Recent Statuses

2 days ago
Current First DnD session went awesomely! My players loved it, and a dragonborn was nearly killed by a bugbear.
4 days ago
Starting up DMing my first campaign this weekend!
24 days ago
I'll be out for a week or so. Holidays and family crisis.
2 mos ago
50,033 words written! I finished NaNoWriMo!
2 mos ago
Thanksgiving+writing a book+looong papers for school= not much in the way of activity from Tybalt for the next week.
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Heyo! I'm Tybalt, and I'm an alcoholic...

Shoot, I think I'm doing this wrong. Y'know what, I'mma just throw up a character sheet for myself, y'all know how to read those.

Name: Tybalt
Species: Human. But, like, kinda Hobbit, too?
Gender: Duderino
Age: 19
Rank: Peasant, probably.
House: Probably, like, Ladrian or Venture? Oh, duh. Capulet.
Personality: Hard to nail down since I'm the one writing it, but I'm a type three on the Enneagram if that's worth anything.
Description: Two arms, two legs, a head, no feathers.
Abilities: Casual to advanced writing. I love a good advanced, but it's gotta be engaging as well as deep. Advanced is an investment, so I rarely keep up with more than one at a time.
Likes: Pirates, Knights, Cowboys, and everything in-between. I don't mind a good romance, but I'm just as happy to have a bro-tp as an otp. I also love anything by Brandon Sanderson, so if we've got some other fans out there, hit me up in the pm's.
Dislikes: This is less a dislike than a personal failing, but I tend to over-commit to too many stories, then not respond very quickly. You have been warned, I guess.

Most Recent Posts

Thank you! I really put some effort into that one, trying to make use of the space. I'm excited for them to head out on their adventure!
The young woman-- Kate, as she introduced herself-- kept getting more intriguing. She was forthright, open, and yet simultaneously beguiling. Every action felt intentional, directed to create a different image of herself in his lowly-sobering eyes. The way she held the bottle, for example, rocking it slowly but actively against the meeting of her crotch was nothing if not suggestive. It drew his eyes, against his will. He chided himself for his improper focusing, but then changed his mind, letting his eyes wander over her appearance freely.

She was really quite an attractive little thing. She had clearly been through quite a bit, but instead of crumbling like stone, she had hardened like iron tempered in a forge. Her face wasn't old enough to be terribly wrinkled, but it did have some of the hardness that might be expected in an older woman. Somehow, as he examined her, the enormous pistol she had rested against her thigh seemed to fit her more and more. No wonder people called her by the gun's name, it seemed like an extension of her personality: menacing yet beautiful, cold yet observant. She carried the weapon as openly as she did her past, revealing it without hesitation when the moment demanded it. In every way possible, she was a far cry from the demure little housewives and tired, uninterested whores he had experience with. In a life filled with death, this girl was filled with vibrant life.

Somehow, through an enormous exertion of willpower, Reuben tore his eyes from the enticing figure before him. The bottle kept moving suggestively against her, but he dragged his unwilling eyes to her face, as she spoke once more, interrupted only momentarily by the sound of gunfire below them.

"Manning... Yeah, I've heard of the bastard. He's a particularly nasty fellow, from what I've been told." He was startled by the girl's wink more than the sound of the gunshot. Somehow it seemed more immediately threatening to him. He went quiet as Kate began recounting the horrific circumstances that had led to her search for vengeance.

He didn't have a response to the harrowing tale brought before him. He let out his breath slowly as she finished, her cheeks remarkably free of tears after the recounting. Her eyes seemed hard, at odds with the levity with which she spoke. This tale was clearly one on which she had dwelled significantly. He couldn't place by her age exactly how long ago it would have happened, but she had certainly suffered the effects for long enough that it had reshaped her entire worldview into something grim and humorless. It was remarkable that she was able to maintain such a strong front with something like that shadowing her. He shivered internally. He'd hate to be the man that did this one wrong. She seemed more than capable of fulfilling the threats she spat with vengeance and acidity.

Leaning forward somewhat in his seat, Reuben regarded the young woman carefully, scratching his chin contemplatively as he spoke. "I see. You were done wrong by these men, terribly wrong, and you want to be the one who exacts your revenge on them. A bit of vigilante justice, eh?" He smiled despite himself. Yes... this he could get behind. No good showing his hand so early, but the idea had a remarkable appeal.

As Kate finished off a sip of the drink, he adjusted his seating once more, though the reason was different. There was something enticing about seeing her drink from a bottle that had been so tightly nestled in the crook between her legs. He chided himself for thinking such, but made no effort to look away from the sight, accepting the bottle and downing a hearty swallow himself before setting it aside once more.

"Well. I'm not sure how t' take your callin' out of my heritage. I know plenty of men with indian blood who can't track worth shit. I'm not one of those men, luckily for you. I couldn't tell you if it's my Comanche grandmother or just a talent for it, but I imagine I would be mighty useful to someone like you." He smiled, though it didn't meet his eyes. "I wouldn't dare lie to you and say that your quest doesn't sound as worthy as any I've heard of. Retribution... yes, I admit, I like the sound of that." He slowly, carefully rose from the chair, tugging his trousers up a bit as he did. Fortunately, the pistol was still on the bed, rather than in the fearsome young woman's capable hand.

"I have some things to fetch from the stable first, and there is, of course, the matter of payment for my participation, but dammit..." He trailed off, a light coming into his eyes that gave him the look of someone years younger. "Yes, god damn it, I'll do it." He extended one callused hand before him to shake that of the girl's. "Kate Clementine, let's see about gettin' you some fuckin' retribution."
Whatever expectations Owen had held about the sharpshooting legend were banished almost immediately. Annie Oakley seemed humble, down-to-earth, and even a bit casual about her notoriety. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the very least, and at the offer of an answer to whatever question he might have, he found himself considering carefully, not wanting to waste such a valuable chance to speak with the legend.

"Oh, well, if you're taking questions, then I suppose I'm a bit curious as to what you're doing in town. I mean, there hasn't been a circus or show like that in a good while, from what I've been told, at least." He tapped his fingers on the bar nervously as he added "To be honest, my sister and I actually just rode in today ourselves. We haven't much idea of the tone of the place; for all we know they have circuses every day."

Fawn shook her head helplessly at her brother's fumbling. "I'll take it from here." She patted him on the shoulder, tugging at the hem of her vest to adjust the fit slightly. "Owen here just wants to know what brought a lovely young thing like you to a ramshackle town like this one." She failed to mention the fact that she was no older than the young woman. "We're just taking advantage of the town's local facilities before moving on. We're drifters, more than anything else. Most towns don't take kindly to that, 'specially when one of the drifters is half-Cherokee, but we take what we can get. We'll more likely than not be staying here, maybe a couple of days, then back to the trail. Such is life, right? How about you? You here for long?" She downed her drink, slamming the glass back on the bar with no regard for the survival of the item or even the bar itself.
You set the tone in this post so well! Every action that your character takes seems like it has a purpose, and it builds beautifully. I must have read it three times before I started writing on mine.
Though initially his tipsiness and well-founded self-confidence prevented Reuben from feeling any fear at the gun held by the small young woman, the feel of the cold steel barrel against his nether regions quickly snapped him back to reality. Petite or not, young or not, this young woman had a gun at his tool, and the odds weren't bad that she was willing to use it, at that. He realized in that moment that he had been taking this with far less seriousness than he should have been. Apparently she was right: alcohol had numbed his sense of self-preservation.

Holding his hands out before himself protectively, he stepped back half a pace, then did as he was told. It didn't sit right with him, being ordered around, but a gun is a gun. Best to play along... for the moment, at least.

With a hand on the chair's back to steady himself, he eased down into the seat carefully, trying not to make any sudden moves. "You're a right firebrand, so you are. Take care you don't burn yourself." As he sat, he added "No need for any of this unpleasantness. I'm certain that a couple of rational, reasonable people like you and I could come to some sorta non-violent-type agreement, now wouldn't you agree?"

"You... wanted my name, correct?" He was hesitant to give it out so easily. He was a bit protective of his identity, though, of course, he was a good bit more protective of the region threatened by the Colt. "My name is Reuben Caerwynn, called Luckshot by some, though not so much anymore." He chuckled to himself, with a dark, self-loathing humor. "Back in the day I was quite the character. They wrote dime novels about me, did you know that? It wasn't even more than a couple years ago that my name made blackhats shake in their damn boots." He spoke without a hint of pride, as though he were resigned to the fact that he would be easily recognized, but had tried to put such things behind him.

"And you? I heard a bit o' what you were splutterin' downstairs, but I can't say I caught your name. Only seems fair, since I told you mine and shared my drink. Hell, all you've done for me is kept me from a damn unpleasant whore and pointed a gun at my nethers. Now, either let me get back to my business, or see about explainin' yourself."
As was often the case, Fawn was the first to notice a newcomer. Even so, she didn't pay much mind to the girl, at least at first. Not until, that is, Owen also caught a glance of her over the rim of his glass of gin.

Nudging his sister and whispering sharply, he hissed "Fawn! That's Annie Oakley! The sharpshooter, the one from the circuses and all that!" He shot another quick glance at the gunslinger, somewhat in awe. He'd heard tales of her, some probably true, some which couldn't possibly be. Sure, she could probably kill a cricket at forty yards, on a good day. Everyone had their talents. But the idea that she had out-ridden Yellow Horse, or that she could hold her hand above flames without feeling the pain of their tongues... well, some things just couldn't be so.

Fawn was less in awe. Turning immediately, she stood and moved a couple stools down, next to the famed sharpshooter. She motioned for Owen to do the same, and with a moment of hesitation, she did. Extending a hand roughened somewhat by a life of hunting and tracking, she introduced herself.

"Fawn Farrow. And you're Miss Oakley, if I'm not mistaken, isn't that right? It's a pleasure." She motioned behind her. "The fellow over there trying to look all suave is Owen, my brother." She looked carefully at Annie for a moment, reading her expression as well as she could, while taking a swig from her glass. People usually assumed they weren't related, and the questions of that nature had begun to wear on her after years of it.

Owen looked rather unsure of himself, his hand still near the split of his vest, ready to go for his Derringer at a moment's notice. He felt jumpy, despite the relaxed atmosphere of the saloon. He'd been out in the wild for too long, perhaps. Even so, he nodded his agreement with Fawn's words, waving his hand casually to the legend seated a few stools away.
Thanks for mentioning that! I assumed it to be the case, but it's wonderful to be reminded. Since Reuben is a bit of a gruff guy, I'll ditto that and mention that I already like your character a whole lot!
The town was a tired one, yet lively. The sort of place that had once been an impressive hotspot, fed by prospectors seeking gold and by merchants seeking a populace. It had all the accoutrements of such a town: a general store, a saloon, a brothel, even a deep, deep well providing cold, clean fresh water to all. Though the buildings had worn and their facades had faded, there was still a bustling populace; most of it disreputable, but still active.

It was into this town that a pair of siblings rode. On a proud, golden Kiger mustang rode a teenaged girl, sitting pretty on a beaded saddle. Her hair was weaved together into a braid down her back, bouncing against her buckskin vest as the mustang slowly plodded past the town gate.

On her left, on an ash-grey mare, clothed in a white undershirt and well-tailored, but well-worn leathers, rode a young man, squinting against the sun as he sat uncomfortably in a tooled-leather saddle. Both wore their vests open due to the sun, though the young woman buttoned hers closed as they reached town, preserving her modesty.

The horses plodded slowly, clearly tired from a long journey, and upon reaching the saloon, the girl hopped nimbly down from her saddle to the dust, tying her horse loosely at the hitching post. She immediately headed into the thriving place, followed by the young man, who tied his horse carefully and walked with more caution, keeping a hand near his vest, where a two-shot Derringer was stored. The young woman wore her Volcanic pistol openly, low on her waist where she could draw it at a moment's notice.

The batwing doors to the saloon burst open, and the two sat quickly at the bar. The young man spoke.

"Rooms for a night, please." He flashed a coin, sliding it across the bar.

"Certainly, sir! And will you be sharing a room with your lady friend here?"

The young man looked moderately uncomfortable, while the girl chuckled to herself. He finally spoke. "Ehm, yes, but she's my sister. No romantic entanglement."

The barkeep looked skeptical, as the young woman undoubtedly had some native in her, while the young man was white as anyone, only tanned slightly from the harshness of the Western sun.

"Well, whatever you want to tell yourself. Can I get you some drinks? Food, perhaps?"

The young woman spoke now. "Bourbon for me, and gin for my brother. And some stew, if you have it."

The barkeep nodded amenably, bustling off to fetch the drinks and meals. The siblings sat, the brother uneasily, and the sister relaxed.
Ooo, you're right, she is better. I had a really hard time finding a good faceclaim for her. I'll look at the picture and see what's up.

Alrighty! I wasn't sure what "Portrayer" was, but here they are! Let me know if anything needs fixin'!
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