[[Songage, naturally.]]

2:30am Holy Saturday, April 12th 1879: Trail to the Circle W


Rain drums on the hood of the hybrid wagon, cackling against the sides with every gust of cold wind blowing off the sea. The water works its way into every seam and crack of contraption and clothing alike; Billy's hair lies slick to his hide, rivulets of rain rolling from the mule's shoulders with every shiver.

The stormy darkness has a strange, thick quality, filled with the rush of rain: it's as though beyond the small, swaying hoop of the wagon's lights is nothing but an empty eternity of cold earth and stunted scrub. The ranch likely to be hit by the vampire showgirls Sarah'd trailed for months - and possibly where that rich widow Elizabeth Bradshaw was to be found, having taken shelter from the Comanche raid with her well-armed neighbour - had to be up ahead somewhere, but the cloudburst cloaked everything in drifts of textured dark.

A few times she'd thought she'd heard wardrums carrying off the low hills, but with the frequent rolling rumbles of thunder it was impossible to tell. Of a sudden, Billy baulks, simultaneously with a cry from the night:

"Hey! Hey, you there! Hold up!"

Sister Sarah looked around into the storm.  She hauled back on Billy's reins, and reached under her seat for a sharpened stake.  "Land sakes, who on earth would be out in this rain?  Come out where I can see you, that's a good boy!"

Billy hauls back against being reined in and shakes his powerful head, ears flattened. The large mule had been unusually skittish the whole way here and the thunder didn't help, but he didn't seem to like their visitors.

"Easy there, we're white- well, Christian men. Got hit by Comanch' coming over the ridge from Lago, lost our horses," a wiry, somewhat hunchbacked man hoves into view carrying a saddlebag, looking first at where a shotgun might be levelled, then up to Sarah's eyes. "All sorts o' shit going on out here, hasn't seemed wise to- Hank, will you git over here?"

There's a short pause before a hatless, worried-looking young man appears, makeshift bandages showing through his torn shirt at the shoulder. He seems utterly distracted by the name painted on the wagon's side, to the point of not registering the sister's presence until the lack of conversation prompts him to look over. Hank eases his hand away from his gun. "Sorry."

"Took a lance early this mornin'," the older man explains his companion's injury. "May we come up? Ain't got but hardtack to share, but I don't know as we'll make it to anywhere civilized alone."

Sarah sighed a bit.  "Y'all better hop on board.  T'aint much, but it's outta the rain some.  Maybe you can even help me.  I hear tell there's a ranch near these parts, run by the Widow Bradshaw?  I need to head that way."

"Only ranch 'round here belongs to Doc Ward - you're lookin' for somethin' that ain't the Circle Wuh you're in the wrong part of Texas," the older man grunts, swinging his bags into the wagon and climbing up. The younger, darker man follows awkwardly, retreating to the back of the wagon and trying to brush the damp from his hair.

"If this widow's rich, though, she might could be pals with Ward," the elder continues, installing himself on the edge of the seat beside Sarah - a bit close, but as Sister Sarah takes up most of the board simply being there, he doesn't have much choice. He smells of wet leather and a man who's slept in his clothes a few days.

"If'n we ain't got turned around since sunset you're on the right track, anyhow." He makes a show of leaning to see the ground below them. "There is a track down there," he reassures her, flashing a grin.

"Ma'am..." the lad in back starts up. He sounds like a Northerner, or more likely from the disputed states: "...would you happen to know a preacher man, 'bout my height, kinda fond of liquor..." he goes on to describe Sarah's father, face to gesture.

"Why, that sounds jest like my pappy.  He's been dead these last five years, though, so if yer' looking for him yer' a mite late."  Sarah snapped the reins, so Billy would start moving.  "What did y'all say yer names were?"

"Dead..." the young man mutters, then with feeling: "..damn."

Billy sets off a bit more hurriedly than necessary, weaving a little and causing the wagon to rock a moment before settling.

"Sorry, we didn't - so glad t'git out of this rain, I tell ya...Wesley Clemmons." The older man offers his hand across for shaking.

The silence from the back becomes conspicuous, surrounded by the tinny drumming of the rain. "I ain't sure how to put this," the youth says, in response to Clemmons twisting to look at him. "That preacher...that man, your Pappy, was th' drunken bull my mamma took a thought to see safely home to his pitch and his kid - musta been you, prob'ly sleepin' like a little angel by then - an', well, she came back pregnant." He pauses, already aware the statement's bizzarre.

"Weren't no...kicking an' screaming, way she told it, but sometimes there ain't." He leaves off their contrast in colour, tone measured and almost gentle, as though muted through a barrier between him and any pain down there to reach. "I never sought him - Ma moved North and married a good fella, I always had a roof over my head 'til he got tired of my pale ass hangin' 'round - but I swore I'd make him remember Calphurnia Miller if ever our paths came close to crossin'. Never figured on meeting the kid. Thought you'd hie off and go dancin' first chance you got, flee all that fake thunder an' all." There's a pause, then a faint warmth or tinge of mirth to his voice. "Always did picture you as blonde, though. Damn strange way to meet. Damn strange."

There's the sound of the youth cautiously moving up the moving wagon, then an offered hand on Sarah's other side. "Howdy. I'm your bastard brother, Hank."



[[Yep, your Mysterious Past card was "family member". His stats might change a bit as I fiddle, bear with me.]]

Sarah stared for a moment, then took her hand off the reins and shook the offered hand.  "I'm Sarah.  Sister Sarah, of the Holy Carnival and Revival.  My pappy started this business, and I gots to admit, I never expected to see kin.  I thought it was down to jest me and Billy here, and Billy ain't much for conversin'."  She stared into the rain for a moment, then turned to the other man.  "How far did you say it was to this ranch?  Ol' Billy looks near fixin' to get himself a boat!"

The young man laughs lightly, pleased at the unexpectedly easy acceptance. His hand is still cold and rain-wet, the grip very firm. Now it's said, he does bear a fair resemblance to their father.

"Old Man Jones'd pitch a foamin' fit if I showed you your negro step-siblings up North, so I guess it is just me." Hank grins and settles back out of the rain, quietly taking to examining the merchendise.

"Ain't for sure, but I don't reckon we can be much more'n a half-mile from the ranch proper," Clemmons returns, squinting into the rain, then points. "See, looks like there's some light way up yonder - must be keeping a vigil 'gainst the Commanch'."

"I like your crosses, sis," Hank remarks from the back, rifling in the saddlebags. "Hey, it ever strike you as weird, that we all put gold paint'n fancy on the symbol o' some Jew gettin' lynched up? That's weird to think about."

Clemmons snorts. "Mebbe your Sister Sarah can learn you some respect for religion, kid. Hell ain't half full yet: could be you'd learn to stay out of it."

"Me? Ha." Hank's scorn's not entirely surprising. "God don't come out here, anyhow. Hey Sarah, you want some hardtack? It's horrible, but I soaked it eatable with whiskey." A tablet of hardtack appears over Sarah's shoulder, waved in offering.

"What on Earth...?" Clemmons interrupts. There's a series of strange lumps up ahead, lit wetly by the lightning.


[[Notice -2 to identify what on Earth those are.]]

Sarah dropped the reins, and reached under the seat.  In one hand, she pulled out a double-barreled shotgun.  The other pulled out a crude cross, with the bottom part sharpened to a point.

Probably not....

01:01, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 3,-1 using d6-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 5,1. Notice.

With impressive reflexes Clemmons catches the thrown-down reins before they slide off the seat. Billy turns his ears back and slows, unsure if he's supposed to stop.

"Jesus, woman, if I saw Comanches I'd be shootin' at them!"

Hank, a little bemused to be ignored, sits up and leans forward to peer out front. "What d'you see, Wes?"

Clemmons squints, frowning in perplexity. "Whal, it looks like seven steers...Hell, maybe a bull or two, y'see the horns on that?" He points into the dark. "-Jes' laid out dead around the bottom of a blowed-up steam wagon."

"Reckon they had a crash?" Hank jokes, though he's got a gun in the hand not full of hardtack.

Clemmons just shakes his head and stares at the inexplicable collection of dead cattle. "Darndest thing..."


[[John Wesley Hardin, rolled 9,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (8+1)9,2. Notice? Wes notices all the things.

Hank Miller, rolled 0,1 using d6-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. Notice? Nope, but then he's in back anyway.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:29, Mon 12 May 2014.

Sarah lowered the shotgun.  The cross, however, never wavered.  "I cain't see nothing in all this rain.  Are there any bodies?  We should give them a right seeing to."

"Not a human corpse that I can see, ma'am. Jes' bull. Well, steer, anyhow."

"Maybe they were blown to atoms," Hank suggests uncertainly. Billy plods on, long ears flicking back and forth for any sign of trouble.

"Or the steers really was...aw, Hell!"

As they get close enough to see through the wash, one of the mangled and bloated carcasses raises its head. Bits of skull slide off, plashing wetly into the mud. The rest of the animal remains immobile, but it strikes the travellers at the same moment that the rest of the dead steers have raised their heads around them. Green fire flickers between the shattered horns and bullet-riven skulls.

Then they start speaking in unison.

[[Fear/Nausea (Spirit) check, please, then I'll get to the NPCs..including the most important one.]]

"On͠o̵nt̨l̶ac̨hi͢x́, ͟n͜ima͢n͟ oniqu͘i͡ta͘c̛ ͞s͞e ca͠ba͝ll͘o̸ ͡c͜o̧st̶ic͠.͠ O͡n y҉e̵j͏h͏uan͏ ip͠àn̶ yet̵ia͏y̛a̵ ̧cui̛t͞ia̸y̕aj ҉Mi͠quilist͟li̸,̶ ̧n͜iman on͘ ye͟jh̶uan ̶ǹi̴s̨iu c̀uaj̨to͘ca̶ya͞ c̷ưi͞tiay̸a̶j̕ ̨Mi͢c̸t͘l̷an. Oq͟uinḿacaque͜j ̷pǫde͜r͏ ̡ipan ̢sé nahui̡ pa҉r͡t̢etip͟an͜ ͜i͟n tla͏l͝ticp͞açt̶li ̶p͝a̕r̨á q̶u͢inmicti͝śqúe̕j̕ on̶ ͜t̀ląca̸m̧ej ͞i͘can̸ gueŕr͝as̕,̢ ̨i̸cań a͢p̛i̴s̛tl҉i, ica̶n ̛cu̕a͞lolistli n̷iman̛ ican ̛o͞n tec̕u̵an͝ime̵j͝ ͞y͡o̧lqưe͟j ̕y͘e͢jhuan quisa̷s͝q̷u̶e͟j ́i̵p̵an ͜in͞ ̡t͠l̴ąlticpac̵tl̕i̧ ."

17:08, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 6,8 using d8+4,d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of 2,4. Fear check.

The dead cattle finish their pronouncement in that weird, ancient tongue, trailing off into silence. Hank's gun clatters as it falls from fear-numbed fingers. Billy quivers. Clemmons has gone pale.

Then the steers' jaws drop open again.

"AAA͟A͟A̶AAAA̵AAA̕AAAAAA͝AAAAA҉A̢AAAAAA̵AA̢A҉AGH̡!

AAA͟A̢A̛AAÀA҉A͞AA͜ÀA҉A̷A҉A͏A͢AA̡ĄAAAA͝AAAA̸A͞AAA͠A͠!!
̶
AAA҉AAA̴AAA͡A͘AAAAA̡A͜A͢AAAA̶AAÁAA͠AAA̛AAAAAH͏H̸H̡!!!"


The screaming is too much for Billy; the big mule makes a thin braying whinny of terror and bolts. He has to go forward since the wagon prevents him turning, which only increases his fear as they bounce past the mad, unalive mutilated heads on the dead bodies within feet of the sound. Clemmons loses his grip on the reins, his curse smashed out against the side of the waggon as he scrabbles not to be thrown clear.


[[Yeeeah, I muffed the modifiers on that, but it's all good - -5 +2 still gives Sarah a sucess. The NPCs...not so much.

John Wesley Hardin, rolled 0,1 using d8-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 2,3. fear! Eh.
John Wesley Hardin, rolled 4 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4. red chippit. -> 5. He nearly loses it, but he's all right.

Hank Miller, rolled 1,0 using d8-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. fear! Hank does not like!

Now to the most important one...

22:07, Yesterday: Alouette, for the NPC Billy, rolled -2 using 1d6-4, rerolling max with rolls of 2. fear! Panickin' mule!

John Wesley Hardin, rolled -1,-1 using d4-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,1. Drivin'! ...I'll rule he's dropped the reins (reins, people, reigning is what the Queen does </peeve>) and give you an Agility -2 to catch them here, then a chance to make a Driving roll, also at -2 (lots of rapid action, with a shotgun and cross to put down somewhere), 'cause the Collision rules are mean.]]

Sarah dropped the shotgun and dove for the reins, but missed.  But her voice rang out in the darkness: "Billy, you've stood firm against the valley of the shadow of darkness!  No bovine is going to cow you!"

OOC: Missed the Agility roll, so the Driving roll is moot:


20:21, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 0,2 using d6-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 2,4. Agility.

I do, however, want to use Beast Friend to calm Billy.  I think I have the modifiers right, but check me on them if I;m wrong:


20:32, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 4,3 using d12-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 6,5. Faith

That should be enough to settle Billy, so he doesn't run off. 

[[Looks right - I won't apply Size modifiers unless you're trying to preach down a stray elephant or something.]]

Billy stumbles alarmingly as though distracted by the terrible pun, but doesn't trip, his gait smoothing from an outright sprint of terror to simply running away because it's what makes sense to him to do. The big animal is clearly oblivious to the reins dangling dangerously alongside his back hooves, each leaping stride risking entanglement.

[[Billy the Mule rolled 3 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3. unshake Billy

He's no longer Panicked, but he is Shaken (as an equine, this means flight) and will be Fatigued from the running. Might want to ask him to slow down a bit there/warn him his legs are at risk...]]

"Billy!  Stand firm in the light, you're too ornery to be running like a possum!  And I have carrots waiting for you, so you best behave!"

OOC: Do I need to make a roll, or does it happen automatically, since the power is sustained?

[[ecksdee 'possum'...I don't reckon you need to roll Persuasion or anything since the power implies a degree of obedience from non-stranger beasts...mechanically, I'll say it adds a +2 to him unshaking.

Billy the Mule rolled 4 using 1d6+2, rerolling max ((2)). There we go.]]

Billy turns his ears to this, but only pulls to a skidding, skipping halt at the word 'carrots'.

"Augh," Clemmons remarks, unfolding from the edge of the seat. Hank leans out and joins Billy in looking warily behind them. The screaming undead cattle can't even be seen through the rain, though the faint wail still reaches the travellers on the breeze.

"What...what was that?" Hank asks, in case anyone knows more about exploded undead steers than he does.

Sarah hopped off the buckboard, letting the rain pour off her bonnet.  She pulled out a few leathery carrots, and fed one to Billy as she gathered the reins and leads.  As Billy munched, she carefully tied him to a tree.  "Eat up, boy!" she encouraged, as the mule downed the last carrot.  Then, he nickered at her.  "No Billy, you're not getting a sugar lump, you know it gives you wind something fierce!"

Once the mule and wagon were secure, Sarah came back around, and reached a beefy arm under the bench.  She pulled out the shotgun and aimed it at the sky, and hung the crude cross made from sharpened stakes around her neck.  "Well, what are you two waiting for?  Those cattle aren't going back to Hades by themselves, you know!  We can't let those beasts run around and scare helpless folk.  The stakes are just too high!"

"Run around?" Hank queries, decidedly dubious of his newfound sister's plan to run off into the rain. "Hey, now, it was only the heads moving there, them steers was all exploded up - what're they going to do? Bite people? Hell, anyone who goes up to get bit by those things deserves it - 'certified dumbass' stamp."

Clemmons smirks at his friend's reluctance to abandon shelter now they have it, then looks down to Sister Sarah. "If you're truly set on it, I'll come down the road apace. There's Comanch' out there somewhere, after all." He does wait to see if she is that determined, however.

"If I were a Comanche I'da gone home hours back," Hank complains, though he's staring ahead with concern. "Say, they must have quite a bonfire goin' at that ranch, getting the clouds lit up like that with this rain coming down."

Sarah checked the break of her shotgun.  "Doesn't matter if it's heads or tails.  If you don't want the bum end of the steer, you'll stand for what's right and put those things in the ground!"

She eyed the two men carefully.  "I ain't about to turn two men out in this rain, but if you're going to ride with me, you're going to ride with the Lord.  If you make me ride off, we're going to ride off with a glorious song.  I'll be singin every last hymn my pappy ever taught me, and while he was a great man, he had the worst tin ear in the whole south!"

The shotgun clicked closed, with a snap punctuated by a burst of thunder.  "Now, are you going to stand with the Lord, or cow in fear?"

Sarah's damp strays glance at each other for some seconds - there's a fair bit of communication passes between them with that look, most of it opaque. Hank does retrieve his gun and flop over the end of the wagon, though. "You want to bury them?"

"If we don't get shot by Comanch' or in mistake for Comanch' tryin'," Clemmons sighs, swinging down.

Hank, hatless, hunches against the rain and tries to keep his weapon dry, clearly immediately considering going back in. "This is nuts, sis," he tells her.

"# Drink to the Devil and have done with the the rest...#" Clemmons intones in a ringing baritone that makes Billy sidestep, slightly spooked.


[[They'll follow, they just thought they'd finally got out of the rain and aren't keen...they don't reckon they can pass themselves off as preachers, though, and Hardin respects Hank's kin link to Sarah, so they won't just shoot the Sister and steal her wagon.]]

"We ain't gonna bury them, that'd take too long in this weather.  Fetch the lamp oil, those wooden stakes, and that lockbox.  We're sending them back to the devil in glory, we are!"  Sarah gathers the supplies and starts bustling back.  "The plan is, shoot the heads full of lead first.  If that don't put them down, back off and let me try to pin them in plaCe.  If nothing else works, we'll light them on fire."

OOC: Code of Honor, remember?  I can't leave an evil monster behind to terrorize other people, I have to at least try to destroy it.

Clemmons takes the lockbox off Hank to spare the lad's wound and looks over at the stakes, frowning. "How 'bout we skip that middle step?"

Hank hugs a can of kerosene to his chest dubiously. "I think it was ghosts...all that weird dancing light around the horns and how the heads were smashed up but moving anyway...you can't light ghosts on fire or shoot them."

"Weren't cattle ghosts, anyhow," Clemmons remarks, starting the slog after Sarah. "That was some kinda Injun talk they was spoutin', save for that Spanish bit 'bout the pale horse. Hey miss, how about you sing them to death?"

The cattle themselves seem to have quieted a bit, back down the track. After a little walking, the travellers notice a white light like a lantern set on the road. A little closer and they can make out the figure of a man apparently carrying out roadworks.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:54, Fri 23 May 2014.

Sarah lowered the shotgun just slightly, and adjusted her cross.  "Hey, y'all!  What are y'all up to in this pouring rain?"

The man pauses and leans on his shovel, waiting for them to come a bit closer to save him yelling over the dreadful wind and rain. Once close enough, they can see he's an older fellow, ambiguously brown as any peasant in the world, his face worn and wrinkled like a leather book. "Doin' what I'm supposed to, ma'am, and it's only me here." He smiles like a favourite uncle, all the beauty of a gnarled tree there in the many lines of his skin.

The stranger looks up and over at the others like he knew they were there. "Oh, and Wesley too! Howdy there, and howdy young sir," he turns back to Sarah a little with a tip of the hatbrim. "What are you all doing out in this rain?"

"We just got near scared to death by headless cattle screaming in a heathen tongue.  Y'all seen anything strange going on?"  Sarah relaxed visibly, but the shotgun did not waver in the slightest.

The dark old man with the shovel laughs, heedless of the rain pouring from his hat. He has the kind of voice one could listen to forever. "Have I seen anything strange? Lady, I have seen dead men rise to fight each other and the living, I have seen Hell's fire in black powder and the shuffling of cards...I have seen an angel stretched crucified with brass yet made to walk for the sake of a holy man's fear."

He smiles. "...and I have heard the voices of apocalypse, and the silence of dead towns fall so deep and dizzying it makes the ears ache. I have seen God evaporate from men's souls in this heathen country, and a proud people die retching in the dust, aware the plague passed mouth to mouth from the lip of a bottle yet unwilling to save themselves whilst a drop of corn liquor still rolled about the bottom...I have seen men kill each other over gold and not stoop to pick up a stray coin. I have seen men beat down and murder women for the sake of a sour mood, and leave children with bloody roses blooming at their chests for $5 a little scalp."

"I have seen a man free slaves and march in wild destruction over the South in the name of bringing it back to his nation's bosom. I have seen those same once-slaves' bodies mostway mummified long before they fell dead of hunger on the trail. So glad, so glad to die for the word 'freedom'." He leans further on his shovel, grinning. "-and I have seen two wet rats and a woman go with such determination to destroy already headless cattle. Have I seen anything strange? I couldn't say. Buisness as usual, ma'am, buisness as usual."

He steps away to retieve a pitchfork with which to loosen up some gravel. "Hey, Wes," he calls over, amused at the bigger man's slight flinch. "Don't worry, I ain't calling for what you owe me...but on our friendship, would you swap boots with me? Mine are about wore out with walking."

Clemmons, surprisingly quiet all this while, blinks a bit but goes to one knee to start fumbling with his laces, albeit reluctantly. "Uh, sure thing, Lou."

The roadman's feet are actually nearer Sarah's size, but it seems either pride or the shotgun prevent the old fellow from asking her for charity.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:06, Mon 26 May 2014.

Sarah stared at Clemmons.  "You know this guy?  What on earth do you owe him that you'd give up your boots in this weather?"

OOC: Sorry, just got out of the ER and am loopy with meds.  I can't focus on a longer post right now. 

[[oh no! I hope all your necessaries are still attached - get well soon!]]

The roadman raises an eyebrow at Clemmons, since it's his story to tell.

"He, ah, got me out of jail one time. Was a big misunderstandin', you see, but they took th' opportunity to clean up crime, as it were, by pinning jes' about everything they hadn't hung a man for yet on my poor back-"

"Law does that, if they get ya and don't reckon you have kin near," Hank adds earnestly, studying the roadman's hands as he holds out an old boot to be exchanged with Clemmons'.

"-there was no way I could make bail. I was in the shadow of the noose, shorn of cash and property, and, well, I guess I was all fought out and doing something like praying when Lou showed up."

"He'd known me back in Georgia," the roadman puts in, recieving the second newer boot. He doesn't sound quite Georgian, though: that marvellous voice has smooth hints of a first language not from the Americas at all. "Well, I got him out and well-lawyered, furnished him some good sidearms-"

Clemmons mutters something. The stranger chuckles. "Come now, they ever failed you? -sundry other equipage, some cash and a horse. Time was I was a man of wealth and taste." He smiles, the lantern light glittering over his teeth and shadowed eyes as he looks up, then down at his lacing again. "Poor Wes has been scared stiff I'll call it all in at once, but I am fair content to take what comes around."

He stretches out a booted foot to admire the new gear whilst Clemmons gingerly squelches foot to foot, testing where leaks might be. "Bit by bit. I've been making deals a long time; I've an eye for the right kind of man and it's rare I lose on an investment."

The rain purrs against the earth in a quiet moment between lightning and thunderclap.

"I'm surprised you never met him, ma'am, being a preacher's daughter," Clemmons says, looking on up the road and straining to hear any cow-like commotion.

"I do love me a religious revival," Meet-On-The-Road admits, beaming, then casts an eye over Sarah. "Hmm..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:15, Tue 27 May 2014.

"My pappy met a lot of people."  Sarah said primly.  "He did the Lord's work, helping folk everywhere he could.  Some people jest shone with the light of the Lord.  So tell me, road man... do you shine?"

OOC: Detect Arcana.  I got an 11, which should count for a raise.  If I read that right, it doubles my duration.  I want to know if this guy is magical in any way, Blessed or otherwise.

02:36, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 11,4 using d12,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 11,4. Detect Arcana.

The old man looks up as he straightens, and for the first time Sarah finds herself looking deep into his eyes...and ten thousand years of raging hate. "Famed for it, ma'am."

In reply to Meet-On-The-Road (msg # 33):

"Dear sweet Jesus" Sarah says as she rubs at her eyes.

OOC: On my phone, so i cant paste the die roller result, but I got a 3.

It's the last thing she says before she realises her heart has stopped.

[[Fail!
20:34, Today: Alouette rolled 22 using 1d20+6, rerolling max with rolls of 16. fear table! Heart Attack. Give me a Vigour -2, please.

Success will leave you Shaken for 1d4 rounds, failure will leave the others with 2d6 rounds to save Sarah's life. ]]

OOC: Still on my phone, but i got a 7.

[[Alouette rolled 6 using 1d4, rerolling max (((4+2)6)). You're out of action for about two minutes, I reckon.]]

Sarah falls to her knees, an emptiness in her chest that runs a jerking panic around her muscles. As she struggles with the realisation I might die here, she's dimly aware of the interactions of the others a few steps away. It's all so distant, with the blackness closing in.

"Sarah! What did you do to her!?"

"Nothing at all, I just was." The not-man's voice remains utterly calm, despite the click of a cocked pistol. "Either use it or put it away, boy," he says, already moving over towards Sarah.

"So fragile, you mortals..." Meet-On-The-Road says, kneeling to assess Sarah's trouble. He undoes her bonnet to help her breathe and runs a hand back over her scalp to raise her head, and even as Sarah's soul writhes within her in desperation to avoid that touch, she knows her world is changed as abruptly and as violently as a limb lost to cannon fire. Those terrible eyes meet hers again. "Die or withstand it, girl."

Sarah's heart thuds defiance. She breathes. As the roadman nods and straightens she becomes aware of hot tears mingling with the rain on her cheeks, drawn from some fearful, animal part of her that knows without conscious thought what was recently just inches from her face.

[[reckon you can talk now, if you're minded, though not do more than maybe crawl/stagger for a little longer. The boys'll help Sarah up for the asking.]]

Sarah used a tree to help stagger to her feet.  Despite nearly falling again, she waved off assistance from the other men.  "Die or withstand it?" she asked, as strength crept back into her voice. "Only the good Lord knows when my time is, and I reckon it ain't now.  My pappy taught me to look for monsters, and while I don't know what you are, mister, I reckon you ain't one either.  And when my time comes, when Jesus calls me to be by His side, I figger that while you're real pretty, it ain't a patch on what the Hosts of Heaven are going to show me."

The old man's grin grows broader and broader until he simply cracks up, doubling over and baying with laughter in the rain. Hank scowls in confusion.

Clemmons just shakes his head, if anything more nervy at the roadman's laughter, not reassured. He looks over at the afflicted preacher, keen to be away. "All right. You still set on burning these steers?"

In reply to John Wesley Hardin (msg # 39):

Sarah nods.  "Let's just bull through this, ok?  First lead, then fire."

Clemmons gives her an odd look but adds nothing, hefting the workbox once more and loosening one of his pistols with his free hand. "Gotta go, Lou."

Meet-On-The-Road tugs his hatbrim and sets back to work, loosening lumps of road with his pitchfork. "I'll catch up with you sooner or later," he assures the gunslinger.

Clemmons walks close to Sarah as they head on down the road, making sure she's truly all right.

Hank tarries a little, trying to work out what just happened, then realises he's getting left behind. It's distorted through the long sigh of rain, but about thirty paces on, Sarah catches the exchange: "Well...see ya, Mister Devil," and the response "Smartass." Hank shortly catches up looking pleased with himself.

"He threw me a silver dollar!" The young man considers, then bites it out of habit. "A real silver dollar," he concludes, even more pleased, then looks up ahead to where those ominous darker lumps on the road have become visible, dim, green fire playing between the odd pair of horns or exposed flank. "Sss...I still say they're ghosts," he opines.

"We got any plan if they do get up?" Clemmons asks.

"Keep shooting, cowboy, keep shooting.  It should at least buy you time to beat a retreat.  Once they're disabled enough, we'll burn them with the wrath of a thousand lost souls."

"You ain't really any kind of preacher, are you?" Clemmons observes. "You're one of them critter-hunters that go off looking for el chupacabra."

Hank has automatically spread out to cover their left flank, alert for trouble.

"May you be forgiven!  I am all kinds of preacher, the kind that not only preaches 'gainst evil, but kicks it's tail when the flock needs saving.  Now keep a sharp eye out, I have a feeling something big is in the area and we might need to plan carefully."

"Uh-huh," Clemmons says, staring warily at the night.

"I could about eat a steer right now," Hank remarks, drawing his gun.  The intrepid if thoroughly soggy trio creep up on the dead cattle, poised and alert.

[[Notice roll time, -2 for the dark...]]

Is an 11 good enough?

23:54, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 1,11 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+5)11. Notice.

[[That 9 with the darkness is sufficient to prevent any nasties getting the Drop on you, yes. Apologies for vanishing - bit of a steep weekend and I've had so much Monday I keep thinking it's Tuesday. Anyway.

Hank Miller rolled 1,18 using d6-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 2,(6+6+6+1)19. Notice? 16 with the dark. Hank is observant! Wes isn't, because he just muffed his Spellcasting and is Shaken...]]

Clemmons growls uneasily at the sight of the dead steers, trying to watch all the corpses at once. Lightning cracks the sky. Clemmons suddenly jerks back from a flash of dark, stumbling over some scrub and cursing. "Augh! Damn bird..."

As the strength of the True Sight fades from her, Sarah notices a golden serpent writhe its way out of the mouth of one of the once-more-recumbent cattle as thunder booms out, a green flame burning between its slender horns. Other dead mouths gape empty, but there's another green-lit shimmer of scale from a bull's wrecked skull off to the left, and one further into the distance. Hank turns to point his pistol at something beyond the others' vision, on the ground.

"Ghost! Snake ghost! ...I think there may be more of them!"

[[All right, time to run like hell or draw init.]]

11:08, Today: Sister Sarah drew the single card: 3S using a deck of 54 cards. Init.

There's a distinct crunch of brushwood as Hank braces himself, the barrel of his pistol tracking the movement of the nearest snake. Hank swallows and quietly cocks his pistol.

The serpent directly before Sister Sarah looks over and makes a seemingly leisurely meander towards her. Its golden coils melt into smoke as it advances, the fire between its horns a dim green ember until suddenly it is close and solid again, crouched in a menacing spring-coil, watching.

Clemmons backs a step from the one on their left, watching Sarah's flank. His serpentine stalker also becomes nigh-invisible and ethereal, but stays that way, its spirit flame tracking through the scrub like a lazy glowworm.

The far-off snake fades from view, though its green spark remains still and visible.


[[Hank, noticing how hard it is to hit things which are Small in Darkness (-4 to hit) takes the Aim maneuvre, tracking the beastie closest to him.

John Wesley Hardin rolled 6,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 6,2. unshake? Wes unshakes, but he's already had backlash and doesn't want to cast things at a penalty, so he leaves it there.


Initiative!

Hank JH
JWH 3H
Sarah 3S
Snakes 2D (they drew lower on their Quick card)]]

Sarah raises her cross high.  "By the names of Aaron and Moses, I call forth the miracle of the staff!  Let snakes fight snakes!"  She plunged her cross into the ground, where it suddenly transformed into a mass of pure white snakes.  They quickly swarmed the other three demon snakes, sinking their fangs into them and holding them fast.

OOC: Going for an Entangle in a Medium Burst template, hopefully centered so it can get all three of them without getting us.  I got a 14; they get an opposed agility roll to escape.

23:42, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 14,1 using d12-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of (12+4)16,3. Entangle.

The caught snakes hiss angrily and writhe, the one nearest Sarah shimmering into visibility under the white serpents' attack, rolling and attempting to twist far enough to bite its attackers.

Clemmons shakes his boots as the pale snakes lay into them with a will, apparently not piercing the leather but certainly tangling his legs in their coils. "Gah!"

The holy reptiles over by Hank don't seem to be doing so well, judging by the youth's commentary and occasional crunching sounds. "Shit, more sn-...oh, ow, ew. Ew."

*sssssssssssssssshhhhhikashikashikashika*

"Uh-huh," Hank responds to that chilling rattle, aiming and waiting for the spirit to become solid in preparation to strike.


[[Righto. Minus aunt now, going to group-roll for the area effect, since the snakes have the same stats. Nice miracle you got there, by the way.
Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled 2,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,2. Resist! They're Caught.
John Wesley Hardin, rolled 4,5 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,5. Resist! So's Wes.

The caught snakes use their action to try and get away.
Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled rolls of (8+8+2)18,5,1. Resist! Two extract themselves, the one nearest Hank with a raise, which gives it its action. It decides to express the fact that it is no longer curious, but actively pissed off:

Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled 10 using 1d8, rerolling max with rolls of (8+2)10. *rattlerattlerattle*
Hank Miller rolled 14,4 using d8-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of (8+7)15,5. Resist! Hank doesn't care.

Initiative, please!]]

21:11, Today: Sister Sarah drew the single card: BJ! using a deck of 54 cards. Init.

I'll wait and see what order people are going in before I make my action.

The snake-flame in the distance slides off into the scrub.

[[Remind me to note that in the chip thread.

Initiative!
Sister Sarah BJ! (or whenever)
Sinister serpents AD
John Wesley Hardin QD
Hank Miller 10S ]]

Note it in the chip thread! =P

[[Been and did, preacher...if you don't want to go first there, do let me know either where you'd like to go in the round or that you're on Hold...]]

I want to see what the snakes do first.  If need be, I'll use my Joker to interrupt them. 

The snake in front of Sarah rolls over in its captors' coils; a rock loosens the grip of one and it abruptly discorporates under the gold serpent's bite. The horned snake turns on the remaining pearly reptile, which twitches as it gets bitten and rapidly devoured by the larger snake.

[[of Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled 7 using 1d8, rerolling max with rolls of 7. Sarah's snake. It doth unshake. It raiseth not, so that's the lot.]]

Hank startles a little and steps back, shaking a whip of heavy green-fired gold off his boot.

[[Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled 9 using 1d8+4, rerolling max with rolls of 5. Snakebite! Hit and Raise. (+2 Small vs. human target, +2 touch attack, darkness penalty doesn't effect 'em 'cause even if they weren't magic, rattlesnakes have extra senses for that...)
Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled 2,2 using d4,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,2. damage can has? a 4 does not faze Hank.]]

The snake beside Clemmons decides not to tangle with the pale snakes or the clearly-snakeproof boots they've taken against, phasing out and back into visibility like smoke through sunlight a lot nearer Sarah. It coils into a deadly spring with the barest *shika-shik* of a warning rattle, cold turquoise eyes fixed on the preacher.

[[This one plans to bite Sarah, if you mean to interrupt them here.]]

The distant snake must be somewhere in the underbrush - odd glimpses of its glow suggest it's getting nearer the action.

[[This one is on Hold]]

Sarah raises her hands, and calls down the thunder.

Took me two white chips, but they have to make a Vigor roll at -2 or be Stunned.

16:21, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 11,13 using d12+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 9,(6+5)11. White Chip 2.
16:19, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 5,6 using d12+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 3,4. White Chip.
16:18, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 5,4 using d12+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. Stun!

Brandishing her shotgun at the sky seems to do the trick - both men jump and the coiled snake is thrown to the ground as lightning strikes nearby, splitting a dead tree to its root.

{{ {{{*BARADUBOOOM*}}} }}

The dry insides of the tree start to burn, casting a bright if hellish light over the sodden combattants.


[[For the extra raise, I'll give you a free light source. (the snakes remain Small and thus -2 to hit, but if you're packing buckshot...well, that's what it's there for.)

Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled rolls of 1,1,2. Resist! With the penalty on, that is even more fail. Shaken snakes are Shaken. Or at least three of them are - were you aiming to catch Hank's snake or the one currently somewhere in the foliage?

John Wesley Hardin rolled 8,3 using d8-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of (8+2)10,5. Resist! Wes isn't! Excuse me whilst I rule-wrangle for a bit...]]

I was hoping to pull a Pokemon.  Gotta catch them all!

[[Well, you could increase the area of effect with that roll, but the rain'd put the fire out.

Also, to get Hank's snake you'd risk Shaking Hank, which'd cost him his Aim manoeuvre and leave the rest of the round as your allies all trying to Unshake rather than doing useful things like shooting snakes...person'ly I'd go with what you've got, bonus light source and Shaking the snake in the undergrowth, but it's up to you.]]

Yeah, let's keep it safe for now. 

The light of the burning tree sends Clemmons' shadow flickering over the scrub, demon-dancing with the shadows of the holy serpents trying to bind his boots. Clemmons growls and curses into his moustache, too distracted to note the green flickers between imself and Sarah.

[[Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled 1 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1. unshake snake. Interrupted Snake is still Shaken.

John Wesley Hardin rolled 1,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. unshake? Oh, for...if he doesn't unshake and disentangle himself next round, I'll throw a chip at him.]]

Hank shoots at the snake nearest him - though Sarah hears a sharp recoil from a ricochet, angry rattling arises once more from the scrub, indicating the critter's still dangerous.


[[Hank Miller rolled 5,0 using d8-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 6,1. shootin' (+2 Aim, -2 Small target, -1 injury). Which'd be fine, but since it bit him he's in melee with the damn thing, so he needs to hit its parry...
Hank Miller rolled 1 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1. red chippit. Hit.
Hank Miller rolled 5 using 2d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of 1,3. damage can has? That...shakes his snake, so to speak.


Initiative!
Snakes KC
John Wesley Hardin 10S
Hank Miller 6S
Sister Sarah NOT DRAWN YET]]

17:02, Today: Sister Sarah drew the single card: 6H using a deck of 54 cards. Init.

The snake near Sarah's left ankle coils around in confusion, apparently dazed by the lightning. Intermittent, half-hearted rattling from Hank's snake suggests that reptile is in a similar condition.

The snake a couple of paces before Sarah continues to ignore Clemmons' thoroughly snakeproof boots with their holy foelaces, fading from view with a dull, ominous rattling noise.

*shikashikashikashika*

Abruptly as the lightning, the snake from the scrub launches itself at Sarah's right calf, jaws wide.

[[Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled rolls of 3,1,4,5. unshake snakes. The one slightly away from/directly ahead of Sarah/behind Wes and the snake in the scrub to the right Unshake and opt to take actions at -2 to speed things the hell up:

ahead snake: Mirror Serpent's Brood, rolled 4 using 1d8-2, rerolling max with rolls of 6. *rattlerattlerattle* Sister Sarah, beat 4 or be Shaken!
scrub snake: Mirror Serpent's Brood, rolled 9 using 1d8+2, rerolling max with rolls of 7. Snakebite! (+2 Touch, +2 size difference, -2 unshaking) Hit, Raise.
Mirror Serpent's Brood rolled 1,9 using d4,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+3)9. damage can has? 10 damage. That's 1 Wound for Sarah, and a roll vs. poison if she fails her soak.]]

Clemmons hops about, trying to shake off the holy snakes coiling about his ankles without getting bitten.

[[John Wesley Hardin rolled 3,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. unshake? *swears and throws a chip at him* Right.

John Wesley Hardin, rolled 2,3 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,3. Resist!
...he's Unshaken, but still Caught.

Sister Sarah, go!]]

Sarah catches the snakebite on her hobnailed boot.  "Gotcha now!"  She swings her shotgun around and unloads a blast of buckshot at the unholy snake.

16:05, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 3,5 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,5. Soak roll.

That's one wound down, so I'm uninjured.

16:14, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 4,3 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,3. Shooting.  Hit but no raise.


16:16, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 14 using 3d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+2)8,5. Shotgun damage, correct roll.

The snakes flinch at the gunshot.

[[Some things here:

1) You'll want to throw a chip at that to hit the snake in melee with you (P6)

2) you forgot to resist the feeble Intimidate attempt... *attempts to speed up rolls, rolls badly* Eh. ...so roll Spirit to see if that snake gets any bonuses on its next action or not (it couldn't Shake you with a roll that low, sorry to be confusing)

3) Stuffs go faster if you draw your card for next round after your action, thank you!]]

00:35, Today: Sister Sarah drew the single card: KH using a deck of 54 cards. Init.
00:35, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 4 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4. Blue chip 2.
00:35, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 1 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1. Blue chip.
00:34, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 7,3 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 7,3. Spirit roll.

[[Sorry! Missed this post somehow.]]

One snake reduced to smoking kibble, there remained the stunned reptile to Sarah's left, the invisible rattler somewhere before her, and the wounded serpent Hank was presumably watching as he circled nearer the burning tree, gun tracking the beast in the scrub.

[[Hank Aims again, as his Comanche-inflicted wound makes him leery of wasting bullets, of which he has three left.

Initiative!
Sister Sarah KH
John Wes Hardin KS
Hank Miller 4C
Sinister Snakes 3S ]]
This message was last edited by the player at 22:29, Fri 11 July 2014.

What happened to the snake I shot last round?

[[That's the one reduced to smoking kibble, on account of being shot for several times its Toughness whilst corporeal.]]

Is there any TN change for shooting the stunned one?

The stunned snake begins to pick itself up, still solid in the firelight.

[[Not sure what you mean there...it's not in melee with you yet, and you have a light now, so you're aiming to hit it with a 4. (-2 Small, +2 buckshot)]]

Sarah unloaded her second barrel into the stunned snake, then started backing up to reload.



Got a 5, for 9 damage.

00:10, Today: Sister Sarah drew the single card: JS using a deck of 54 cards. Init.
00:09, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 9 using 3d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,3,3. Shotgun damage.
00:09, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 2,5 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,5. Shooting.

[[Sister Sarah spectacularly splats the sinuous sinister serpent!]]

Slender as the creature is, the full force of a shotgun blast cleaves the snake in two.

Clemmons finally wraps his sleeve over his left hand and bends to untangle the serpents from his feet. They hiss angrily and disperse, falling into a handful of splinters.

There's a sharp, final *BANG* from Hank's direction. "Yeah! ...dang, would you look at that tree." He turns from the burning shrubbery to squint at the others, picking up his decapitated snake. "You got the rest?"

The remaining serpent, its position visible only as a thin smudge of green light, decides not to be here any more. Its dim flickering heads off rapidly through the scrub, soon becoming indistinguishable from the glitter of firelight on pouring rain and the movement of the low brush in the wind.

[[John Wesley Hardin rolled 4,3 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,3. unsnake Wes? He's finally un-snaked, though it takes his turn.

Hank Miller rolled 5,1 using d8-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 6,2. shootin'. Frikkin' wound, frikkin' melee...
Hank Miller rolled 10 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+4)10. red chippit. O_o Well that's a raise.
Hank Miller rolled 10 using 3d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of 3,5,1. damage can has? 2 wounds for snake. It is also splat.

The remaining snake slithers for it, Defensively as possible. John Wes is disinclined to take his free shot as it passes him (being Invisible and Small it'd be -6 to hit anyway, so yeah), so it's heading for the horizon. Thank you for drawing init., but I think we'll drop out of combat rounds now.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:25, Thu 17 July 2014.

In reply to Mirror Serpent's Brood (msg # 75):

Sarah started methodically reloading her shotgun.  "Think that's all of them?"

Clemmons interrupts whatever Hank was about to say, shooting the lad a frown. "Reckon," he says, then looks bemused at Hank, who has cleaned out his dead snake and torn a chunk off it to chew on.

"What?" Hank challenges. "I'm hungry."

"You still want to torch these, ma'am? Looks like it was the snake things that was makin' them talk and glow and all." Clemmons kicks a dead steer.

"Better safe 'n sorry."  Sarah started pouring lamp oil on the cow heads.

Hank's only reply is a grunt, setting down the can Sarah didn't take and crouching like some lost spectre of dark ages past to eat more dead rattlesnake-thing.

Clemmons goes over to the burning bush and peels a pitchy branch from it to light things with, the flame guttering dull orange in the lashing rain.

"Hey..." Hank remarks, squinting at the scarce-visible horizon. "What d'you think could raise up dust in this weather?"

"Reckon I have no idea.  Why do you ask?"

Hank points at a far disturbance in the rain. At first it's scarce possible to see, but then there's a definite smudge there, some great mass moving towards the ranch.

"That ain't dust, it's steam," Clemmons observes. "God knows how many beasts. Some kind of Hell's ridin' down on the ranch."

"Comanches, I guess."

Clemmons grimaces. "I hope not, seein' as we can spy 'em from here." He looks to Sarah, thoroughly damp and miserable, and throws his makeshift torch onto a corpse to light it. "Looks like we better git there or git the hell out right now."

Sarah squinted her eyes.  "Oh, sugar."

Then, she quickly lit the heads on fire, hiked up her skirt, and started running for the wagon.  "Grab Billy and haul him aboard!  We ain't got time to hitch him up, we need to move!"

Hank and Wes skeddaddle swiftly after Sister Sarah's skirts, though Hank briefly falls victim to a pothole in the area where Lou was working (the old fellow has vanished, though where he could have gone is unclear). Clemmons helps him on, throwing the tools into the wagon when they eventually stumble up after a moment or so's uncertainty in the dark and driving rain.

Sarah's instructions get a baffled look from Hank, but Clemmons catches on fast enough and tries to haul Billy up into the wagon. The mule snorts and locks his limbs. Hank scrambling into the wagon to pull whilst the older man pushes is no more effective: indeed, the mule redoubles his efforts to tear free of the handlers, throwing his head about and digging his heels deep into the mud.

"HAW. IH-IH-HAW. HAW."

Clemmons turns to Sarah, the cold rain cascading from his hat. "He won't go!"


[[Yeah, they both have penalties and both muffed their Ride/Animal handlin' checks. Billy isn't pleased.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:51, Fri 25 July 2014.

"Billy!  Get your furry tail in there now!"  She lightly swatted the mule on the rear, who grumbled but started moving.  She pulled him in and closed the doors behind her.  "Step aside, I have to get to the boiler!"  Sarah elbowed the men out of the way, and opened up the bag she was carrying, revealing a few hunks of ghost rock.  Carefully, she started shoving a few chunks into the small furnace.  "Stand back, this is going to get hot!"

I got a 23 on my Beast Friend, which should be more than enough to kick Billy's ass.  ;)

12:45, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 23,5 using d12+2,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (12+9)21,5. Beast Friend.

"Step aside where?" Clemmons grouses, trying to locate a space in a steam waggon filled with a large lady, large mule and slim fellow passenger in addition to Sarah's trunks and knicknacks.

"HAW! HAW!" Billy complains, still extremely unhappy about this arrangement. Hank wedges himself into a corner, a wet shadow out of the light of the waggon's lanterns. His eyes glint oddly as he glances towards the road ahead, but he adds nothing.


[[I won't trouble rolling Billy's Spirit against that, though Sarah will get the impression he's genuinely upset, either because of the general stress and rain or/and because he really doesn't like the way these men feel/smell to him. As far as he's concerned, everything is super-wrong right now.]]

"Never you mind that.  Let me get to the yoke, then when I say go, light the ghost rock!"  Sarah squeezed herself onto the board.

Clemmons gets into position as Billy snorts and stomps the flooring, ears flattened.

In reply to John Wesley Hardin (msg # 87):

Sarah grabbed the controls.  "Light it!"

Clemmons lights the boiler and slams the hatch shut. A tense forty seconds passes as the incredible heat of the ghost rock builds up the steam pressure, punctuated by the hammer of the rain and Billy's complaints.

"Good to go," Clemmons says, unecessarily since the gauge on the dial beside the steerage levers is telling Sarah the same thing. The floorplate shivers, though whether it's the waggon's chugging or a tremor in the ground itself it's hard to tell. Thunder rolls like a snarl from the heavens.


[[Give me a little bit on Sarah's driving style and we'll zoom over to the ranch.

If she intends to floor it, though, give me a Driving roll (I'm going to waive conditional modifiers for the sake of getting everyone together). Also, don't forget your Joker chips - there've been two draws of late and another coming up.]]

Sarah unnecessarily flicked the reins, then the steam wagon tore off into the darkness.  Despite moving far faster than Billy could, she kept a tight hold on the yoke as they raced through the darkness.

The steam-driven contraption wails and judders along, rocking its way over the uneven road ahead of whatever Hell is pounding close from the horizon. Closer to the ranch, dog corpses start to appear in the lanterns' arc of light, stretched and scattered by the roadside, gone to the dark as the waggon rolls by.

At one point Sarah has to avoid the largest lumps of what looks like a dismembered horse. By then, of course, the travellers can see the reason for the ranch's illumination - one of the long, low buildings surrounding the house, possibly a bunkhouse, is wildly on fire. Clemmons swears softly.

Hank also takes it in. "...if the Comanches have already killed everyone, 'least we get the house to ourselves."

Clemmons fights forward from watching the boiler as they slow, climbing the board to try and see the hoarde from the West. "-an' if that's not a war party, what is it?"

"Cavalry?" Hank suggests without conviction.


[[Notice, please!]]

03:38, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 2,2 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,2. Notice.

[[reaction to the prospect of everyone being dead? Going to stop anywhere specific? calm the mule? Roast marshmallows?]]

Clemmons tilts his head and raises his pistol fractionally, ready to shoot at something in the shadows of the feed shed. "Survivor or savage, reckon?" he asks, nodding to a wary figure hanging back near the corner of the building.

I was waiting on the fallout from the Notice roll.  Otherwise, Sarah will get out and start poking around.  She'll look for human bodies.

[[Ah, right. It wasn't a I'm-going-to-drop-nasties-on-you kind of Notice roll, though I see in my enthusiasm to get a post in before work I failed to post Wes' positive result which resulted in the above observation:
John Wesley Hardin rolled 6,3 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 6,3. Notice.

Hank Notices things, too. With a raise, which is helpful:
Hank Miller rolled 5,8 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,(6+2)8. Notice.]]

"Whichever, don't miss him," Hank mutters, shifting forwards as Sarah brings the contraption to a halt. "There's something weird all stuck under the roof of the porch..."

[[...and poor Billy rolled 5 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5. Notice? ]]

At this point Billy gets a scent of something and starts stomping in earnest, ears set back and body tense as though about to take on a mountain lion. He even starts to rear a little, desperate to turn and get down and get away. Hank grabs the side of the wagon to avoid being mashed into it as the mule's actions shake the entire thing on its wheels. "Whoa, there!"

Clemmons tries to keep his gun levelled on the person down by the feed shed, cursing.

Sarah brandishes a cross in one hand, and a shotgun in the other.  "Whoever you are, you best come out now!"

"So's y'all can shoot me? Hell no," comes the reply, faint through the rain. The figure actually backs a step, ready to duck around the building.

"I ain't fixing to shoot ya, assumin' you ain't gonna shoot us.  If you come out with yer hands up, I give you my word, we ain't gonna shoot ya."

"Yeah, and whose word is that?" the man (it sounds like a man) calls back. "Last lot o' folk came by here had a priest and they tried to shoot me...wandered on in to the house, I reckon. Prob'ly caught whatever kind of fuckin'...rabies got the hands by now, and good riddance."

Hank gives an irritated sigh and squeezes out, dropping down into the mud. "Gonna see if there's anyone home," he mutters, signalling Clemmons to cover him.

Sarah sighed, and raised her shotgun ever so slightly.  "Look, if we were here to kill you, my men would be circling around the house and shoot you from behind.  If this is a trap, you're better off out in the open, where you can see where ever'one's coming from, right?  And if we ain't here to kill ya, then you may as well come out so we can talk, face to face.  Am I right?"


00:27, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 9,7 using d10+4,d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of 5,3. Persuasion.

"Well you proved you know jack shit about tactics." The man does jog closer, wary of being out in the open. "You ain't backup from the Rangers, I reckon, though the last one they sent us was plumb crazy."

He comes into the very edge of the lanterns' light, squinting, then steps back again, lit only by the orange-dark flicker of the conflagration behind. "I'd sooner git on out of here than talk, though it sounds like whatever animal you got in there's a-gonna bust out," the soggy longhair observes over the sound of Billy's pounding.

Clemmons drops down too, then stands abruptly alert as Hank goes to move up on the porch step. "Kid! The porch is talkin' about eating yer eyes!"

"Wha-?" Hank gets out, turning, before a black, cawwing cloud of little birds with eyes like cinders erupts from the porch rafters, forcing him to flee back down into the mud. "-the Hell?"

The man by the steam wagon just tracks the smoke-boil of birds rising threateningly above the porch, seemingly having little trouble following their movement despite the rain and dark. "Yeah, they seem t'be guardin' the porch."

"Ye best back up a tad.  Where are we, and what's going on?  We followed the dust trail of a bunch of Comanches, but all we find is you.  What in tarnation is goin' on?"

[[actually, you're about 10 minutes ahead of whatever mass of hoofed things is a-comin' this way...]]

"You are at the Circle W Ranch, some ways out of Blackthorn, middle of fucking nowhere, Texas. It is fucking raining fit to flood, the ranch owner's gone off to deal with something about Injuns awakenin' a consarned heathen god, everyone back here caught some sort of ragin' disease as causes 'em to bite an' come at you shot or not, meanin' t'kill...I might be dyin' of a head wound- why they passed me over when they took the house, I reckon - last bunch of help tried to shoot me, there was a...a thing, it was...Bad," he shudders violently.

"-I think it's gone now, though. That's what caused all that black burnin' where there's been no fire. Don't know where the other survivors are, if there is any, an' if you're a-gonna keep wavin' that fuckin' thing at me you know what, I figger I'll take my chances with the Commanch', Hell an' high water and head back to town..." He does move off as per Sarah's contrary instructions, putting the corner of the wagon between himself and her line of fire.

Hank stomps across the yard to the burning bunkhouse, seeking a brand to wave off the birds.

By the sounds of it, Billy's started actively trying to kick his way through the tailboard in desperation.

[[Billy, rolled 5 using 1d8, rerolling max with rolls of 5. strength! Not enough.]]

Sarah shouldered the shotgun.  "Well, ain't sure what we can do for you, but at least I can look at that head wound of yours.  Kid, why don't you let Billy out, real slow-like?  He sounds fit to be tied."

Hank gives an uncertain scowl at the address, eyes glinting like torches for a moment in the firelight. Then he tromps back over, protesting only with a "you know he don't like me".

Nevertheless, Billy turns out to be too grateful to be out of the confined space to consider kicking Hank's skull in, though he does turn snorting, bowing circles around the lad holding his halter, clearly sensing danger from all directions.

[[Hank Miller rolled 3,8 using d6-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 5,(6+4)10. mule wranglin'. Amazingly, Hank makes a Raise on his Ride check.]]

"You a doctor?" the wounded man asks, though the hope in his voice is dim. He does come back around the edge of the wagon, very wary. He's clearly unarmed. "It stopped hurtin' a while back, jes' cold, but there's...things I can't remember. What my mama sounds like, how to play banjo, whether I done brushed my teeth this mornin'...big an' little, jes' gone out of me. I am scared I'm dyin'." Perhaps it's because Sarah's a woman, but the aggression in his tone has faded and the words are raw and genuine. "Some dog's death, in the rain. I tried t' save 'em. You believe me, don't you? I tried. An' I'm so cold..."

[[You'll need your hands free to see to the wound properly. Notice or Healing if you want to check it over.]]

Meanwhile, Clemmons walks out front of the house and tries to get the crowlet swarm's attention: "Hey, hey birds! What humans?"

19:04, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 5,4 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,4. Notice.

The little black birds settle on the porch roof, cawwing at Clemmons as though they were laughing.

"How bad is it?" the rough man asks.

"Honestly?  I'm amazed you're still standing.  I don't know if I can help you, but at the very least, I don't think you're going to get any worse."

The damp man relaxes slightly. "You reckon? Well, thank you kindly, that's...yeah, pretty good news. I still feel kinda weak, though, an' powerful thirsty...drank a bunch a rainwater but it must've been too fast or I'm too sick, couldn't keep it down."

"You want him hitched to something?" Hank enquires, of the mule.

Clemmons seems to be deep in conversation with the crowlets over there. "Is there any way in besides the porch, then? You tell me what the Cake Lady looks like, I'll make extra-sure not to hurt her, I swear...I was born in May, actually. Oh?"

"We'll get you some water.  Let me check your pulse, then I'll get a bandage on you."

The man starts to offer his wrist, but sees she's going for his cartroid and trustingly tilts his head to let her take his pulse.


"Birds say there's another way in," Clemmons reports, raising an eyebrow at the field aid.

In reply to Alistair Milburn (msg # 111):

"You're bleeding some, but I ain't gonna put a tourniquet on your neck.  I don't reckon you're gonna get any less alive, so let's go check out this other way in."

The fellow gingerly touches the back of his skull. "Uh...right. Water?" he asks hopefully, then looks to Clemmons. "It's the side door in the carriage house, yonder." He points beyond the porch, though all Sarah can tell in this light is that there's building there.

"If I were you I'd just torch the damn place, though. Those assholes that tried to shoot me went in an' never came out; I figure the infected got 'em. They're prob'ly torn up by now. That disease...you shoot 'em and they don't go down, it's horrible."

"So you want me to just stand in the rain here or what?" Hank asks, still minding Billy.

In reply to Alistair Milburn (msg # 113):

"Go fetch this man some water, please." Sarah asked.  Then, she turned to Hank.  "Don't be a durn fool, tie him off then let's see what's going on inside."

"Ain't been here before in my life," Clemmons says. "'Sides, the stuff's fallin' from the sky anyhow." He does throw their new friend a flask, however. The man swipes it out of the air as easily as if it were full summer daylight.

Hank raises his free hand vaguely like 'tie him off where?', eventually opting to hitch him to the wagon. Billy brays unhappily.

The new addition to Sarah's little band tries to catch her arm as she gets down and sets out with determination. "Listen, woman, they'll kill you in there, it's like they ain't even human no more... You can shelter just as well in the new barn or the feed shed, git warm, git your mule inside afore he catches 'newmonie - there is really no call to go in there. None."

"First of all, we ain't gonna be torching nothing in this rain.  Second, we ain't here to torch the place.  We're here to bring the light of the Lord into the dark places, and there here place seems as dark as it gets.  Clemmons, lead the way."

"You're...you're gonna preach at them?" the wounded man queries, a kind of bewildered horror in his voice. He just stands folornly as the others move off, shaking his head a little. "Madness. The whole world's gone fucking nuts."

Both the others have pistols drawn. Clemmons pauses at the carriage house's outer door, tense. "Don't suppose you have any kind of plan for if we are walkin' into a bunch of armed, rabid madmen, by any chance?" he asks.

Behind them, the injured man's coughs turn to retching, faint under the rain, as he tries and fails to swallow whiskey.

In reply to Alistair Milburn (msg # 117):

"Didn\n't you hear the man?  I aim to preach at them.  Lead on!"

[[Did you pick up your cross and/or shotgun again, the Sarah?]]

"Oh," says Wes, with less than gospel enthusiasm. "Right." He gingerly pushes the door open.

{[CRASH]} *CLANG* *crunklecrinkle* *tonk*

Seems someone in the house set up a simple noise trap. Both men flatten themselves instinctively either side of the doorway, but no-one rushes out or starts shooting. Time is suddenly of the essence. Clemmons drops into a low, agile stance and Hank reacts without a word, moving swiftly into the dark carriage house then beckoning the older man on, covering him.

Clemmons is reaching for the doorknob when the inner door is hauled open; a strikingly beautiful barefoot lady stands on the threshold and blinks at them a few times.

"Hey, mister, you c'n have your flask back-" their friend from outside says, leaning in with caution.

The lady blinks again, focuses on him and snaps her fingers. "You." The wounded man's face goes blank and attentive like the lady just threw a switch in his brain. The woman points at Sarah.

"Kill," she says, and slams the door on them.

Then the man is suddenly airbourne, eyes blank and bared fangs aiming for Sarah's ample throat...


[[Agility vs. vampire, please! After that, draw init.]]

13:00, Today: Sister Sarah drew the single card: 3C using a deck of 54 cards. Init.
12:59, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 3,9 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,(6+3)9. Agility.

Fast as he is, Sister Sarah's reflexes are faster.

[[Alistair Milburn, rolled 3,1 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,1. vampire attack!! You beat him handily - make your move here, and your 3C'll go in the big mess of init. on the other thread next round, unless things fall out so that the fights're split evenly in two.

What weaponry do you have in hand?]]

Sarah slams her cross onto the ground, creating a shockwave that blasted the vampire off his feet.


21:58, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 15,7 using d12+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of (12+1)13,5. Stun!

Thunder rolls, shaking dust from the ceiling.

Sarah's prompt action throws the vampire off, but only long enough for him to stumble and come back at her, growling low in his throat. Hank, however, steps back for balance, trips and falls over something in the gloom, going down with a crashing clatter and a final *rowrowrowr* of some small washer spinning to a stop. A sudden commotion of cawwing starts up outside.

[[Sarah's thunderclap manages to Shake both her allies. Milburn is also Shaken, but he has the end of his trigger action and the undead +2 to unshake anyway...as a vampire-hunting tip, thrusting a cross in their face (forcing an opposed Spirit roll) or adding Smite to things generally works better than Shaking everyone then mopping up by force.

...if you want to get your calmer, if somewhat ornery, buddy back, your best bet is probably grappling and Persuadin' him out of it, though Marina's near enough to fight your influence, so it'd be at -2.

Anyway, rolls:
Alistair Milburn rolled 3,0 using d8-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 4,1. avoiding Stun. Fail. Should be 1,-2 there, but no matter...
Hank Miller rolled 0,1 using d6-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 2,3. avoiding Stun. Fail.
John Wesley Hardin, rolled 2,1 using d8-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 4,3. avoiding Stun. Fail.

Alistair Milburn rolled 2,4 using d8+1,d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of 1,3. unshake? (end of trigger action) Unshaken, no raise.

Hank's turn: Hank Miller rolled 2,2 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,2. unshake? Fail. He was super-Shaken!]]

Clemmons finds his balance quickest, drawing a pistol in the same action and squeezing off a shot that takes the vampire right between the eyes as he lunges for Sarah again. The man goes down...then twitches, jerks and is up again, unnaturally fast.

[[John Wesley Hardin rolled 2,4 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,4. unshake Wes? Unshaken, no raise.
Since he has Marksman to cancel out his unshaking MAP, however, all he really has to worry about is the dark...not being so quick on the uptake and never having fought vampires before, he tries shooting 'em.

John Wesley Hardin rolled -1,15 using d10-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+6+5)17. shootin'. Hit, raise.
John Wesley Hardin rolled 17 using 3d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of 3,4,(6+3)9. damage can has? Wound-level damage; the vampire is Shaken.

Al's turn:
Alistair Milburn, rolled 12,3 using d8+1,d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of (8+3)11,2. unshake? He unshakes with a raise! or so.
Alistair Milburn, rolled 2,2 using d6+1,d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of 1,1. *NOM*. He utterly fails to bite Sarah. Derpy vampire.]]

Sarah's sturdy arm wards off an attempt to bite as the inner door bangs open, this time revealing a sickly-pale young man with his spectacles askew and a rifle raised high. He stares at the fight, trying to work out whom, if anyone, he should shoot. "Where did she go?!" he demands generally, ignoring the people running up behind him.

[[Percy/the Dust Adders generally go on Hold, not knowing what the Hell is going on.]]

William steps into the carriage house, scanning the room for Marina.


10:52, Today: William Pierce rolled 8,7 using d6+4,d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of 4,3. Super-Notice!

Elbowing past Percy, William notices a tubby woman fighting the first vampire they met by flailing at him with a wooden cross, a guy who is either John Wesley Hardin himself or someone who looks a hell of a lot like him (though if he is, he must have been injured in jail or escaping, since descriptions William's seen and read don't include this guy's slight hunchback)...and that the angry, dead young man who's swearing like a miner having just fallen over the toolbox is Hank Miller.

"#'@;*&%£$..."

The mob of crowlets outside the partly-open outer door seem somewhat peripheral after that.

[[Sarah, go!]]

William freezes, his eyes narrowing.
"...Hank?" he rasps, his mouth suddenly dry.

On hold, I guess?

The lad doesn't seem to have heard William over the general chaos, instead trying to extricate himself from the remnants of the noise trap on the floor.

[[He's Shaken, actually, and apparently distracted:
Hank Miller rolled 3,1 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,1. Notice?

Talking's a free action, though, so feel free to get his attention and have a cheerful conversation whilst Sarah gets eaten by vampires over there...]]

(ugh... is there no end to these blood suckers?))

It takes him a second, but then a calmer, more rational part of him takes charge again. One thing at a time.

He focuses on the vampire attacking the woman. Still got two bullets left...

He muses, then pulls a stake from his belt and plunges the stake through the vampire's back, straight through his heart.
He keeps it there a second, just to see if the thing is "family"... or merely "hired help".


23:15, Today: William Pierce rolled 14 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+6+2)14. red chip 2.
23:15, Today: William Pierce rolled 1,3 using d8-4,d6-4, rerolling max with rolls of 5,(6+1)7. red chip.
23:15, Today: William Pierce rolled -3,-3 using d8-4,d6-4, rerolling max with rolls of 1,1. White chip.
23:14, Today: William Pierce rolled -3,-1 using d8-4,d6-4, rerolling max with rolls of 1,3. Fighting?


23:21, Today: William Pierce rolled 8,1,7 (total 16) using d10,d4,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 8,1,(6+1)7. Stake damage plus bonus.

23:21, Today: William Pierce drew the single card: AC using the Deadlands system. Initiative.
Chip count already accounted for as of this post.

[[Oh! Sorry, I thought the Notice roll was your action...is that a function of Alertness or something? ...and yeah, 20 damage (with their Weakness) to a Lesser's gonna kill 'im. Since Marina suceeded in doing what she was doing on her action she's out of range for now, so all nonhuman nasties have vacated the vicinity.

...OUT OF COMBAT.]]

The vampire coughs, his eyes briefly something like human and confused as he sinks to his knees, blood that's spurted into his lungs and throat briefly flecking his lips before he keels over, a few hours' decay setting in over the course of a few seconds.

Hank startles slightly at the thud of the body on the ground and looks up at the killer, tensing. Then blinks. "Pierce?"

[[actually, Blood Meridian-based song for you. ^_^ ]]

Certainty takes hold, despite the beard. Startled preacher forgotten, the youth scrambles up, punches William in the shoulder and seizes him into the biggest hug he can manage. "Billy, you asshole, couldn't you hang about long enough to check a man was dead?"

Clemmons/Hardin just looks confused. Percy jogs over to the outer door, drops to a rifleman's crouch and peers out of it, readjusting his spectacles.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:01, Thu 21 Aug 2014.

William staggers slightly, under the "attack" from Hank. His heightened senses immediately tell him what is going on.

He doesn't know....

"Take it easy, Hank... I had to hightail it out of there."

He gently pushes him away, making sure to keep his right hand available to re-draw the gun.
"What are you doing here? Have you been looking for me?" Then he nods at the others.
"And who are they?"
Then, almost as if it was an afterthought, "and where did she go?"

"I figured," Hank responds with a sidelong look.

"Been looking for you since I remembered where we left off - been working outrider for Union Blue awhile, y'know, scrip for scalps - caught a rifle stock to the head an'...lost chunks of memory, I guess. I still don't know who patched me up, or why I went North..." he shakes his head. "Anyhow, I figure there's some bits I won't ever get back, but once I knew where to start...I couldn't not try'n find you, Billy. I didn't even know if you made it out alive."

"Fell in with Clemmons here south of the States...he's got contacts an' we figured you might hide up in Blackthorn, too. He was headed down, it was getting kinda...hot in the Territories, we bin riding together since. Saved my life from the Comanches, too."

Hardin/Clemmons checks his gun over before putting it away. "Modest, kid - you fought like a demon with half the lance in there before you keeled over."

"It's a blur to me," Hank shrugs. "Guess I was feverish. This here's my all-new sister, Sarah, daughter of that show preacher that took advantage of my mama. She's a bit crazy but her aim's all right. Him I don't know," he nods down at Milburn. "He was quiet enough when we got here, then that woman told him to kill Sarah and he set in with the biting."

"I thought she went back inside the house," Clemmons/Hardin volunteers.

"Can't have - she must have gone through here, or she'd have passed me," Percy throws in. "B-blasted thing couldn't have gone more than a few steps before I was in the room with her..." his eyes widen and he stands hurriedly to see who's nearest the door inside.

"Abbie, Dave, ceiling!"

Inside, Abbie startles and crouches away from the ceiling, wooden sword raised, but her posture quickly confirms to those outside that there's no vampire immediately to be seen. "Clear here!" Abbie calls back.

"Ain't on the kitchen ceiling," Dave reports from further back.

"Who's out there?"

Sarah looked at the two men in confusion.  "Y'all want to tell me what the dickens is going on?"

"The crows're saying to be careful of a pretty lady running this way, presum'bly the one that set this sucker on you," Clemmons replies, toeing the corpse over to frown at the lack of bullet hole between the eyes. "Funny...was sure I got him good..."

Oh, and the kid seems to know this guy," he nods at William.

"Percy," the sickly, bespectacled young man corrects automatically at 'kid', then starts coughing wretchedly.

Sarah looks briefly at the corpse. then with a sudden Bible verse, slams the pointed end of her cross directly into its chest.

The corpse does not get any deader than when it was first staked: looks like this guy was only dead for a few hours, not long enough to crumble to bones or dust like other vampires Sarah's encountered.


[[Handy reference for ya. Incidentally, God says He would much appreciate more audible power trappings, to encourage listeners to recognise thy power cometh from Him and be comforted.]]

Sarah mumbled a few closing words, wishing the man's soul to heaven.  "It's time to move on."  She collected her cross and stood up.  "Which way?"

"Hello!" comes a shout from further inside the house. "Mr. Pierce! Who is that out there?"

Pierce narrows his eyes as Sarah raises her cross, then turns around.
"She was here a moment ago, Marshal! She didn't get out... if she's not in the kitchen, she must hide in here somewhere..."

Williams takes a few steps to the side, readying another stake and scans the darkness.

"They're not vampires, Marshal... I reckon as long as they're not trying to kill us we can handle introductions later."




Is there a carriage in the carriage house? any cupboards, barrels? I'm also looking at the ceiling.

12:14, Today: William Pierce rolled 7,11 using d6+4,d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of 3,(6+1)7. Super-Notice!
This message was last edited by the player at 14:55, Tue 26 Aug 2014.

"Out of the rain way - that woman's not here presently, so-" Hank's brain catches up to his ears and the reference to a CS marshal. "-o, uh...let's see if this place can hold up to a fight."

Clemmons starts and steps up into the house's laundry room. "Oh yeah, we outran a herd of something headed this way, could be Comanch' coming for a second swipe. They git your horses and bunkhouse? Something's afire out there."

"Bunkhouse," Percy confirms, spitting what he's hacked up onto a kerchief. "Save for Spades' horse in the living room, the vampires killed or drove off all of ours - we d-don't really have a choice but to stay."

He follows Clemmons/Hardin in and is promptly tackled into a slightly hysterical hug by his mother.


[[Please move over to the Upstairs, Downstairs thread, folks.]]