Sometimes when you toss a coin, tails really never fails. Every roll is a six and there really is a tit somewhere in that bucket of thumbs.

Jaston was one of those annoying sods that tended to treat life that way, regardless of how it might treat him back. Seriously, why concern yourself with impending doom when there's pretty girls to flirt with or treasure to be looted?

"What's the point in living if you can't feel alive?"

That's right, our Jaston wasn't one to take much of anything seriously. A good ale, fine company and a few minutes peace from his sister's yammerings and he was a happy soul indeed.

Years aboard airships, wheeling and dealing his way through life meant that a confident demeanor was second nature to him now, often hiding a keen eye and more objective perception of those he dealt with. Never one to concern himself with a 'smart' appearance, his clothing was practical and well worn. Not even the sword at his back or flintlock tucked into his belt really seemed threatening in any way. It was only that scoundrel Jaston, after all.

Right..?