"Living cloud of deadly gas." Charging Bear said softly. "It left traces of itself on my clothing which would have killed me had I not removed them."

Alouette ticks a moment, then awkwardly unwinds the rosary tangled over its head and offers it to Charging Bear. "Would you like a crutch?"

Clearly the clank considers this to be equivalent to clothing, since it is a thing that is put on. It ticks a bit more, then, in its usual cheerful tone, does its best to convey a sentiment it doesn't really have a name for or clear idea of yet, by weilding the imperative: "Don't die."

"They're not all my people, but I take your meaning. I don't trust them all, but we don't have time to sort out everybody right now. We have to draw some lines, don't we? Or else we'd be shootin' it out up at the top while Pale Moon sacrificed your men's souls to the demon serpent. We can all work together for now, and after we deal with this, I can try to help you draw some better lines," he said. "As for Rattles, he's tricky and none too bright. We should bring him with."

He looked over at Rattleshirt and started commanding it. "Rattles, you walk in this direction and don't touch anyone," he said.

Most folk flinch as the bone abomination clicks into motion, though true to its instruction it doesn't touch anyone.

"That is Rattleshirt - it's an undead mass that jumps," Alouette helpfully introduces those nearest.

Carl has meanwhile noticed the "good vampire" seems to be training a stare on Paddy, and moves a little ahead of the Irishman to meet it with the sort of flat, warning gaze usually associated with the glimmer of teeth and growls beyond the campfire's light.

"You say 'demon' of the serpent," Ghost Wolf says, then gestures at Rattleshirt, "-and to be content to walk with witches, those that work against the world." He shakes his head, voice low but agitated.

"I cannot know that to believe you would not be to lose my soul...to lose the right path, and save some men only a little while before we are all killed for your 'borders' and 'America'. We would die, as people if not in body, to live so wrongly. You have turned me against my elders, as a demon would...I say to myself that you are not a demon because the Holy One walks with you, and my heart knows her...but it is only speech, because in my chest is doubt." He touches his breastbone with the heel of his hand.

"Mr. Ghost Wolf, if it makes you feel any better, I'm not particularly pleased to be a party to this...bone thing myself" Evans says. "But think on this--should Tezcatlcoatl and his snake children be released on the world, what exactly is stopping them from going against everyone, regardless of culture or borders? They don't care about the conflicts between your people and mine--to them we are but different colors of ants."

Ghost Wolf bridles a little at the interjection, but makes a flat-handed gesture at Evans' modified Disturbance Indicator. "You are not without dirty allies. Why do you believe these spirits, our elder brothers, think as you do, paleface? They are your lines, between men's skins - as though I am kin with an Apache, or you with a Dutch - they are of no importance...but if your people and the Brood are the same in thought and thirst and conquest-," Ghost Wolf frowns hard, gnawed by doubt. "...what do I do, to aid either of you against the other?"

"We all draw lines Ghost Wolf. You criticize the white man's borders, but you had borders long before we got here - places where you had to acknowledge your power stopped. You criticize our conquest, but did your people not conquer before we got here? You're not originally from this land we call Texas and we know it.  Are we so different? You criticize that we use certain powers that you think are bad, but the one you call your elder is summoning those same demons that work with our devices and our magic" he said, challenging the young man's hypocrisy.

"The difference in that last one is that we control those demons for our magic. Your shaman is trying to bring a big one into this world. That's worse than all of us have been doing put together."

"By our own strength and by peace made, not by imaginary lines," Ghost Wolf replies, for the first time showing some real heat as though a nerve had been struck. "We did not conquer, claiming land we did not camp on to be only for our use - or only for our horses'! Each man killed the enemies and took his own slaves, as is right to do...the white men, the Mexicans, they bought strangers with bits of metal. Not with proof of their warriors' art, their lives risked and their ancestors' blood that came down through many parents tested - with metal and paper dollars, because of this idea of colour."

Ghost Wolf is clearly out of his depth but impassioned now. "What is it that I am not born in what you have called Texas, that I should not go freely? How can it matter more what is on a paper, if it is 'Texas' or 'Tamaulipas' than where I am standing, a man, alive? It is land that is there."

"And when I ask your army for peace, believing when I was told they are the only Americans that fight, and it is bad to attack the settlements...how is it they say 'yes, we will make peace if you will go over that way, where we have made a line' and then we go, and white men shoot us, and the army says it is nothing for them, if the railroad has made it private land...and then you are all angry that we treat your people as enemies!" The young leader taps his forehead in a shorthand for the madness of it all.

Seeing Charging Bear has become distracted, the clank hastens up to the notably louder Ghost Wolf and prods him gently in the elbow. The tall Comanche hangs his head a moment and lets out a deep breath. "My child would have grown strong," he says softly to the angel, then makes an effort to pull himself together.

"Can you prove these are the same? I feel these are wrong things, but until now Pale Moon has not harmed us...I cannot know the Great Sleeper is worse until I have seen his deeds; so I have only your word. But what is your word? I had the word of the army men, and they put it on a paper. What..." Ghost Wolf at last notices Alouette is offering a hand/arm, sighs and entwines his fingers with the clank's, his forearm to its own brass limb. A soft crackle of static causes him to shudder.

"So much?" Carefully, almost regretfully, he takes his hand away and looks at it, then Adrian. "You have the help of my hands, my feet, my voice. I cannot give you my feeling."

He didn't know what was passing between Alouette and Ghost Wolf, so he didn't know what to say exactly - whether or not to address Ghost Wolf's question or whether Alouette had addressed it.

"Words are wind, Ghost Wolf but I don't know what else I can give you. It's a thing that you have to know in yourself," he tapped his heart. "You may not trust me, but perhaps you trust the...Holy One, as I do. I will take the help of your hands, feet, and voice, even if you cannot give your feeling," he said.

“What will you do when we find Pale Moon? I’m afraid he would try to bring it to bloodshed the moment he sees us.”

"I thought the general idea was that Ghost Wolf was going to convince those he could to pull back out of the caverns." Evans muses. "We have enough firepower with us to subdue those who might argue, along with effective weapons against the serpent spirits. If Pale Moon won't see reason, we're probably going to have to knock him out and drag him bodily from the cave, making sure not to damage the photographic plate in the process."

"I have sent men to tell others they should remove from the tunnels," Ghost Wolf says, moving with caution as the tunnel slopes down deeper. He throws Evans a distrusting look at being talked over.

"You are fast to this thought of fire power. I think you do not care that all would move against us, if they thought we had gone mad and worked for you witches as dogs," he growls, responding more carefully to Adrian: "For his guardians, my men are strong and have the spell's protection. Your knives will deal with any spirits there. For Pale Moon, I will go to him and end what he does, and trust to my curse that I will not die before I have done so." He gives a brief, bitter half-smile at the irony.
This message was last updated by the GM at 08:02, Thu 19 Nov 2015.

Charging Bear fought the urge to shoot or hack to pieces Rattleshirt. He shook his head at the talk of firepower against the shaman though he'd seen such happening before - an uprising in a village he'd passed through as a confederate scout many years ago now it seemed. Braves with guns who didn't want to keep to the old ways of their fathers.

Moving along with the group,  away from the talking Jake kept his eyes mostly down as a playing card flipped between the fingers of his left hand.

flip ^flip _flip flip ^flip _flip ^flip _flip flip

Now we go try to talk a shaman out of summoning a bigger snake. Wonder what the odds are on him already being done summoning the snake or finishing as we get there. Probably pretty even odds that we'll have to deal with the snake regardless.

OOC: Still here and moving along.

"Sweet Holy Mother of Jesus! William Pierce! Is that really you?"
The small Irishman seemed to be quite pleasantly surprised.
He slapped Carl on the shoulder. "That man, over there, is the fastest gun on both sides of the Mississippi! Oy, man, you are just in time to help us stop the end of the world."
He smiles a smile so broad that it seems to go around his whole head.
"You know, the usual."

"Well, it's the start of a plan, at least." Evans says, then looks at Pierce. "Oh. You know him?"

William shifted, quite uncomfortably. Patrick 'Mad Irish' Murphy. Just a day or two ago he would've been happy to see an old friend he could always rely on. But now...

"Mad Irish..." he shook his head. "I would've never... But, you know, let's talk later. I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about."

He hoped he had sounded not too cold. But what was there to do? To say? I am no longer the man you once knew? I'm half vampire, half demon from hell?

Murphy nodded. "Aye. Met a long time ago. A lifetime ago! Without Billy Pierce here, me and me Flora wouldn't be where we are today."

In reply to William Pierce (msg # 43):

Evans chuckled. "I would love to be a fly on the wall listening to that conversation." He said.

Carl braces a bit against the comradely smack and looks from Paddy to the newcomer, less hostile but still wary.

William glared at the marshall, then sniffed the air.

The silvery Comanches confer amongst themselves on seeing Ghost Wolf's agitation, occasionally gesturing at some of their new allies. They're not bunched up, but they seem uneasy.

"Why do you desire to be an insect, Ambrose?" Alouette asks, then decides since Charging Bear seems to be Busy and Ghost Wolf is concentrating on navigation and staying alert, the other angel will probably be able to answer its questions.

It patters up to Wildcat. "When are we there?"

"Uh...whal, consider a piece o' string, Deputy Clank,. If each inch is a minnit, then you got twice as long as half its length," she says, trying not to smile. "Soon, I guess. We bin goin' down awhile."

The clank computes this, and finds it logical. "Okay!" it chirps.

Leaning against a support beam, Charging Bear remained quiet. His eyes drooping sleepily as he let his head hang down slightly. He wasn't tired but didn't really want the Comanches knowing that he could understand them. So he listened to their chatter and made mental notes about it.

OOC: Nothing to see here

The shorter man known as Pond slaps Charging Bear's calf with the flat of his blade in passing. [Language unknown: "Cknt, tha."]

[Language unknown: "Has entut tepa meome fohoheno th ith menlinnce,"] Always Ready To Fight translates to Cherokee, then goes back to exchanging insults with their sniper. A bit of posturing occurs, but it's clear to anyone familiar with gangs or violent young men that no real fight's going to break out.


Ghost Wolf ignores them. "Be more vigilant - soon we leave these iron paths and cross above a place where running water flows in a cavern. It is a short cut, much faster, but hearing is difficult there." He gestures around his head to indicate how sounds might become hard to locate with the rush and echo of an underground stream.