Wild Vine West Location- Ridgewood

This semi large town drips with the sense of degradation and debauchery iconic to the stories people now tell out of nickel books to their children and many more too vivid for the faint of heart to write of.

Gunslingers, outlaws,sheriffs, prospectors, thieves,ladies of the night, natives and foreigners all take what could be called refuge here before returning to the scramble for their own claim of this largely untouched land of mystery... By any means necessary.

Like all towns the, good folk, of these parts have their own civilization within a civilization.

If you hit the edge of town you won't get into the desert towards the West without crossing the new track set courtesy of Lincoln's good will attempt with the south to invoke peace. It only invoked an easier way to get rich fast, in a variety a ways.

To call what types'll step off the inbound is like trying to call sides on a ball in the air;As unpredictable as a first time drunk.

Goes the same for the whole of Ridgewood...you think you got it figured out? Best think again cuz that'll be the moment ya signed your own death certificate.

Ridgewood just recently finally setup their very first wire system. Telgraphs, the wave of the future are now open for public use. Please don't shoot the 'Graphist, we only got one

In the back of town opposite the track you'll find things get a lil dodgier as you go in. Midway in lies the hell to one man and heaven to another.

_____________________________________

Uncle Sammy came into town about ten years ago looking to strike rich in the mountains opposite end of the railway. He was more then dissapointed when all he found was already long dug holes and upturned rocks. Since then he sold his prospecting gear and posted up shop as a bar keep in Ridgewood. As ya can tell, he's the ray of sunshine in this dark corner of our gritty rustic aesthetic.

"Aw kiss my a-"

Next we've got the gun shop. Probably the most profitable business. With all the tale of outlaw and sheriff runnin rampant every man with an eye and a finger heads on over to lay claim to his own Peacetaker.

Rules:

None other than the basics.

No no-selling,auto-hits, destruction of property without consent. Every thing else is free for all.

Need to know info:

Despite the fact it's the past, this is canon with CVnU present. Any events that happen here will ripple into the future. Any civilizations current in the present will be brought up here in a way set for the times.

This town is just a nexus for the stories, not where everybody needs to meet. Feel free to use this thread for ANY region in the country in the year 1868. Just state where you are in your posts, either flat out or smoothly somewhere within your posts.

I'll add a frontier,desert, and other wider areas in a separate thread soon.

Don't let this OP tie down your story, I encourage everybody to build the city in your own character perspective if it'll make it more fun for you.

Do the damn thing

(damn son, thats a dedicated opening)

Cooooooooooooool! I want to join!!

@banestrokelobogrundybatarrow: (Just jump in. Stay true to the era though)

@the_last_arashikage: (Could've been better. I tried to at least keep it real to the time)

Because I don't wanna edit the OP and hunt down the same gifs and images...

extra rule

No time traveling until Vine west is more established. If you want to do it bad enough just pm me and we can discuss it beforehand.

Banks of snow creep down off the mountain side transforming themselves from blinding mounds to a trickling majestic stream that sings a tune the black horse of Cherokee unconsiously clops to. In the horizon just across the mountain line the stream amplifies into a river, the river leads to the prize land, Ridgewood.

As he rides forth men gawk at the way he strides, the straight of his back, the way he met their eyes with a nod. It sent a hot vibration down their arms and red hot anger into their pale cheeks. The confidence insulted them. Men who rotated their lives around slaves, now left without a work force and poorer than the nigga on the nag who stood so high

He just rides on with a subtle smirk.

Tying down his nag to a post beside a frozen troph, he breaks the thin ice coat with the butt of his fist, the thirsty Thunder lapping at it instantly.

Opening the doors the music stops, the bartender drops a glass, and every eye meets his chest, but not one meets his eyes. There was only one colored man dared to walk into a saloon, ever. And he bore a certain reputation that deserved a certain level of caution, one the cowardly would often misrepresent as respect. Taking a seat at the bar he removes the circular black glasses he wore on rides, and the music slowly kicks back up. "Whiskey...You piss in my glass I'm gonna sh!t in your grave"

@cherokee_x: Good opener hopefully this gets all the quality posts it has the potential of generating

"Wake up boy," The James brother commanded, gently sending his hand across Addison Archer's dark skinned face. Slavery's recent abolishment had led to many blacks being forced into occupations that had no idea how to handle. Addison Archer had been running since he had his first chance at escape nearly fifteen years ago. By the age of 15, he fought in the civil war bravely, and discovered his affinity for firearms and uncanny knack for evading danger. This skills proved crucial in the previous months as him and his latest cohorts, Jesse and Frank James had joined forces as outlaws. A week before there long trek from Missouri to South Dakota the trio had robbed a bank in Lexington. The end result was 200 dollars and three dead bodies, two of which were executed by Jesse himself. Now on the run from local lawmen the trio had flocked to the tree riddled path to the north.

Addison rose to his feet, smiling as he began to check his guns and saddle up on his brown stallion. "What you so happy about?" Frank asked as he assisted Jesse in packing up the camp. The sun was slowly rising and soon it would be time to move, lest they wanted a another confrontation with Missouri's finest. "I's a reckon he had another one them dreams. Ain't that right Archer?" Addison, a man of few words, said, "Yeah," before he placed a piece of hay in his mouth, draped his decorative blue shawl over his shoulders, and brought his hat down over his eyes just enough to veil them from onlookers. The brothers finished their packing and saddled up on their black steeds then took off, intent on reaching the city of Ridgewood by night fall.

@614azrael: hopefully

@tranquil: Nice. you ever see that brad pitt Jesse James movie?

@cherokee_x: Nope, I was just looking at all the events that happened in the year 1868 and Jesse James popped out to me. xD

The buzzards circle high above, they seem to know that if they wait and watch they would be fed soon. They are watching a band of outlaws that have stumbled upon a small village, catching them at a time when all the able men are away gathering supplies and hunting for food. Only the women, the elderly, and the small children were left behind. The bandits have evil in mind as they ride their horses through the empty streets of this small town, that is too small to unimportant for anyone to care what happens to it. At least that is what they think as they ride on, circling around the dwellings looking for the right places to strike. They plan on having a real good time, this evening.

Unbeknown to them however something else was also watching them, something much like the buzzards on high. Wraiths have uncanny senses when it comes to evil men planing death and destruction. The wanton souls of the ill repute outlaws calls to Jebediah, beckons to his presence. Their is a shift in the winds and a storm is a brewing out from the Eastern sky, the wicked men look at the huge dark clouds forming and feel grateful that they will soon have stolen roofs over their heads. At least for now... They will be whistling a different tune soon enough.

Gotta see if I have an alt for this

"You hear the news of what happened in Lexington? Some group of up and commin whipper snappers, went robbed..the first national."

"Ya got em at sea walter...Them Polke boys been selling you that shady moon shine ain't they."

"Aw Fred suck my eggs. the man who brings ya a fair warnin', and ya make a joke of me. I'm right damn it. They just the start of many an outlaw too."

"Izzat so old man? Even if you were right, which ya ain't and never have been about one damned thing, what makes ya think ya are?"

"All these names and reputations commin up over the hills now adays Fred, so many and none of'em ace high...how long you think before the owners folla...?"

Meanwhile

In the back of the bar Cherokee sits with his ocarina playing a slow tune over the automatic piano that drowns out the jubilee with a string of melancholy notes. The men at the table with him wondered why he sat at their table like he owned it, feet up and his savages' harmonica wailing. "Boy whats your name and why the hell you in my seat?" The music stops abruptly, "Eath"

"Heath?" The black clad well off deputy says with a furrowed brow, his long thick mustache twisted in the same direction

"Eath...Whats yo name, boy."

"To my friends here, Bartholomew Morris, to you I'm master nigger. now move!" Now the room stands quiet while Cherokee sits. "As in Bart Morris of the Barty boys? Robbed six stage coaches...raped seven squaws...scalped ten cherokee..."

Pulling back his jacket the middle aged man let's the plated nickel of his gun's butt shine beside his rough palm "Boy, I don't know what you think you know, I don't know what kinda old mammy named you Eath-" Before he can finish a bullet flies from beneath an empty sleeve, a thick brown arm hidden on the waist holding a smoking pistol.

" Thats just how you pronounce it."

@snake_charmer: You got an alt for everything lol

@tranquil: Should check it out it's a good movie.

@cherokee_x: Badass.

@tranquil: good looks. I'm vibin with this one

The storm is raging outside, there are now thirteen dead, six wounded, four violated, and many children with tears streaming from their swollen little eyes too all silent, too afraid to cry out to afraid to scream for help. The Outlaws are all huddled around a fire in the main tent of the village. The old and sickly have been murdered, the brave have been tamed, the women have been passed around, and the children have been traumatized by seeing it all.

They are all laughing loudly and eating stolen food, drinking stolen water, and warming themselves in front of another mans fireplace. A now dead man to be a matter of fact. The ghost of this man still lingers, the men cannot see his spirit but he is there he looms inside his old home watching them with painful eyes filled with sorrow. And as the old man watches them celebrate their squander, a stranger approaches from the cold wet darkness just outside the hut.

"Howdy friend." The dark figure says to the recently departed. The old man turns his head as Jebediah floats into the hut in his natural form of a dark shaded wraith. "These men have done a great wrong... I am here to see that they get what they deserve... You however need to pass on friend... You do not need to see what is about to happen... Understand?"

The old man nods his head in understanding as his face turns upwards towards the heavens and his spirit moves on to the other side. His spirit glows brightly and then vanishes from this plane of reality. After which Jebediah also exits the hut, if only to reattach himself to his puppet. The body he uses for reaping vengeance unto the sinners of the world.

The men get chills down their spines as they hear the humming sounds of a harmonica blowing out in the darkness of the night... They have all heard the tales of the harmonica... They stop laughing as their shaking hands reach for their guns, some rifles, some revolvers.

@street_samurai: Tight setup. I wanna see if Tranquil wants to reply first since he's en route

I'ma get into this thread soon.

There in the corner of Uncle Sam's Saloon, sat one of the smoothest talking man to ever walk these lands. His name was Jack Harrison, or Jackie as what most legends used to shorten his name. Now Jackie was good at speaking, words came out of his mouth as if they were molasses and oh boy was that smooth. Jackie's smooth talking was his only trait. Young Harrison was a gambler, whether it be for chips, money, equipment, or shoot even his life; That boy was a gambler at heart and a good one at that.

So tonight like every other night, he was at the table, playing some cards. Blackjack to be exact. "Jack Harrison, that is the ninth game you won, now either you're a cheating or I'm a fool for thinking so." Jackie didn't even look at the man continuing his cards, "Well, if you spent as much time playing as you did accusing like a fool, you might when." The Middle aged man threw down his cards revealing a 7, 6, and a 9. "How am I supposed to win with cards like these?" JAckie threw down his cards showing a 2 and a 3. "It's not the cards, it's how you play them. " He smirked.

Jackie ordered two shots of whiskey for himself and the loser. The man struggled to get the liquor down, but Jack Harrison's went down smoother than rain.

I wanna run with a group of bandits!

@street_samurai: The stuttered protest of the horses startled the triumvirate as their steed's ceased stride and stood upon the hind legs. "Woah, easy now, easy," Addison cooed, gently massaging his stallion's neck. "They ain't headin' in that direction. Looks like we're troopin' it from here." Jesse leaped off his mount, followed by Frank, whilst Addison stood back. "Pony up, Addison." The ebony enigma shook his head in refusal. After a small whisper in the horse's ear, it trudged on. "I suggest you guys don't leave them behind. This village up ahead marks the halfway point..."

Addison Archer had an uncanny sense of direction, which naturally appointed him the position of navigator among the group. The two followed, pulling their horses along begrudgingly. "Hey Addison, where'd you learn to read and write? I mean, the war just ended." Before Addison could answer Frank chimed in, "Yeah, that's a good question. We ain't nigger haters or nuthin' but just curious."

At the sound of the racial slur Addison winced. The word bothered him, a constant reminder of his first and last beating at the hands of a slaver so many years ago. Yet he refused to go back there, shaking the memory away and addressing the question at hand. "It was easy. I pick up things faster than you'd expect," was a simple explanation. In actuality Addison had an incredible mind. From a single glance at something it would be stored within his mind with vivid detail. As a child he learned the entire alphabet in a day and within a week he could recite an entire newspaper article word for word. Even physical actions could be recalled with exemplary precision and accuracy.

As they reached the top of the hill that the village was built upon their eyes lit up with dismay. Fires raged on and you could smell the blood and gunpowder in the air. "Seems someone ransacked this spot couple em hours ago." Jesse declared, drawing his Colt pocket revolver. "Listen you lil rip, pull in your horns for ya kick up a row. We don't know what we may be walkin' into. We sure as hell don't need you firin' off shots at drop of hat." Frank's small rant warranted a response from Jesse, who was hushed by Addison before he could speak. "I think that's them O'Riley brother's ain't it?" Frank whispered, relinquishing the rope attached to his steed and drawing his own pistol. "Oh now you ready for some difficulty," Jesse chided, smirking at Frank who replied with, "Hobble your lip." The James brother took cover beside the huts that still stood whilst Addison dismounted. "Aye Addison, get the bulge on em and let's take em' out."

With haste the ebony enigma dashed to the side of a building, with incomparable agility and speed he leaped towards the wall. Upon making contact via his foot he used this small moment of leverage to alter his motion, sending his body towards the sky. Archer instinctively threw his arms up, then his fingers gripped the edge of the rooftop, just enough to garner the strength to vault himself up onto the rooftop. With silent but rapid steps Addison ascended another elevated rooftop and drew his Winchester rifle while simultaneously dropping to a single knee crouch.

With his aim aligned perfectly he whistled just before pulling the trigger and a sending a bullet straight for the head of the man closest to the hut. The James brothers were right on cue with head shots of there own. With five men in number only three would be taken down by these shots. Unsure of whether his aim struck true, Addison, with lightning fast dexterity, pulled the lever and returned it to the original position, firing off the second round within seven hundredths of a second. The third followed shortly after and if he was successful, the O'Riley brothers would be goners.

I can't front, coming into this I'm thinking, "It'll be a nice distraction." Now I'm like, "Damn this could turn into something epic. I think I need to make a bio." xD

lmao bout to read that but I was def just thinking about making a bio page in the account

@cherokee_x: Sounds like a good idea. Easy way to keep track.

@tranquil: Dig that depth. I like how Prophet switched up the dynamic. We've got a lot of variety right now

You know,just some place to keep the head count and legitimize it

@cherokee_x: Thanks.

Definitely. I'm actually gonna work on a little something in the meantime.

@tranquil: No doubt

Do your thing.

Appearance:

Name: Clayton Knightfall

Alias: Gambler, The Death Dealer, Coffin Mountain Outlaw

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 180lbs

Power: Bullet-Timing and the ability to perceive events in slow motion while reflexively moving in real time. An ability commonly misinterpreted as unnatural speed.

Equipment:

History: Unknown

@gambler: Tight, bridgin the gap. Added

Can't wait until the bullets start flying.

Six Years Ago:

His seasoned eyes and weathered brow peered over his arch shaped hands as his elbows rested on the old hickory wood dining table. Gazing upon the never ending stream of sons lining either side lying in wait like an ambushing copperhead, arms slowly withdrawing away from the table as if coiling with anticipation. And then......SMACK! An unrestrained open handed swat found its mark making itself at home alongside the youngest Knightfall's face. "If I told ya once I done told you a thousand times. We say grace at this table boy." the stern gravel cadence of the Knightfall patriarch rumbled. His tobacco treated voice almost as intimidating as the physical reminder of manners....... almost.

The boys all attempting to conceal their amusement as Clayton, Jr., as he was affectionately refereed to within the family, scrunched his nose and caressed his flushed cheek. His pride more damaged then anything else. Waiting a few uncomfortable minutes before swiftly ejecting from the table and out of the modestly built home in a tear filled sprint. Shelby, the family dog, following close behind. Rage and anger carried the rebellious youth deep into woods were an unlucky Oak tree suffered the wraith of the boys temper tantrum by way of a switch (skinny branch).

But the sudden head jerking motion and propped ears of the family canine was enough to recapture Clayton's focus. "Wait up GIRL!" he yelled. As the German Shepherded tore up huge chunks of moss and dirt in its dedicated attempt to gallop back to the home. Feverishly Jr. dug deep, intensively attempting to keep pace only to hesitate as from beyond the clearing he was able to see the rolling black clouds of smoke originating from his childhood home, which was being surrounded by a legalized posse deputized to bring in the fabled head of the Knightfall clan, dead or alive. Mother, father, and each of the cornered children, could be seen opening fire from the barricaded windows while being engulfed in the intensifying blaze illustrating the notorious reputation afforded to the band of bank robbing outlaws. And when they were no longer able to withstand the lung clogging smoke and flesh searing, they went out the only way an outlaw should. With their boots on.

Now:

Slowly swaying back and forth atop a coffee colored Missouri Fox Trotter, Clayton's onyx colored kettle curled brim intrinsically tamed the shadows to conceal his face as if purposely commanded to do so. The sandlewood hilts of his blue tempered steel revolvers shown off his hips as his draping holsters stylishly dangled off his thighs. Pulling up just outside Ridgwood's own, Uncle Sammy's, his glance nonchalantly graced the fashionable saddle of the horse next to him. The unmistakable HK (Hollis Knightfall) which had been hand carved into its side immediately authenticated Clayton's suspicion. The man he was looking for was inside.....and soon so to would be his death.

Name: John Louis Westlife

Alias: Big John (Westlife)

Weight: Two hunnid, sum'n.

Height: 'bout six-eight, six...sumthin'. Tall.

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Brown (red)

Skill: Deadeye. The man’s a quick draw and can place a shot plenty perfect. Ain’t bad wit throwin’ knives.

Power: They say the man’s stronger‘n a horse, ten times as tough.

Equipments: Two Colt Army Model 1860 revolvers; two LeMat revolvers; one Smith & Wesson Model 1, Issue 2; and one Smith & Wesson Model 1, Issue 3, in various places on his body. A Knife for cutting. A Spencer repeating rifle.

Background: Don’t nobody know really where Big John Westlife come from, nor how long. No family history to speak of. Just a man gettin’ by.

@cherokee_x: Ancestor of Huxley

Lord of the frontiers, revered by the native tribes an respected by the settlers as the undisputed ruler of the woods. No cougar nor wolf dared to enter his domain, and he has been the target of many attempts to claim his pelt. Hotblooded men have come from outside to claim their prize, all have been left to die. Migrating through the great plains to find a better habitat, through both the United States and Canada.

Name: King Brown

Age: Born in 1809

Height: 5 feet (all fours), 8 feet (standing)

Weight: Thousand pounds

Powers: Superursine stats, Death Touch (the claws are meant to kill)

Never run from a grizzly, even if you feel endangered. Despite their large size, they can run very fast in short bursts. Running may trigger their chase instinct. It is impossible for a human to outrun a bear.

Skills: Understand human knowledge (cannot speak, but can listen and roughly understand a little), master predator, excellent sense of smell, persistence hunting.

Equipment

Bear Fur: Durable, but not invulnerable by any means as it can withstand shots at point blank but it will go down as it only acts as a buffer. Albeit an excellent one.

Bear Muscle: ears can bring down prey, that outweigh the bear by several hundred pounds

Bear arms: He has every right to his bear arms and they are very deadly, capable of oneshotting things within range. They are his 'death touch' as one swipe equals one definite kill. He would prefer to posture than attack. He will often growl, roar, or stage a false charge to avoid a fight.

Bear Jaw: canines up to 1½ inches long

@strongarm: OHHHHHHHH I wanna travel with the bear!

@tranquil: Sure, just don't surprise the poor thing

@strongarm: I can talk to animals, plus he can understand humans. Perfect duo.

@tranquil: If he has a saddle then he gets a bear mount instead of a horse

@strongarm: Oh yeah, definitely riding into Ridgewood on a bear mount.

@tranquil: the partner that will help in barfights, so long as you give food since bears don't use money

@strongarm: Throws the bear a big juicy salmon, freshly caught by a spring sapling pole at a nearby river. "Here King... Got a present for ya." Jebediah has of course heard the stories of this legendary animal, this King of the woods, his senior by one season. "I hope ya like your breakfast Ol' boy."

@street_samurai:

The bear moved slowly to the scent of the food, and prodded the mear with its paws. Then it began to chew on the salmon, calmly and slowly seeing as there is no sign of harm in the area.

On his black nag X carries the body of the infamous Bart Morris, hangs bound and lifeless with fecal matter spilling down his still warm legs leaving a trail in Cherokee's wake. Atop the steed the rider spits, before wiping dirt off his lips and pilling out a small native american Ocarina/ A soothing, yet eerie and malevolently rooted song begins to slowly play from the pipes, each head he passed stopping and staring, women pulling their children close, men with bold hearts stopping stare, the cowardly dipping into the nearest entry.

Finally turning the last of the hand full of avenues in the small town he steps off of Thunder, kissing her on the forehead with a small stroke, as though in a world separated from the one which held a crowd that surrounded him in shock and whispers, striding into the sheriff's office with the body being drug to the desk.

The deputies eyes widen in a panic, gun withdrawn; Yet the deputy was maybe if being generous, 17. If being realistic, a fresh 15

"Suh Suh Suh-Sonofabitcht! "His hammer clicks back, no doubt reciting his daddies instructions on the range maybe only a few fingers count ago.

"...Settle down boy. Rest that hand cannon in it's sock, and I'll explain it to ya." And that was the last words he used, no more explainations, his arms appeared relaxed, his steps forward so effortless he seemed to glide, yet his hands. Those hands were wound the same way a toy plane would be, one lack of control and they'd spin circles before the first round was shot.

Now the boy's sweating dollops that could rival the largest bullet in that gun case beneath his desk. His idea of Bart morris was high, he had no reason to believe he deserved to be shot in the street. But yet...he didn't like the way the man looked at colored women, not that he had any regard or dis to the colored, but no man should look at a woman the way he did.

The hammer slips back into place slowly. "Explain'en"

"This man been doing unspeakable things using that badge like a shield from the law, hiding with it. He killed not even a week ago..."

"The hell you say"

"Honest son. Found a man with what used to be a head on his lap, found his wife inside the back of the wagon, back ripped to shreds by two blades. And the daughters...god damn, the daughters, he took his time with them ones." Turning his head Cherokee spat on the man's corpse leaving a cotton white mound on his forehead that dripped into his lifeless eyes. "One survived long enough to gimme a name, name he made'em scream while he...I gave'em a proper burial out over the mountain"

"So less say... I believe a murderin colored man. What you bring him here for? We ain't got no set bounty, ain't even have any inclination of these events." The boy stands a little bit firmer, his voice deepening. He was no doubt generation bred into the law. Skepticism under-toning every word.

"I's came to you, because I didn't know he was a lawman until I saw's badge marked sheriff. Was gonna hand it off to the next available man..but I'll tell ya now son, it ain't you. Not yet. "He throws the badge into a beam behind the boy, digging it's pointed star into the old wood. "This town need a new sheriff, see he's good for the job"

Posted with fresh paint to the wall outside Uncle Sammy's now hung a poster for all to see. Who would react to it and how was an enigma best left unassumed.

Position for Ridgewood sheriff. Temporary or full time- now open. Locate deputy Slade for more details

@cherokee_x: (is deputy slade an npc)

@gambler: (Yeah)

The brothers O'Riley were taken by surprise as the experienced gunslingers out on the outskirts of the village took aim and ended their wickedness. The acts of their final transgressions were fresh however, and their abrupt executions gave little room for any sort of atonement to be reached with their maker. As the men lay dead their lifeless corpses begin to cool, as their immortal souls shed their fleshy remains. The spirits of the O'Riley brothers stand in witness with complete dread, seeing the evidence left behind, their dead and they are aware. And angry. Cursing mindlessly at the situation at hand.

Jebediah enters the camp on horseback, with his revolvers drawn. His supernatural eyes can see the spirits as clear as day, as he strolls up to them ever so calmly. As the rider dismounts his steed he reaches into his saddlebag, removing long clanking chains, burning brightly from the hellfire they are forged from and smelling strongly of sulfur and brimstone. "I have reached my verdict concerning you O'Riley boys... I fear that this is indeed the end of the line, boys." Jebediah says as he tosses the chains down upon the rain soaked ground. The chains spring to life attaching themselves to the very sin of these men, and with men like this their is not much else left behind. After the chains have gathered the men, they can feel a strong pull as damnation takes hold and tugs them down into the vile pits of hell. Screams echo throughout the necropilis, only spirits and ravens have ears for hearing such things however.

The only sign left on the living world are thick ebony ashen blotches at the surface of the earthen floor where open portals opened up and swallowed the spirits down. A bit of dark smoke, and a vile smell.

After the men were taken down to begin their eternal suffering, Jebediah climbed back upon his steed and slowly made his way back into the darkness, heading towards the next town down the way. The town of Ridgewood, for a cold drink, a hot meal, and a warm bed with a companion with any luck. Jebediah being a dead man doesn't need to do these things of course, but what does need have to do with it? He enjoys taking advantage of having a mortal body to indulge the pleasures of life.

Where is everybody in this thread? haha

@fallenprophet: most likely assuming I'm not waitin for at least one character development before I make a plotline event lol

@maximus_newcastle: What? haha

@fallenprophet: Settin' up with Az. I want a merry band of bandits and we may or may not be friend or enemies.

Your Choice.