, Yale won. First it was pre-law and then law but despite her internships and the offers she got, and one she took, when she graduated, being a lawyer was never the path. While Anike loved the courtroom and pleading cases, known for how cutthroat she could be, politics was what truly interested the woman. Politics were where she belonged and maybe not for all the right reasons.