JACK
A break in the relentless fall of snow is all it takes for Jack to prepare The Ark for travel. King's End is clogged with the stuff, even around the Boondocks, though here the wooden docksides are grey with slush and salt rather than the pretty postcard scenes likely to be found further inland. The Captain steps off the galleon's gangplank and onto the docks to make some final preparations - provisions, fuel, perhaps a few shipments of interesting cargo disguised as something mundane.
It doesn't take him far from The Ark though, not with their departure looming. The ship sits unhappily in the water, her dark lacquer seeming tired against the opaque sky, her maroon sails folded like the wings of an impatient bird. On deck he can hear his first mate calling orders to the other sailors, and Jack pauses to address a merchant with a crate who seems particularly keen on getting it aboard his ship.
He's in luck today - Jack is familiar with the man and in a generous mood, and so he accepts the bribe with little more than a flick of his wrist to have it disappearing up his coat sleeve. The coat in question flaps against the backs of his legs with a gust of wind off the Arclight, prompting him to turn up the collar against the chill. He strolls at the dockside before The Ark, taking stock of barrels, boxes and other necessities being loaded into her belly, eyes on the cargo but mind and magic sharp for interruptions.
It doesn't take him far from The Ark though, not with their departure looming. The ship sits unhappily in the water, her dark lacquer seeming tired against the opaque sky, her maroon sails folded like the wings of an impatient bird. On deck he can hear his first mate calling orders to the other sailors, and Jack pauses to address a merchant with a crate who seems particularly keen on getting it aboard his ship.
He's in luck today - Jack is familiar with the man and in a generous mood, and so he accepts the bribe with little more than a flick of his wrist to have it disappearing up his coat sleeve. The coat in question flaps against the backs of his legs with a gust of wind off the Arclight, prompting him to turn up the collar against the chill. He strolls at the dockside before The Ark, taking stock of barrels, boxes and other necessities being loaded into her belly, eyes on the cargo but mind and magic sharp for interruptions.
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
