Clever Jack

This is a character vignette to help me get the feel for my character Clever Jack for Jerry’s Descent of Asha campaign. This story was never actually part of the campaign and wasn’t shared with the other players.

The patrons of the inn looked up curiously as the weathered door to the inn swung open, letting in the cool evening breeze. A tall man walked in, wearing traveler’s leathers and a warm hooded cloak. He walked up to the bar and very deliberately placed down a silver mark on the bars edge.

“Mulled wine,” he said, without lowering his hood. The barman looked down at the silver sitting on the bar, and back up to the cowled face in front of him, before wordlessly clomping into the kitchen and returning with a steaming earthenware mug. This was not the barman the traveler knew for this inn, but then the inn had changed hands and names often, and it didn’t surprise him to see a new face. Running a peaceful business wasn’t easy out here in the lawless edge of the Necrohol. He sipped the warm drink, examining  the new barman. He was of a height with him, with a heavy mustache and big hunched shoulders. Looked like he could take care of himself. The barman looked back down at the silver mark lying on the bar.

“What else can I get for you then, sir?” he finally asked. The traveler took another quiet sip before answering.

“I’m looking for a man called Jack,” he says. The barman scrunched up his face in thought, mustache bristling.

“It’s a common name. What else can you tell me about him?”

“He’s about yay tall, younger fella, short brown hair, talks a good game,” said the traveler, holding a level hand at his nose to indicate height.

The barman gazed longingly at the silver on the bar as he sadly admitted, “Can’t say that it rings a bell. Anything else?”

“Some call him Clever Jack. Rumor has it he’s in these parts.”

“Well,” said the barman, still eyeing the coin, “if he stops by I’d be glad to give him a message for you.”

“Yeah, you do that,” replied the traveler, pushing the coin towards the delighted barman. “You tell him that ‘Eight times is a fine meal for nine.’”

“Eight times is a fine meal for nine?” slowly repeated back the barman in a puzzled tone.

“Oh, he’ll know what it means,” replied the traveler. “You just tell him it right back just like I told you, word for word, you understand? If he don’t understand it, he’s a dead man, and he’s lucky I didn’t find him myself,” he added, draining the wine. He then set down the mug and walked out the door without another word.

“Well,” said the barman in a puzzled tone to the room in general, “Well, that was strange.” He clomped back into the kitchen shaking his head.

In the silence that followed, one of the other patrons finally turned to his old companion to say, “Strange indeed. Never seen that barman in here before. Wonder what happened to old Cormick?”

“He’s took sick all’a sudden, dinja’ hear? That fella’s a frind a’his, hilping out,” replied the old fellow. “Ne’re seen him a’for neither though, now’s you mention it,” he mused. “Hey barman!” he called at the kitchen doors. “Barman!” No one answered.

As the patron called out, Jack hung the barman’s apron neatly on the hook where he’d found it, then eased the back door of the kitchen closed and slipped silently towards the shadows of the brooding trees nearby. He had already traded his elevated boots for his usual soft leather slippers. A glint of silver vanished as he slipped the silver mark into a hidden pouch. Once in the safety of the trees, he removed the shoulder pads from under his shirt and slipped on his dark coat. He peeled the mustache off, leaving a patch of oddly youthful skin showing, had there been enough light to see it by. A splash of strong spirits on a rag removed the rest of his makeup, which he carefully folded away into the small pack he’d carried out of the kitchen, along with the other bits of his disguise. Lastly he slipped over to a particular gnarled tree at the roadside, reached into a knot and grabbed out a small, flat oilcloth packet which he frowned at, then tucked into his waistband under his shirt. Everything in order he glided off into the night.

As he stepped back into the light of his crew’s fire he commented, “I’ve been giving it some thought, and I don’t think we should take that contract you were considering. The more I think on it, the more I'm certain it’s a setup.”

“And just where the hell have you been?” asked Alec, the crew’s leader.

“Sorry, Chief. Just... answering nature’s call,” Jack replied, with a grimace that discouraged follow up.

“Alright but if you’re going to be gone that long… oh nevermind.” Alec sighed. “And I’m sorry, but we really do need that job. Vanguard won’t be happy if we come back empty handed.”

“That’s why I was thinking we could follow up on a rumor I heard back in town about a Drachurst noble’s son out here instead.  His coin’d spend as well as anyone’s,” said Jack. The oilskin packet containing that information had already been burned on the way back.