Gilbert Percy "The Crimson" Gilane

[LucianV]

Gilbert Percy "The Crimson" Gilane

Arcane Scholar, Gun for Hire, Part Time Prospector

 

 

Mechanics

"In truth, I've been a student of mystical arts since an age proceeding my ability to perambulate. The gun is new though."

Race: Human
Class: Magus (Eldritch Archer) 7 | Gunslinger VMC
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Theme Song: Tank!

 

Description & Personality

"As a general rule, I don't dislike people. I do harbor an incalculable level of distain for the individual responsible for bestowing on me the epithet of 'The Crimson', though."

 

Gilbert Gilane stood in front of the thick iron door that led to the 'hideout' of the Grey Crows. It was the most open secret in all of Freeridge, or so it seemed. It was nestled in the kind place infrequently traveled by the people of town; where all eyes remained downcast or pointed solely in the direction they were headed, and mothers kept their children within arm's reach. Any doubts this was the place vanished as he watched them cart stolen loot into the large warehouse door on the other side of the building. He pushed the round spectacles a bit higher on his hawk-like nose, adjusted his cravat, and gave three sturdy knocks.

As the door swung open, two burly, neckless men covered in scars and wreaking of whisky stepped out. The first cracked his knuckles while the other brandished small iron club. "No soulsitters." The bald, bare-handed man said in a tone of annoyance and finality.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, his mouth agape as he pondered the man's words. "My apologies. I seem to have encountered a lapse in my auditory faculties. Did you, perchance, intend to convey the sentiment of 'no solicitors?'"

"S'wat I said idn't it? No Soulsitters."

Gilbert's face perked up, a smile creeping across his lips. "Then I have rather splendid tidings for the both of us. I assure you my presence here does not concern any manner of solicitation." He took a short breath and extended a hand to the pair. "Gilbert Percy Gilane, at your service. I'm here seeking an audience with your esteemed superior, in regard to the considerable bounty attributed to your band of miscreants. I was informed the phrase 'Slow Turning Turtle' would facilitate my ingress into your clandestine sanctuary, thereby permitting an amiable parley to take place."

The two men exchanged silent glances, clearly not sure what to make of the man bold enough to knock on their front door. A flicker of recognition sparked in the eyes of the one holding the club. "Gilane? Idn'tat 'The Crimsons' last name, Kel?" he said as he turned to his companion.

"While I am flattered the moniker has reached your ears, I must express my distain for that particular sobriquet. I've found there are numerous fabricated narratives that have led to no end of unfounded notoriety, not to mention it perpetuates a somewhat sinister visage that does not accurately portray my character."

"Bard." Kel said as he started nodding. "He's some sort of bard. Talks like a bard don't he, Fin?"

"Last week in the saloon I saw a bard. Shit himself on stage." Fin replied.

"Dysentery?" Kel asked.

"Naw, part of the act, apparently."

"Did he call himself the 'shitty bard'?"

"Naw, calls himself Silvester. You really think this guy is The Crimson?"

"No way. Look at him! The Crimson is like ten feet tall and shoots lightning from his arse. This guys, what? Five-Five on his tip toes an a hundred pounds soaking wet? Anyway, The Crimson is a real rough rider type, wouldn't be caught dead in fancy duds like those."

"Word came just yesterday, The Crimson's the one who turned in the bounty on Big Bill Holcaster. Heard he picked him up and tossed him right off the third-floor balcony of a brothel."

"Well, I wouldn't trust this dotard to pick up a bushel of apples, let alone Big Bill." The two men chuckled as they nodded in agreement.

"If I may offer a slight correction to that narrative. The locale in question was, in fact, the second story of a saloon. Though the occupants did include ladies and gentlemen that engaged in what I believe colloquially is known as the world's oldest profession."

"So, you're sayin you're really him then? The Crimson? The one who slew all them cultists up in the Bittervale and rode that demon they summoned all the way into town?"

At this point, Gilbert's frustration had become apparent. He licked his lower lip and sighed. "Good sirs, my patience wanes as you continue this discourse on matters of little consequence. Might I suggest we hasten our proceedings and arrive at the heart of the matter?"

"I thought he'd be taller." Kel said, his tone one of disappointment.

"Well Mr. Crimson, no one see's the boss without an appointment. And you ain't got one." Fin rolled his shoulders and then crossed his arms, puffing out his chest, which seemed to double the man's size.

"Gentlemen. I am quite flummoxed. I have followed the standards of social etiquette both in providing you with the proper pass phrase as well as making polite conversation. But time, as the adage so eloquently conveys, does possess a value akin to pecuniary assets."

"What?" Kel and Fin both said in unison.

"Hells...Where is Peggy when I need a translator for those of limited comprehension? Uh...Time is money."

"Well. Your only way in, is through us. So, what's it gonna be The Crimson? You gonna toss me like you did Big Bill? I'd love to see t-" Kel's comment was cut short as Gilbert smoothly drew his pistol and fired. Instead of a bullet, the blast knocked the bigger man back against the wall and left him covered from head to toe in thick strands of webbing. Gilbert casually turned the gun on Fin.

"Behold! The great equalizer. Regrettably for you, I only retained one such incantation within the confines of my memory. Thus, the subsequent discharges from this barrel will be composed of lead. Now, I would greatly appreciate your cooperation in guiding me to your superior." Fin put both hands up, nodding vigorously. "Excellent. Also, if I may be so bold as petition an additional request: Please abstain from any further discourse. The very act of listening to your banter is likely to induce a decline in my own cognitive faculties." Gilbert rubbed his free hand against his temple, as though trying to massage away a headache.

"Whatever you say Mr. Crimson, sir." Gilbert gave a nod of approval as the pair entered the Grey Crows hideout.

 

 

Background

"If one wishes to fathom the essence of a gentleman, it is imperative to grasp the origins from whence he hails."

 

 

[LucianV]

just going to reserve this for notes and such

[LucianV]

Gilbert Percy Gilane a.k.a The Crimson

Words

 

[Taggerung559]

Apologies for being nosy, but I was peeking at Gilbert's character sheet and noticed that he was specializing in the shocking grasp spell, using the reach metamagic feat to use it with his firearm. Is there any particular reason you went that route over using the snowball spell, which has the same spell level and damage scaling and is already ranged (and depending on which version Penchant allows might have a save vs stagger attached)? Shocking grasp does have that bonus vs metal targets and electricity is resisted a bit less often than cold so there are some merits, but it seems to me at least that saving the feat (or spending on intensified, rime, or elemental spell instead) might be worth it

[LucianV]

That...is an excellent question. My answer: Sheer ignorance.

I do tend to try and stack my numbers as hard as I can, as anyone who has played with me knows, I roll TERRIBLY. But, I def have room to purchase and have both, and for the moment, snowball actually seems like it would be better, since I could take intensify instead of reach metamagic (which was going to be my 9th level pick anyway, assuming we get there).

 

Thanks for the advice, I truly appreciate it! I'll def make those edits tonight or tomorrow and if you see anything else like that, please do let me know.