"Newt" Gaspard — Rustler

[Choomie]

Theme

The sun sinks below them ragged hills, casting the plain in shades of purple and blue. A lone rider materializes through the thickening dusk, barely more than a silhouette against the darkening sky. NEWT sits easy in the saddle, guiding his horse with light hands as night falls around them. Beneath the brim of his hat, his face remains shrouded in shadow, but those eyes glint cold and cruel. His mouth ticks up in a sardonic expression, as if to recall a joke only he knows.

Once, folk called him THE LAMBRETH BRANDER, a cattle rustler of renown, but those days are past. Now he drifts aimlessly, a haunted man running from ghosts that clutch at his heels. Though he remains at home in the wild as few men are these days, it's that outlaw name trailing him like a lengthening shadow that refuses to give him his peace. Beneath the shell beats the heart of a man with deep roots sunk into bitter soil.

NEWT spurs his horse east into the engulfing night, slipping away into the formless dark like a revenant on the wind. What dark intent or inner turmoil drive the rider ever deeper into the wilderness of plunging darkness? Only the empty grasses of the plain seem to know, stretching to infinity under the glittering stars. He loses himself in the land, as unfathomable and solitary as the wild, unwritten land unfolding beneath his mount's steady stride. Come sunrise, what scenes will be revealed in this vacant land, where earth meets sky? For now, the world is quiet.

Character Sheet

https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheets/?id=2841836

Animal Companions

Cavalier Animal Companion: 'Little Lady'

Starting Statistics

Size Large; Speed 50 ft.; AC +4 natural armor

Attack bite (1d4), 2 hooves* (1d6)

Ability Scores Str 18, Dex 13, Con 15, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 6

Special Qualities low-light vision, scent.

Eye For Talent +2 Strength (16 -> 18)

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A Regular Horse

Starting Statistics

Size Large; Speed 50 ft.; AC +4 natural armor

Attack bite (1d4), 2 hooves* (1d6)

Ability Scores Str 18, Dex 13, Con 15, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 6

Special Qualities low-light vision, scent.

Description

Newt sits tall in the saddle, still possessing the solid, rangy frame of a man in his prime at six feet and two inches tall, though time has whittled him down to a wiry 175 lbs. His blond hair has faded near to silver over the decades, just wild tufts escaping from beneath his hat. Deep lines etch his face—creases worn into the leathery skin from a lifetime of weathering sun, wind, and aches.

The eyes truly capture the man. Though narrowed and hooded by heavy lids, Newt's hazel eyes flash keen as any raptor; years on the frontier have gifted him with the far-sight of an eagle and the focus of a hawk. Some say it's foolhardy to meet Newt's eyes for long, so compelling is the mind and iron will burning within.

His hands are large-knuckled and calused, still possessing the rancher's strength earned through countless years of ranching and rustling. While his once-muscled frame has grown lean with age, Newt retains a certain limberness and power despite the increasing stiffness in his gait. Scars, old and new, crisscross the skin of his arms exposed below rolled-up shirt sleeves.

Although slowing, Newt's dignity and presence cannot be touched by time. Experience has turned him to a hardened, solitary spirit still burning with a wild and untamable spark. Though the years take their toll, his vitality remains defiant until the last, eternally renewing his fraying body with the same tenacity that built the world.

Demeanor

Newt is a man of few words. He lets his actions do the talking for him, and they often holler louder than any spoken word could have been uttered. His eyes have seen the wicked underbelly of humanity, legends come and go, great men and women rise and fall. His hands have felt the blistered touch of the wild. The landscape had carved in him a hardness and sharpness like a canyon rock, until he knew little of delicacy and luxury. To Newt, words are wind and wasteful. He says what he needs to when the time calls for it, with a blunt efficiency that wastes no breath. Though his lips are sparse of speech, his mind held a deep wellspring of frontier wisdom, lessons learned, and folktales of yesteryear. In the rare moments when he had much to say, around a campfire typically, his stories brimmed with hard-learned lessons wrought from the experience of riding a saddle beneath an unforgiving sun.

Fiercely independent, Newt answers to no law but his own. The rules of men are but irritating gnats, blocking true progress for the world. He is content with believing the trappings of modern life are of no use to him; they simply constrain a once great society. His true home is the open road, where a man's life is survived by grit and wit and a special stubbornness. The thought of being tied down in a metropolis turns his stomach like rancid meat. He appreciates roaming wherever the wind takes him, beholden to no law but his own. Newt possesses a restlessness, owing to his love of open spaces. This wild independence was in his blood, for Newt trusted few and questioned all authority. Corrupt leaders and crooked lawmen had taught him that power spoils absolutely, even the purest soul.

One of Newt's peculiarities is a jagged scar that runs along the side of his head—a memento from his cavalry days and a brush with the Reaper's cruel scythe. Though already marked by Fate, she was not yet finished with him. Though no soldier now, he had once donned the uniform; he carries the same service revolver he was equipped with so long ago, faithfully maintained and drawn with lightning speed.

Guns were not the only mastery Newt possesses. He had a preternatural way with animals, especially horses—wild stallions and steeds that lost their spite under his trained hand. He could almost commune with beasts like kindred spirits, training them with care to accomplish great feats for an animal.

Background

The night held silent as the grave out there on the range, just the crackling campfire breaking the stillness. Nathaniel Gaspard sat alone beside the flames, turning a hunk of rabbit meat spitted over the coals. Not a soul knew him, or if Nathaniel was even his true name—not since the day he woke abandoned on the field of one of Lastwall's stands against the Reaper, memories scattered like tumbleweeds over the ground.

All he recollected was pain—his leg tore open by shrapnel, the fever of a searing rot setting in. Through blurred vision he glimpsed a barren field under ashed skies, devoid of life. Flickers began to surface: pounding hooves, banners snapping aloft. But those days riding with the Lastwall cavalry seemed distant now. All that remained was the man left dying in that nameless place, cast off and forgotten. Newt's mind drifted between waking and fever dreams, clinging to a life while dissolution beckoned him into the void. Somehow he dragged his body over the hard earth, slick with his own blood, away from that charnel field. The infection burned as he crawled, each tiny movement sheer agony. Collapsing into a roadside ditch, he awaited the dark embrace of oblivion. But deep within, a stubbornness refused surrender. Not after everything sacrificed now gone, stripped away.

Voices pulled him back from the claws of death. A wagon rumbled to a halt, and gentle hands lifted his frame into the wagon bed. As the wagon rolled down the road, the preacher's kindly wife tended to him. Her care wrested him from the rot taking hold. They came to the wild frontier of Lambreth, far across Lastwall's coast by way of southern Ustalav. Distant from the war in his homeland, no soul here knew him or his past. He went by 'Newt', a familiar name for Nathaniel. He started over, relying on survival skills and defiant spirit. As his leg mended into a knotted divot of scar tissue, Newt carved out a meager existence on society's ragged edge.

Breaking wilds horses and odd jobs here and there, he adapted to the lawless borderlands of the River Kingdoms. But a thirst for danger and spite toward the authorities who abandoned him festered inside. Bit by bit, Newt slid further into the shadows—running contraband from Daggermark to Fort Drelev, trafficking illicit goods across kingdom lines.

Now in his twilight years, he roams as an outlaw for hire. Freedom to challenge authority and live apart from the world that deemed him disposable, those drive his restless spirit in the badlands. Where the world cast him out, here he stakes his own claim. Survival remains his sole purpose in a society that left him for dead.

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Complication: Wanted Man

WANTED!

NATHANIEL GASPARD

ALIAS "THE LAMBRETH BRANDER"

Wanted for numerous counts of livestock theft and illegal animal branding in the frontier counties of Lambreth and Daggermark. Gaspard is known to brand stolen cattle horses with fraudulent marks before trafficking the animals across kingdom lines. His smuggling operation is believed to run out of several secluded ranch properties east of Fort Drevlev. Gaspard is known to be a dangerous and armed fugitive who has already wounded lawmen in shootouts and escapes. He is approximately 60 years old, 6' tall, possibly 180 lbs. Gray hair, weathered face, walks with a limp. A reward of 200 gold pieces is offered for information leading to the capture of Nathaniel Gaspard. He is wanted dead or alive. Approach with extreme caution as he is considered armed and dangerous. All inquires should be directed to the River Kingdoms Lambreth Territory Marshal's Office.

Edited October 11, 2023 by Choomie (see edit history)

[OzzyKP]

Great app, definitely capturing an archetype of the west. I have some comments:

1. What is his backstory?
2. What class archetypes did you pick?
3. Deadly aim is listed as your 3rd level feat, but you get that for free from the Elephant in the Room feat rules.

[Choomie]

2 hours ago, OzzyKP said:

Great app, definitely capturing an archetype of the west. I have some comments:

1. What is his backstory?
2. What class archetypes did you pick?
3. Deadly aim is listed as your 3rd level feat, but you get that for free from the Elephant in the Room feat rules.

1. Thank you for the feedback! I was about to add his backstory this morning.

2. Right now, I have chosen the following: Cavalier (Luring Cavalier) 1, Ranger (Groom, Transporter, Trapper) 1, Unchained Rogue (Bandit, Smuggler) 1. The full character progression will be this, at a hypothetical level 20: Cavalier (Luring Cavalier) 4, Ranger (Groom, Transporter, Trapper) 7 / Unchained Rogue (Bandit, Smuggler) 5 / Slayer (Bounty Hunter, Cleaner) 4.

3. I will switch out that feat for something else! I think I'll go with Dirty Fighting.

[OzzyKP]

Unfortunately, Groom & Transporter don't stack, they both replace favored terrain.

[Choomie]

1 minute ago, OzzyKP said:

Unfortunately, Groom & Transporter don't stack, they both replace favored terrain.

Oh good catch! I'll probably ditch Groom. It's a tough choice, I like both of them for flavor, but Groom is kind of notoriously awful. I'll correct the sheet.

[Choomie]

Okay, I think I have this complete. I have some bookkeeping to do surrounding the stowed equipment on his wagon.

Edited October 10, 2023 by Choomie (see edit history)