Jane Inks's page

The gods damn Dwarf. That GODS DAMN DWARF. My fists clench tight and I can almost feel my nails through the tough leather exterior of my gauntlets. His face makes a stupid(er) look and I nearly fly at the Stunty, my legs about to pounce until I feel the caravan move with a jerk, throwing me back on my ass. I fall next to the Pointy-Gal sitting in the back.

Furious, I kick a barrel and one of my bags to clear space for my legs. I quickly dart a sharp look at the Mix-breed and slide slowly onto my back, once again covering my eyes with my tanned hat. As I rest my head upon a sack of grain I release a long, dejecting and throaty sigh ,making my intention clear: Don't wake me, till I need to take over.

Resting doesn't really feel like resting, hell just woke up an hour ago. I still like to keep things slow and calm, getting all excited over meeting new people or before a big change just isn't apart of me. I give myself time to think, about the people here. Perhaps I should've been more kind-like to this new lady-type... Perhaps I should give the Dwarf a second chance, after all.

*Whack!*

With out warning a bag containing who knows what crashes on my head! I scramble and kick to my feet, angry. Really angry. I knock over a barrel in the back of the wagon and open the bag. A pickaxe... and a tankard. Who could this belong to... Rubbing my head I hear Mol Tommison outside making some sorta speech and I throw down the tankard with unnecessary force.

Scowling I poke my head out of the canvas and look at the party, attempting to make eye contact with Roland. I catch him sweet talking the Pointy... Of course. Gesturing with a jerk of my neck I try to make it clear that I'm ready to get moving. Then I move my eyes the the Stunty and give him a long-unblinking glare before slowly retracting into the canvas.

Are we in one of these?

http://imgur.com/SFfROK2

Or like a wagon?

Hands full and shoulders burdened I walk with intent with the others, tilting my head up I see our new home... A wagon and some asses. I quickly pick up my pace and start toward the caravan. Roland slows in front of me and takes off his hat, I sidle quickly around him unobstructed.

"Now that's a woman."

I hear him mumble as I pass by. Yup, I see her. Closing in I see her waving gesture but without acknowledgement I keep on my path and collect all of my packs to my right hand. With a haul I drop my encumbering gear into the carriage.

Craft:1d20 ⇒ 7

With my equipment and shield the wood creaks. Sounds good enough for me. I climb with a quick jump into the wagon bed and tilt my hat down covering my eyes. With a loud *thud* I sit down, taking a resting position.

I've purchased:
8x Bullet
1/2lb of Black Powder
Gun Smither's Kit
120ft Spool of Waxed-String

Waiting before we start traveling I quickly search through my sacks. They're pretty heavy but it's nothing I'm not used to. Though with my shield as well... G&* d@~n I hope we have an ox. Looking through my last satchel I get a feeling, like someone is staring me down. I look up from my bag and see the hairy faced Dwarf glancing between Roland and myself.

My face turns into a visible grimace and I abruptly tie off my pouch and sling it over my shoulder. Turning my back to the Stunty all I can think about is how this is going to be a long, long trip. That female can't get here fast enough.

Waking up is always the same, even when in a different bed. At least I don't have to deal with the trouble of dreaming... If that's what it's called. Shifting out of my bed the familiar joints pop and crack when shuffling over to my clothes and armor, getting old I guess. Nothing too fancy, like I say, it's always the same.

*Shink* *shink* *shink* *shink*

Outside of the inn I feel the familiar morning breeze and the familiar morning sun. Then... then I see something that isn't so 'familiar'. That loudmouth Dwarf bounding about like a damn fool. Letting out a sigh I step down into the grass and reluctantly pursue. I walk behind the nuisance just out of threat range of his attention. He then begins flailing his broad arm at our acquaintances, Roland and Tommison. I pick up my pace... No reason to keep them waiting on my accord.

"...and get this train wreck started shall we?"

I give a quick nod as I cross my arms.

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 6

Walking into the Rabbit's Hole I immediately feel like an ass among ponies. The decoration of this place is asinine to the truest meaning. Every step feels out of place as we walk to the table. Roland and Notch taking their seats I stand behind my chair and let my shield drop from my shoulder to the floor. Pulling the chair out I hear an awfully annoying sound, no not the chair scooting... The dwarf whistles.

Wincing I take my seat and grasp the cup of water set in my place; I don't intend to drink it, I can't even feel the condensation through my hide glove, I suppose It's habit. Just as I settle into the seat: looming over the table in a slouch like usual, a force strikes my back!

"What a harey place! HA! Get it?"

My grip vices while my back straightens, the cup in my hand is nothing but a mess of glass and water now. I instinctively bare my teeth, my head turns like a creaky rusted hinge and I stare at Notch.

"Harey? Rabbits are also called hares. Hehehe..."

Notch seems to pay no attention to my silent fury and turns to the waitress ordering some form of alcohol... I think. The bloodhaze is making things less sensible right now.

When he speaks to Roland I take a moment to collect and realise that if any thing is going to get done, I can't lynch the dwarf. I open my clenched fist and begin listening to the two talk as i pick the chunks of glass out of my glove.

The invisible zephyr prances through the trees and licks my face, gazing out surveying the town. Notch and Roland appear quite set on the business, the former seeming incredibly eager. "Ready you two?" the dwarf asks with bravado, his words are whisked away by the wind in my ears. It seems this man will be endurable, as long as there is wind to wash away what pours out of his mouth. "...I need a shot of scotch for the trip down..." I shift my eyes to Roland, he seems to be a practical man, I'm not so sure why the practice of drinking surprises me... His voice betrays tobacco and alcohol yet, I guess I'm just not quite sure what I was suspecting.

When the blowing wind subsides I breath in the first breath of the next two days. I nod to the men beside me and slowly saunter down the steps, my armor making it's particular *shink* *shink* *shink* with each stride.

Will we be fast forwarding to the day of travel?

http://imgur.com/5bwcL

A rough approximation of Jane.

That Dwarf's smile... His oversized beard... That annoying tune. I grate my teeth beneath my lips and try not to grimace while he hums loudly.

"...What resources will be supplied?"

The man makes a good point, this business would be impossible with what we are wearing on our back. I look again at Mr. Tollison and inhale, about to voice my concern as well. Just as I open my lips:

"Yeah!"

The Dwarf belts aloud. I can't help but wince in annoyance as his abrupt burst washes over me. My fist clenches in my pocket and I bite down hard, shutting my jaw. I let out a sharp exhale from my nostrils, fighting the urge to growl at the short one. I close my eyes trying to fine my calm as I tilt my head back slightly.

"...Here is a list of everything sponsored for your trip."

Looking down I see that Mol has placed a piece of parchment on the table. I quickly place one hand on the wooden surface with a loud slam and begin to read the paper. Mulling over what is being provided I feel much of my frustration ease. I slowly slide my hand back to my waist and erect again, standing quite tall. With resonating footsteps I stride over to the door of the establishment. Opening the oak door; letting out another soundable creak, I lean against the beam of the doorway, waiting for the other two to follow suite.

The condensation on my drink builds the same as people amass around the table I sit at. Each drop on the glass is different... And I couldn't be bothered to care. I still haven't touched the beverage.

"...So what do you say!? Are you in?!"

"If it must be so."

I retract my arm, slowly scraping the oakleaf table with the scale sleeve. Standing up the chair is slowly pushed back making a distinctive yet predictable scooting noise. At full stature my eyes dart just under the brim of my hat bouncing over the men that have gathered. I make sure to make eye contact with each of them, staring for a moment, testing their steel with my yellow iris. Focusing again on the mug I bend down and pull the weight of my shield over onto my shoulder. Looking at this Mr. Tommison I reach into the pocket of my duster and produce a letter which I flick into the center of the table on top of Roland's.

I let out something that sounds like a sigh and give a beckoning look to the Dwarf at the table.

The soft grass makes very little noise with each stride I take in this town, aside from the occasional dead leaf crushed underfoot. The road of mostly dirt and gravel sounds like a small crunch when I walk over it, a lot like old snow frozen over. Each wood step up to the Exchange gives a different creak; yet, no matter where I walk the footsteps always sound the same to me. The old man sitting in front of the store seems to take notice of me, he slightly tips his hat... I see this in my peripherals and walk into the shop.

The door gives a hearty squeak that you'd expect from a logging town, the wood is probably of very high quality; the hinges probably not. I lift my head, surveying the business under the brim of my cover. Lifting my hat I lower the scale coif so that it rests on my shoulders, placing the leather cap back onto my crown I walk forward with intent. When I reach the center table I stand there for just a moment, still. With a shrug I slide my heavy shield from my back to my forearm and place the bulwark against the chair that I stand behind. I unbutton my hide duster before sitting down at the table. The sound of my armor gives a metallic *Shink* when I come to rest.

I rest my left arm on the table, and stare at the mug in front of me.

Well, It's difficult for a man like me to talk about himself. My name is Jane Hyde Inks and there ain't much after that. Good with a six shooter I suppose, can take a hit too... I keep my hand on my lash and my steel on on my side, but I ain't hesitant to switch 'em. You ain't gonna find many like me that's for true. Nice dogooders, probably; backhanded thieves, for sure. But not like me. Keep it straight 'n don't bushwack and you've got my work.

Last thing I guess: I'm me and you're you, I keep it simple like that.
Mr. Jane Inks.

Resume on my character sheet, I could post it if need be.

Well this is my character, I think he'll fit in just fine. These are the orders I was talking about:

Order of the High Noon

Edict: Cavaliers who are apart of the High Noon believe in two things; honor and blood. They see duels as the highest form of combat and will do their best to protect the honor of the duel. Being apart of this order means that the Cavalier must mediate any duels if asked and must be willing to take apart of the duel as a Second, regardless of the duelists. A Cavalier of this order may not deny a challenge to a duel unless the opponent is a youth, elderly or disabled. If the duel cannot be held the Cavalier must take an oath to eventually duel the challenger at a later time. Finally if the Cavalier is in a duel he may not back down for any reason other than defeat or victory.

Challenge: When the Cavalier challenges an enemy he is granted a move action to be used immediately after the challenge. At level 6 the Cavalier is granted a standard action instead.

Skill: Sleight of Hand and Perception are class skills for Cavaliers of this order. The Cavalier gains a bonus equal to 1/2 his Cavalier level when hiding a light weapon with Sleight of Hand.

Nerves of Steel: At 2nd level the Cavalier gains a +4 save against fear and compulsion effects. At 6th level if the cavalier makes a successful save against a fear or compelling effect the source of the effect takes the same save plus 1/2 the Cavaliers level or be shaken for 1d4 rounds. At 12th Level the Cavalier is immune to fear.

Draw: At 8th level when the Cavalier challenges an enemy they must take will save equal to DC 10 plus the Cavalier's level or be shaken for 1d4 rounds.

Strikes 12: The Cavalier is so quick out of the holster that he seems to beat an opponent at every turn. At 15th level the Cavalier can never be caught flat-footed. The Cavalier also is always treated as aware and acts first during the surprise round.

Order of the Manacle

Edict: Members of the Order of the Manacle believe that a creatures life always deserves at least a first chance. Members of the order are often moralists or lawmen who see lethality to be a last resort. Order members must never act with deadly force unless nonlethal methods are expended or a person's life is in imminent risk.

Challenge: When the Cavalier challenge an enemy he adds his Cavalier level to both CMD and CMB. The Cavalier may also make grapple, trip, drag, entangle and disarm attempts without provoking an attack of opportunity and without penalty regardless of the tools used. At 12th level the cavalier may nauseate grappled opponents as a move action, daze opponents on a successful trip or cower disarmed opponents. All of the effects have a Fort save of DC 12 + the Cavalier's level and last for 1d2 rounds.

Skill: Acrobatics and Escape Artist are both class skills for Cavaliers of this order. The Cavalier does not receive an armor check penalty when using Escape Artist for any reason.

First Chance: At 2nd the Cavalier may convert any source of lethal damage to non lethal with no penalty. His non lethal damage also ignores DR/5 then up to DR/10 at level 10.

Knowledge of the Knots: At 8th the Cavalier has the effect Discern Lies on an opponent that has been bound, held helpless or pinned by the Cavalier. The bound also have a -4 penalty to will saves.

Wrangler: At 15th level the Cavalier can be treated as one size category larger or smaller at his will. He also may treat an opponent as one size category larger or smaller.