Thomas Smith
Thomas Smith
Male Human Maverick/Gunslinger 1/1; VP/WP: 14/12; Init +7 (+4 feat, +3 ex); Armor Class 13 (+3 dex); Spd 30’; Atk +4 ranged (2d6+1 derringer, 2 shots, 15’ increment, 2d6+1 colt frontier, 6 shots, 30’ increment or 2d8+1 winchester ’73, 16 shots, 60’ increment) or +0 melee (1d3-1 unarmed); SV Fort +4 Ref +9 Will +4; SZ M; Chips 2; Str 9, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 14.
Skills: Bluff +6 (4/+2), Diplomacy +4 (2/+2), Gunplay +5 (2/+3), Hide +7 (4/+3), Holdout +7 (4/+3), Intimidate +4 (2/+2), Listen +3 (3/+0), Move Silently +7 (4/+3), Sense Motive +4 (4/+0), Speed Load +5 (2/+3), Spot +3 (3/+0), Tumble +5 (2/+3)
Feats: Improved Initiative, Point Blank Shot, Rapid Shot
Appearance: Standing only 5'3", the scrawny figure is nicely dressed in a well-fitted gray suit. An oversized, bony left hand twitches near his pistol, while the other grips a Winchester ’73 rifle tightly. His eyes and ears seem to shift towards every direction, looking and listening for any small disturbance. Boyish features and light blonde hair cap off this tense-looking teenager.
Equipment ($180): fancy colt frontier with ivory handle ($30, 2 lb), derringer ($8, 0.5 lb), winchester ’73 ($25, 7 lb), 100 shots of .44-40 ammo ($4, 4 lb), 10 shots of .44 ammo ($1, 0.5 lb), gunbelt, quickdraw holster and regular holster ($16, 3 lb), boots ($8, 4 lb), gray suit ($15, 6 lb), Father’s gold pocketwatch ($10, 0.5 lb), $66 remaining. Total equipment weight: 28 lb
Background: Father, mother and I departed London, England in the eighth summer of my youth. We knew the overabundance of unsettled lands in America’s West stifles the sprouting of a feudal aristocracy. This nurtured within us the willingness to traverse the thousands of miles and to bind our fate to four-and-eighty acres of land in the Dakota Territories. Endless toil and meager rewards filled our experience there, though the grains of triumph when so magnified by hope were sufficient to sate our appetite.
Eventually, fate presented to us cruel circumstances through drought and wildfires. Very nearly did we lose our precious homes and loved ones, but nevertheless we toiled and hoped. But desperate times bred desperate men. Though we might have sacrificed more pleasure and labored with more effort, greed-filled eyes could see no reason. They arrived, seized any portable wealth, slaughtered father and mother and razed the remainder of our lands. Through father and mother’s affection and foresight, I watched the events and escaped our destruction.
I had rummaged the ruins and was parched and starved before the Pastor discovered me. He rescued me from the clutches of death and attempted to provide a home. But youthful spirit had spawned within a vengeful hatred. Though the Pastor’s words on Sunday and on every day would urge otherwise, I departed his company with only bloodlust in my thoughts.
Vengeance proved a simpler matter than most would have imagined. In lieu of an honourable duel at high noon, my prey felt the Lord’s justice often in outhouses and the beds of their strumpets. My heart finally knows tranquility, though my mind knows vengeance will beget more vengeance. Meanwhile, I prepare for the day when the curls’ sons and daughters long to quiet their raging blood.
The Pastor’s troubles stirred my attention through chance and circumstance—in a manner similar to my rescue. Upon such news, I purchased a rail ticket on the Iron Dragon and headed towards Billings. While the Pastor most probably prefers an alternate means of aid, he will receive mine—both bloody and unbecoming of the Lord’s faithful children.
