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J. Jackson

"Palms to heaven friend."

0 · 93 views · located in Fort Trinity

a character in “The Ballad of Fort Trinity”, originally authored by The Cynic, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Image
J e d i d i a h

Gold and rugged, Jed is outwardly a well-chiseled man with a weather worn exterior. Although seemingly young, his
face is bleached by the sun and riddled with past afflictions that have more-or-less faded over the years. His are
steely, calculating, and critical with a sense of woe or suppressed grievances. He is flaxen hair that is kept at about
shoulder length, and he is generally clean-shaven. His frame his tall, bordering 6'3, and lean. On the trail, he usually
adorns a stetson, dark duster coat, beige trousers, vest, and a white collar. Other times,
he is seen in a sable suit.

Personality
Candid and unpredictable - Jed is an enigma to some. When it suites him, he seems to possess the attitude of a
gentlemen. Most of the time, he is fairly brusque to those he finds and hindrance to his goals, or an annoyance in
general, regardless of who or what they are. He seems to have little regard for what society views as 'decent' or
'expected' of an individual. All in all, he is an anarchist and free spirit.

Equipment
Jed always carries a bandolier, lariat, two Smith & Wesson Schofield revolvers, a Winchester "Yellow Boy" rifle, and
a large survival knife. He is apparently a very reasoned frontiersman and exceptional rider. His current mount is a
buckskin quarterhorse/mustang mare named Blue. He also has a S.A. Wade Texas Saddle, silver spurs, and rattleskin
boots. In his saddle bags, he carries various supplies for outdoor living.

History
Not much is known about Jed, and he seems fully motivated to keep it that way. Some say he was formerly a law
man in a small town in Arizona, yet others say he was an outlaw. Hearsay.

So begins...

J. Jackson's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sinéad O'Dwyer Character Portrait: J. Jackson
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J e d
The sky rippled with the accents of a troubled sea; clouds swept up in rolls, like sand after a rushing tide and quaked with threatening downpour. The sun yielded to darkness, bleeding out the red flesh of Texas, leaving naught but black silhouettes and grey waste. The rider watched the storm clouds while still ahorse, his gaze unwavering from the distant contours of Fort Trinity. It was still such a long way... He put his heels to his mare and started her off on a trot, rising and falling from the saddle with the tempest hot on their heels. The sky - a once vibrant and hot canvas - had been smothered by black cloud-bank, pregnant with rain. The smell of damp soil and water soon wafted past his nostrils, and he set his horse off on a gallop, despite knowing it was too late. Forks of electricity split across the sky and the ceil thundered in pain, weeping with no relent. Fat tears began to pelt the crown of his Stetson, plaguing his ears with a broken percussion. Violent zephyrs joined the song and swept across the desert, whipping across all that dared to tread it. “Go, Blue, go!” he edged on his mare, nudging her side with a flash of silver spurs. The buckskin picked up her gait, releasing a fearful shrill when another crack of thunder tore through the heavens.

They breached the limits of Trinity, darting through the barren streets, kicking up mud and water with each stride and coating their limbs in silt. The rider quickly lowered his reining hand and pressed his knuckles against the base of his mount’s neck, signally her to come to a swift stop. The mare seized her gait, dug her front hooves into the mud, and came to a sliding halt with her hindquarters nearly slipping beneath her middle. When Blue finally came to a standstill, her breast heaved and her charcoal muzzle foamed at the bit. Two weeks of solid and harsh riding – it had taken its toll on her, but she was a solid creature.

Wearily, the rider walked her to a hitching post and dismounted fluidly, landing in the muddy streets below. A leather-clad hand ran down the length of the horse's neck and he grunted; her gold coat was lathered in perspire. He hitched her to the rail and she craned her neck down to drink her fill from the trough below while he quickly grabbed the majority of his necessities from a saddle-bag and paced through the saloon's entrance. The shutters yielded for his passage, and then his nostrils were bombarded with a stench of stale sweat, whiskey, whores, and other unpleasant flavors featured in a soggy backwater saloon. The stranger stepped into a haze of cigarette smoke, his face and features cowled by a brown Stetson and a wet-licked mop of blonde hair. Boots paced for the bar and then he claimed a vacant stool, placing one hand upon the wood and ordering a shot of bourbon to ward off the chill. His duster was heavy with drink when he shrugged it off his shoulders – it wouldn't be dry for days. Vexed, wet, and thoroughly exhausted, he threw the bartender a few coins when his remedy arrived, and shot it back without a second thought.

His mission at Bon Ochard would have to wait. Now was a time to drink...no one would recognize him here - or so he reckoned.

S i n é a d
“Aiden! Aiden!” The woman’s cries were too meek against the tenor of the storm. The sky boomed and a tempest tore across the pastures, reaping shrills and moans from the cattle as they thundered across the land. The earth trembled before the empyrean and the heavy stampede of frantic hooves. She heard nothing – the rain and all else drowned out her senses. In the distance, she no doubt caught a glance of her orchards scattering through the gales. But she could do nothing. Sinead clicked to her stud and sent him off to a gallop again, racing against the herd in hopes of steering them back towards the corrals. On the other side of the fray, three of her hands were following suite, whistling and hollering to rear them back towards the ranch. In any other circumstance, she had utterly no business being out there, but Charlie - her trusted friend and right-hand man - had fallen ill three days prior. They had already been short of hired help – who else did she have? Even with four riders, she was going to lose head, and her son had bolted off on his gelding without a word.

Her hat had been claimed by a mistral and her braid had lost its tether, thus releasing her wine colored locks into the wind. The long tendrils whipped against her face and adhered to her cheeks, and the rain stung her ears and caused her ears to bitterly ache. The rest of her limbs had betrayed her, her legs felt numb and her lithe knuckles had gone stiff at the reins. Fate had spat at her again – it had robbed her of her husband, her son’s affection, and torn Bon Ochard asunder. The stranger promised to her in Gavin’s will still remained an enigma and had never come to aid her – how was she supposed to manage the estate alone? Abandoned…she was abandoned on all fronts and she would just have to digest the truth.

The herd had been relatively calm when they were driving them in to the stockyard earlier, until the storm had slithered up their necks without an advocate and voraciously began to assault her domain. The cattle had grown frantic and scattered, and then entropy ensued. So there she was, barreling across the fields in trousers and dusters, feeling a pang in her heart whilst witnessing a tiny calf splinter his leg on a jutting rock. These creatures were her entire livelihood – she had nothing else save for the depleting vineyards out yonder.

------------

One week – a week had passed since the expected arrival of the so called ‘J.Jackson.’ Aiden pissed on the name and cursed his father and mother for their idiosyncrasies. Although he had only been alive for little over a decade, Aiden O’Dwyer was an impeccable youth as far as maturity went, despite his foul temper and his reputation as a degenerate. The teen was smart, brilliant even, but he was not well loved by any measure. He was taking shit into his own hands, as per usual. He was going to find the fool and maybe greet his fist with his face. So Aiden ran - he had given his mount a slap on the rump and bolted down towards the Fort, leaving his mother and the hands to carry on with their futile dance. He would have to find Jackson himself, and the best place to start was the saloon. He wasn't allowed in of course, he wasn’t a moron, but anyone in could hear him if he called loud enough.

For the second time that evening, horse and rider barreled down the empty streets of Trinity and came to a sliding sloshy stop. The boy jumped down from his horse and splashed into the mud, seemingly unhindered by the cold, wind, and rain. He was impossibly tall for fourteen, six feet and still growing with a voice deep and ripe. His eyes reflected the storm; green, menacing, and unpredictable. His boots sloshed through the shit and muck and he ascended the saloon steps, peering in over the shutters. “Jackson!” the boy cried, his face marred by a scowl. “J.Jackson! Get yer’ ass out here!” God only knew what he was thinking. Aiden was more likely to get his nose bashed in, or worse – a bullet in the skull by the Lucky Sevens.

Within the saloon, a blonde stranger stirred in his seat and subtly canted his head rearward towards the door. But he ignored him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daniel Shay Character Portrait: Jonah Corbin Character Portrait: Madeline Whitten Character Portrait: J. Jackson
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Max looked up from the bar as Jonah walked in. The man was a bit of a fixture, drowning his sorrows in whiskey on many a night. He had the bottle in hand and a shot poured for him before Jonah was fully inside the saloon.

“Evening Jonah.” The bartender gave him a nod. “Give me a nod if you want another.” The bartender turned his attention to one of the girls and a few of the other patrons.

Maddy let a small almost sad laugh out at the stranger’s comment. “We were once all lost and wayward, at least some of us still have our souls.”

His hand slid on the counter. Maddy could see the bills under the calloused hands. Times like this still took her by surprise. The men knew her to be the less flirtatious or gaudy of the girls but they treated her like they did all the saloon girls. Rarely a situation like this occurred. A stranger who was a bit more reserved and cautious.

“Shy and kind...with blue eyes. Dangerous combination.” Maddy thought as she laid her hand on his. She was glad her heart didn’t swoon like it once had.

Her smile remained and she sighed just a little, “Plenty left for you. How about we start with a hot bath and get your clothes cleaned?” Maddy moved around the bar to stand beside him. “Lots of water heated and ready for weary travellers.”

Maddy took his hand and waited for him to grab his hat and coat. Her other hand quickly slipped the bills away.

She paused, another stranger entering the saloon. He made his way to the bar, Max serving him his bourbon. “So many new faces. I wonder how many will stay and how many will end up in the ground.”


Maddy smiled began to lead the way upstairs when a yell made everyone in a saloon stop. At first it could have easily been mistaken for the wind but Nellie moved to a window and looked out.

“The the hell does that boy think he’s doing? He is going to get himself shot. I don’t know who he’s looking for but I hope for his mama’s sake it isn’t one of the Sevens.” Nellie moved to the door and stuck her head out.

“If you know what’s good for you son you will get yourself back home before you make your mother sick with worry.” Nellie placed a hand on her hip.

Maddy shook her head. “Pay them no mind. I am sure they will get it all sorted out.” She looked back at the stranger and continued up the stairs. She led him down the hallway. From the closed doors on either side sounds of laughter, voices and other activities could be heard. Near the end of the hall, Maddy opened a door.

The room was small, a tub and small table taking up most of the space. A chair sat in the corner. It was one of four rooms on the upper floor meant for bathing. Maddy stepped inside. The tub was already full of hot water. All the tubs in the place would remain full as long as the saloon was full. The kitchen staff would work tirelessly to keep large pots of water hot and at the ready.

“You can undress and get in. Soap’s there.” She pointed to the table. “Give me a yell once you are in, I’ll be just outside the door. I will give your clothes off to be cleaned. You’ll have them back as soon as they are finished with them.”

She moved towards the man, stopping just in front of him. Maddy cocked her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement in the lamplight. “You have a name? Help so I know whose clothes I am giving over.”