Jack Ketch's page

"Well, I've been a lot of people over my life. Jack o'Blades is good enough for me. Me, I grew up in Neverwinter, son of no one. Clawed my way out and that's enough to be said of that. Never fought demons before, but I fought some as thought they were demons. Still, they all bleed when you put them to the sword. Or the ball, as it were," Jack pats his pistol affectionately.

Jack looks positively uncomfortable when the gifts are handed out. He shifts from foot to foot, looking embarassed. "I'm honored. It's been a helluva time with you. One o' the few I've ever spent where I didn't have to watch my back to keep a knife out o' it. I'll do mah best to keep these others alive. I'd like to come back here some day. It seems a good place."

Jack spends the time working on his sleight of hand skills, attempting some small card tricks, quick drawing his pistol and sparring against the elves with his short sword. His martial skills broaden from the sort of close-in fighting one learns in city alleys to something approaching a more proper fighting style. He wanders the elven camp, speaking to the elves and working on his second story skills by climbing, tumbling and working on his contortions.

Eventually befriending a blacksmith, Jack is allowed to borrow some tools to create his bullets, and digs in some rather unpleasant places to gather the materials to create gunpowder.

1d10 ⇒ 2

Jack will spend the downtime practicing his sleight of hand and quick drawing skills, becoming more and more comfortable with his pistol. He'll also probably fabricate some more gunpowder and bullets; he's going to need them.

Is that levelling for everyone or just Ruhk?

"Listen, Hoss, I ain't no one from nowhere, but it seems like you need a hand and since I ain't exactly jumpin' to go nowhere, maybe you'd like some help findin' these friends of yours?"

Jack shrugs at the Blackstaff's outburst, pulls off his boots, places them under his head and is asleep in moments, his pistol held across his chest.

"Sounds like a lot of responsibility to me. I'm more the "love 'em and get the 'ell out of town" type myself. Now where's these people you lost?"

Jack checks his gun to ensure it's in good shape, and holsters it, staring at Ruhk and his magic stick.

"So, is that THE Blackstaff that I've heard songs about? How'd you come by it?"

The Elven woman, a mage of some sort based on her robes and weapons, lifts one eyebrow and answers with a sardonic smile, "Devils."

"Well, miss. Perhaps you'd like to tell me more about the evils we face some time, maybe over dinner? Drinks? D...candles?"

To Ruhk, "What's this then? You're missing people? I'll lend a hand."

"My pants! Heck, at least now I got a spare pair of pants. Now, is anyone going to tell me what the heck's going on here? Drow? Demons? Are there any other D words I'm going to get attacked by today?"

"Well, this turned out to be an interestin' day." Jack murmurs to no one in particular. "I'm Jack. I just arrived and my pants were on that wagon that ran away. I'd appreciate it if someone could tell me what the samhell just happened?!?"

Jack edges back from the insane people and their demon-play things. Clearly he has stepped in someone else's troubles...

"Cripes! Is that thing dead? Can it die?!?" Jack trains his other pistol on the creature, but is hesitant to fire until he knows the bullet is needed.

"And, what the heck is going on here? Why is this evil little bastich trying to kill you lot, anyway? And anyone got some pants I can borrow? My last pair just fled on that wagon..."

Edit: Jack reloads his pistol, stepping away from the demon while calling out for answers...

Rennick, I updated Jack with the new gunslinger info, which mainly means he loses one pistol and gains the gunsmith feat.

"Cripes! Is that thing dead? Can it die?!?" Jack trains his other pistol on the creature, but is hesitant to fire until he knows the bullet is needed.

"And, what the heck is going on here? Why is this evil little bastich trying to kill you lot, anyway? And anyone got some pants I can borrow? My last pair just fled on that wagon..."

Jack turns back to the wagon and Finius' desperate attempt to get away. "Darn you, you coward! You've got my spare pants!" Looking back toward the fray, he moves 30 feet to get closer to the demon and the man facing off. He raises his right hand pistol, sights for a quick moment and fires!

Pistol! Touch Attack 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22 Took the -4 for firing into melee. If this isn't so, add 4 to the roll, please!

Critical Confimation! Touch Attack 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16

Damage: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5 x4 if it's a crit

"Take that, you ugly hell-spawned beast!"

"Cold iron? Heck, I got cold steel, but iron I left in my other trousers, priest. Can't I just put enough holes in it so it won't float and kick it down a well?!?" Jack sighs, seeing the priest jump off the wagon and follows after him, moving at a trot, drawing his second pistol as he does.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

Gather Info: 1d20 ⇒ 18

With a flash of steel a pistol is in Jack's hand as he scans the surroundings. His hand is perfectly still, an oddity in anyone's experience of Jack, but he compensates with his swiveling head and roaming eyes.

"What is the samhell was that?!"

Thanks, Rennick. I'll update Jack with the new trait and be ready to go shortly.

Done!

Jack was born on the streets of Neverwinter, cast out by his mother, who he never knew. He grew up as a ward of the Church of Torm, but the harsh discipline required never fit him well. When he was 12 he ran away and was adopted into a gang of street kids who worked as lookouts for the local Thieves' Guild. He worked his way up from there to a basher, guarding the Guild from intrusion. That was his life until the day he was sent along on a job to act as extra muscle to carry out a haul from a rich merchant's mansion. While he was looting a bedroom he discovered a hidden cache containing two pistols and a stash of gunpowder and shot. He had heard of such things, knew their worth and made a quick decision: he grabbed the cache and ran.

He's been on the run from the Thieves' Guild as well as from the merchant for the last two years. He's changed his name several times, finally emerging as Jack Ketch, a man of no particular history and no particular town. Unfortunately for him, the pistols were rather distinctive in decoration, made to resemble two grinning imps, with the barrels firing from their open mouths. Now he's looking to hook up with a band of adventurers, mainly to get away from Neverwinter but also to find some companionship after so many years on the run. He thinks he's home free, but only time will tell...

Rennick, are we starting at 1st or 2nd level?

Rennick,

I still need some guidance on character creation, but here's a basic fighter for your perusal.

James

Zissaren followed the others up the tunnel, glad that whoever had built them had seen fit to build on such a scale that even he could walk comfortably. When he arrived at the chamber he looked around at the many tunnel mouths and an idea occurred.

"It is a sshame you did not bring your acquaintance with you Jack. They may have been able to have caught the sscent of the girl, or the ssugar. Now we will either have to part wayss or sspend a very long time ssearching thesse tunnelss."

"Indeed. I haven't heard from him recently. Allow me to head back into the air and I will contact him to see if he can attend us. Meanwhile, I must see to my business interests. Being a Marquis does not mean a life of luxury, I assure you!"

Jack will head back down the line from the party, wait until he's out of sight and sound, and

He will then head back into the chamber, staying as dry as is possible.

** spoiler omitted **

Moving on up.

Nightflier

The tunnel stretches in front of you far enough that your sight is eventually thwarted by the curving of tunnel wall. Dimensions seem the same as the dimensions of the tunnel near Yanko's inn, so it would be reasonable to assume that the sewer system consists of uniform-sized tunnels. At least those under major streets and squares. Once again, you are taken aback by the lack of bad smells usually associated with the sewers.

"What a strange place this is. Makes one wonder what these tunnels are really used for. Or by." Jack will begin moving forward at around half speed, drawing his silver sword cautiously.

"Careful," Luff speaks quietly, fading back into view and offering a hand as Jack reaches the entrance. "There is a strange presence in these tunnels... it is quite a disturbing sensation."

"My good man. what hasn't been disturbing in this strange town?" Jack continues into the tunnel, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light.

** spoiler omitted **

Nightflier

** spoiler omitted **

Nightflier

Nightflier

"And that, dear friends, is why stealth is a better rule than strength. Let's get into the sewers quickly before the local dock workers decide to call for the Authorities, eh?" Jack quickly jumps into the water, looks distasteful and begins moving toward the sewers.

"Very well," Luff chimes, "I shall question those that call this area their home in order to discern the location of an alternative entrance to the sewers. When my investigations are complete I will meet you back here."

He looks over to Jack with a tilted head, "is this grate near location your sources said the sugar smell was located?"

"My sources said it lead here, into the sewers. They were unable to find any alternative passages or discern the trail beyond that."

DM

"Splendid! Once we're in, we can find another entrance for the larger members of the team. Unless of course, they have some means to make themselves smaller?"

"Enough!" Jack stands up to full height and does his best to look imperious. "The poisoning is not important! We shall find your child, sir. We leave now!" With that, Jack walks out the door, heading toward a sewer grate, pausing just outside the door to retch loudly, like a cat with a hairball.

"What was in that damnable soup?" Jack climbs out from under the table, his suit now smooth, his hair impeccable.

Jack swoons in his chair and the momentary lack of control causes his form to blur slightly, becoming somewhat furry. He quickly ducks under the table until he can gain control again.

Fort: 1d20+4=24

A moment later, barmaid returns with a bowl of cabbage and a pint of bear. "On the house, old man. Anything else for the rest of you?" She winks at Jack. "You know, I bet that some parts of you are just the right size..."

"Careful my sweet, or you just might find out!" jack winks lasciviously at the barmaid, then turns back to the discussion at hand. "Oaths are powerful, but I would be comfortable saying I have no interest in the slavery of any of you."

"My people don't have oaths. My people have business arrangements, which must take me away from time to time. Prior commitments, you see."

Jack puts his head in his hands. 'At this rate, he thinks, 'how the deuce am I ever going to gain of a reputation in this town to get anything big done?'

"No bait, not children at least. Although if anyone can look like a child, we could use them as bait. However, my network has a pretty good lead on this. Unfortunately, I may have to be called away for a brief time. If I do, my chief tracker is well, a cat. He'll be more than happy to track for you, provided no one tries to eat him."

Perception: 1d20+8=19

** spoiler omitted **

The morning finds the pixie flitting energetically from side to side in the taproom, waiting for the others to assemble.

"Network of informants?" the pixie asks Jack, "would they happen to know anything about the Cocquatrice Knights?"

"Nothing yet, my good pixie, but I'll put the quest to them. In the meantime, we need to find access into the sewers. Have you noticed that the grates are doubly secured? It makes one wonder what the authorities in this city know about the threats from below..."

Come morning, Jack will come downstairs immaculately dressed and ready for the morning.

"Greetings, compatriots! My network of informants has been hard at work overnight and has informed me that there is a lingering scent of sugar in the sewers. I think it is high time we took this investigation underground!"

Jack passes the night in peaceful slumber...

DM:

"Do you still have the shirt covered in spun sugar? I have a ... hound that might be able to track such things by scent.."

Jack Ketch wrote:

"Why do people keep assuming I am a halfling?!?"

"You're not?"

Jack assumes a haughty pose, much like Napoleon: "I am a man of many talents, beholden to no single descriptor. And I can find your child, no matter the risk or enemy."

"Why do people keep assuming I am a halfling?!?"

A tired man walks to your table. He is not very tall for a human, but with broad back and huge muscles under the fat. Bald head shines under the dim light of torches and his bushy beard is more gray than black. He looks sad and tired. "So, you are the strangers that tried to help my Martha. I thank you. You meant well. You can't help, but you meant well - even if one of you is halfling."

"I bristle at that comment! I am far more than a common, run of the mill, workaday halfling! I am nobility, sir and my resources are vast indeed! But if our help, aid and succor are to be dismissed in such a spurious manner, then I withdraw my offer. My condolences and good luck with the memorial service."

"Indeed? Perhaps my companions are less defective and more brave in their ebullience? Or perhaps our somewhat disjointed appearance is a feint designed to put the foul and evil off-guard?"