The night was dark, but the sky was intermittently illuminated by fireworks. As one bright white nightflower lit up the night, scattering white sparkles all over the sky in the flash they could see a man standing in the middle of the street. Ahead of him, a woman screamed and ran away. The man was standing silently in the street, a black top hat on his head and a ragged coat covering his body. At his feet lay a body, or most of one. About a yard away was a severed head.

He didn't look up at the group's approach for a moment, but raised his head as they moved closer in, and quickly pulled up one of his hands. A sharp metal blade was clutched in one of his fists, catching the flashing light of the night sky again for a moment. His eyes, cruel and sharp could be seen every so briefly in a fleeting moment before all was dark again. He took up a fighting stance, putting a gap between his feet and squaring his shoulders.

Maybe it was here. Maybe it had always had been.

When Morgan had heard about Hays, when the name Quantrill had escaped little Laura Palmer's lips, he'd felt as though he had known for certain. Even more so after he'd seen Sarah. It was the hunt he'd been on all of his life. To put right all the horror the Border Ruffians had visited on his home. On his family. Insuring that William Quantrill was in his grave struck him as the last task before him. The last fight.

But maybe it was this. Putting a stop to the madman that now stood before them. The one who carved up men like meat in a slaughterhouse.

How was it Suzy Winger had put it? "I know it sounds crazy, but he moved so quickly. I'd say maybe five times as fast as any o' y'all could move."

Once, when Morgan was in the northern part of Kansas, he'd encountered a group of Cheyenne braves, warriors that were hunting the same murderous fugitive as he. Once they had understood that they were not enemies, they had ridden together. Morgan had told them about the Ruffians and Lawrence.  One of the men, called Dull Knife, spoke of Custer and the Little Big Horn. He'd said that at the battle, one of the Sioux leaders, named Low Dog, had called out to them, "Follow me. This is a good day to die."

So it was. He walked forward alongside Earp, raising his weapon as the killer turned to face them.

Earp had seen plenty of killings in his time. Dealt with more hot blooded fools who's reached for a gun out of anger, pride, or greed than he cared to remember. Much as he hated that kind of violence, at least he understood it. But these murders, cutting men up and hanging on to some of the pieces, defied all logic.

When he sighted the man in the top hat standing over another victim, his hand reflexively went to his Colt. Every time he pulled the weapon, he hoped it was only as a tool, something to be displayed to force people to calm down and see reason. But even as he drew the pistol he understood, deep down, that there was nothing reasonable about the man with the blade in his hand. There would be no talking, no short walk to the jail.

Some things had to end in blood.

"Town Marshals!" he yelled, his commading voice loud in the empty street, "Put the knife down and surrender! I'm only going to ask once!"

Pausing slightly behind and to one side of Caleb, Coraline's draw dropped open at the sight of the carnage in the street.  Thankful that she had a somewhat powerful hex already in reserve.  Having already drawn the cards, she had but to twist the dark forces at her command to her will.  She reached out with magic to Caleb, imbuing him with an invisible force to aid him in the fight.

The man simply stood there silently, not making a move. He lifted up the small blade in his hand, and made a slash in the air with it, as if he was cutting them. A cruel, ghost of a smile haunted his face.

"Right," Earp said. The formalities completed, he raised his Colt and fired.

Morgan's reaction mirrored Earp's. As the killer sliced his blade through the air, Morgan thumbed the hammer of his Peacemaker and squeezed the trigger, hoping against hope that they could put the madman down quickly.

Darling moves to the right of the others, wondering how well this creature can see in the dark. O-kay. Not Doc Smith then. I'll apologize later.

He draws his revolver and a derringer drops into his left hand at the same time.

Wyatt Earp shot him in the knee cap, and for a moment he seemed to stumble. Caleb fired, putting a bullet right between the man's eyes. He stopped for a moment, and simply shook his head - as if he had just been punched. He plucked something from between his eyebrows and tossed it to the ground. There was no blood, no bruise, and no hesitation. For Caleb, he had only a wicked grin and then he rushed forward towards the law man, dashing at an unbelievable speed. Raising back his scalpel, he slashed viciously at the Marshal.

Coraline was shocked at the speed with which the creature moved, even after being warned.  As the beast attacked Caleb, she took an involuntary step backward, fumbling with the spectral cards in her hands.  Perhaps she wasn't concentrating or perhaps luck just wasn't with her.  Whatever the case, they gave her absolutely no help.

"Hell!" Earp muttered in shock as the killer closed the gap between himself and the group in the blink of an eye. Taking a circling step, Earp fired again, this time deliberately targeting the murderer's leg, hoping somehow to hobble him.

Regardless of the fact that he'd believed what Suzy Winger had told them, Morgan was still stunned when the killer was suddenly upon him, the blade in the man's hand slashing at him. Doing his utmost to keep his wits about him, he managed a pair of backward steps, trying to put a little distance between himself and the madman. For a brief instant, Morgan's eyes closed, as though lost in concentration, before refocusing on his swift attacker.

Fast was an understatement, Suzy.

Darling circles to the right, seeking to get behind the creature, both pistols ready in his hands.

Faster than a flickering flame, he danced away from Caleb and whipped around, dashing towards Coraline. Whipping his arm back, he spun in a circle, bringing his scalpel around to slash at one of her legs with powerful strength in a smooth motion. He gave no cry or sound with his voice of effort or glee or anything else. He simply attacked relentlessly, his scalpel thirsting for blood.

Never had Coraline been so thankful for the miles of fabric that society forced her to don.  Besides her dress and bustle, she also had contend with several layers of petticoats, bloomers, stockings, and ankle boots.  Her skirts were often a hindrance and had been a point of contention between her and her mother on many occasions, but she suffered them as all women of good breeding did.  With little warning, the man was upon her, slashing at her legs and hacking her skirt in the process.  She backed up rapidly as the wicked blade flashed in the light, eyes widening in shock.  Instinctively, she reached for the magic at hand, wrestling it into submission and loosing her twisted creation upon the monster of a man in a blast of watery light.

As the killer whirled around, Earp tried to focus on the flashing blade the man wielded. Steadying himself, the lawman took aim, hoping to put a bullet in the hand that held the knife, and fired.

Morgan had barely had time to step away before the monster was dashing toward Hawthorne, the knife it wielded whipping through the air. It didn't look as though the killer had harmed her, but he moved so fast, faster than anything Morgan had ever seen, save for perhaps a swift fox tearing across the prairie.

He knew he'd hit the murderer. His shot had struck him squarely in the forehead, but it hadn't slowed him down. Hadn't even made the creature bleed. Unbidden, Suzy Winger's words rose to the surface in his mind. "...all I got a glimpse of was his crazy lookin' eyes."

"Maybe there is something in that skull of yours I can hurt," Morgan thought, raising his pistol. Even as he did so, he knew it was a harebrained idea. But desperation, he supposed, bred crazed schemes. "Even on your best day as a youngster in the war," he told himself, "there's no way you could make that shot."

He fired.

As Earp's and Morgan's guns bang, Randolph steps up behind the maniac, pressing the barrel of his Colt low against the crature's spine and pulling the trigger, trying for a crippling shot.

He stepped back uncertainly as that blast of watery light streamed toward him from Coraline, the first sign of hesitation that he had shown thus far that night. He lashed at it with its scalpel, as if it would cut it, but it didn't. Instead, it swallowed it, sucking in all that nearly invisible ghostly white light that just a moment before had seemed to threaten him.

A bullet then struck him in the hand, which he shook reflexively as if stung. Another cracked open his glasses, shattering one of his lenses. Bullet and lenses seemed to fall away as soon as they touched his skin.

Almost triumphantly, he surged forward towards the pair of law men. A swing at Wyatt Earp went wild, catching the Deputy Marshal squarely on the badge with a clink. He didn't wait or try again, flying from man to man like a creature of nightmare, he thrust his scalpel wildly into Caleb's chest.

Tricky, tricky.  Eyes narrowed at the ineffectiveness of her hex, Coraline had a little more room to breathe.  Noting the flinch to the man's hand, she drew to new hands in quick succession and readied them.  Bashing objects wasn't as subtle as blasting souls, but she didn't have much of a choice.  The spell manifested as giant balls of light and hurtled toward the creature's hand, intending to destroy the scalpel he held -- if fortune held.  The spell was much slower than normal, but she hoped that he was sufficiently distracted with the others to notice the attack.

The first swirling ball of light and mystical energy seemed to go right through his arm, but the second one crashed right into the scalpel he was holding in his hand, knocking the scalpel out, and sending it flying into the side of the building, clattering to the ground.

He seemed suddenly to shudder, and draw back, drawing in on himself. He was no longer the large the tall, looming, devastatingly destructive figure, running about and slashing people viciously at will.

Clayton Mansfield sank to his knees, leaned down and started to weep.

After Morgan had a moment to process what had just occurred, he turned his attention from the weeping man to where the scalpel had fallen, hunting for the blade in the dust.

Coraline let out a breath and stared at the weeping man, but primarily ignored him as she followed Caleb to the building.  "Don't touch it," she warned.  "I do believe it was what caused his transformation."  Though she was wearing gloves, she took extra precaution with the scalpel Mansfield had been holding, fishing out one of her handkerchiefs and wrapping it about the shiny blade.

"Please," he pleaded. "You must destroy it immediately. There's no telling what might happen...if you touch it...It...thirsts. For blood." He shuddered.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:28, Thu 27 June 2013.

Morgan considered the scalpel with a frown. Looking to Hawthorne he said, "We should take it to a blacksmith. Have it melted down."

"If that is even possible." She tucked it into her purse where no one would touch it and knotted the drawstring tightly.  Turning slightly to the drunkard, she held the silk bag in front of him between two fingers.  "Where, exactly, did you get this?"

"When I graduated from medical school in sweet Carolina, my mentor Dr. Cuttingthwaite presented myself and another student each with a black valise containing a new scalpel. My compatriot who received it, Jack, sailed across the ocean to try his luck in London. Being a patriot, I offered my services to the Confederate Army," he said. The horrors of war, and much more lingered behind his eyes.

Gabby ran towards the gunfire. He turned a corner...and found Mansfield, the drunken doctor, on his knees, saying something to Caleb, Coraline, and Wyatt Earp.

He wasn't sure what was going on here, but Clementine was growling. She seemed to be growling at Cora, for some reason.

But there wasn't time for that right now. Gabby raised his shotgun and stepped into view. "Mr. Mansfield! you're under arrest for the murders of Paul Goodwin, Ralphie Simpkins, and at least 6 others what had heads back in your room!" He spotted another body, blood pooling from it, and felt a bit ill. They'd been too late to stop him from killing again.

He knew he was going to sound a bit foolish...it looked like Mansfield had been caught by the others. But Gabby needed to say it, if only to bring some closure over the business of the ghastly things that had crawled out of the carpet bag, from under the bed and out the closet. He need closure to keep the nightmares at bay.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:37, Thu 27 June 2013.

Coraline frowned at Gabby.  "Will you put that shotgun down!  Does this man look like a cold blooded killer.  I've got your killer right here."  She shook her purse at the miner, likely confusing him further, and turned back to Clayton.  "Mister Mansfield, why didn't you just get rid of it?  Why did you keep using it?"

An urgent jingling noise announced the appearance of a jogging giant priest and a shaman riding a blindfolded and partially shaved reindeer.

*hmh!*

Sky Dog halted when his steed objected to the wash of blood and slid into a dismount that favoured his left leg, approaching the victim's head with his brutally coarse blade in one hand, riding-pole in the other. "You have captured the spirit, Hawthorn?" he asked as he caught her words, crouching, only half-expecting to be heeded. "Is it an animal?"

The tin piika on his shirt caught a white burst of sparks, bloody. Sky Dog put his knife away and used his sleeve to lift the head by the hair without touching it.

"Korr!" Korpi called out, hearing her brother's voice. Sky Dog looked up at once, searching for a black-on-black shape as he joined the group. Igor stood, blindfolded and nervous but not daring to bolt, content as much as he could be to hear the shaman nearby.

Randolph puts his weapons away. A queasiness washes over him as he realizes that he had figured it out, but hadn't persisted in his conviction. That allowed at least two more butcheries to take place. Bowing his head, he presses his hand to his eyes, refusing to shed tears here.

"Looks like you folks have things under control here," he says quietly, looking up again, "I better go make some apologies."

Turning to go, he says quietly to Cora: "Good work, Miss Hawthorne, thank you."

Then he turns his steps toward Dr. Smith's place.

Morgan looked at Mansfield, feeling a sudden, sharp pang of empathy for the man.

Addressing Gabby, Daniel, and Sky Dog, Morgan said, "Mr. Mansfield was in possession of a scalpel. A gift from one of his medical instructors in the Carolinas. Apparently, whenever he handled it, it would transform him into a killer. A very capable one."

He paused, considering his words carefully. "During the fight he...lost his grip on the scalpel. The moment he did, he went from being a tall, insanely fast madman to this." He gestured to the weeping physician.

"Miss Hawthorne secured the scalpel so that no one can touch it. Now we just need to find a way to destroy the thing."

Morgan opened his Peacemaker as he talked, replacing the spent bullets.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:09, Thu 27 June 2013.

"The thing was, though, Miss, I couldn't put it down. I couldn't let go of it. I don't know how I could explain. I could try to let it go, but I couldn't. I could think about tapping the table with it, and do that, but if I thought about setting it down on the table, my hand would grip it tight - outta my control. There was something else in my head, and I had to constantly fight it."

Slowly, he took off his coat, and showed them a bloody spot on his arm. "Most of the time, I kept it buried in myself, my own skin...my own blood. That would satisfy it's thirst for a time, but eventually...if it didn't kill for long enough..." He shuddered.

Sky Dog dipped his head to the explanation. "The iron had become vampire. They are the strongest kind...the work of a blacksmith will always be stronger than any medicine man's. Even a shamán's, most times." He glanced at Cora, then the drunkard.

Still unusually grim, Sky Dog held up the head. "Do you know this one, Wyitterp?"

Gabby frowns at Caleb's story.

"Possessed cutlery?" He says. "Well, then how in God's sweet and holy name did he manage to create them monsters Danny and I fought? A gaggle o' the things, formed from the heads, hands, and feet of the people he killed. Don't tell me some knife compelled him to do that."

Clementine starts backing at Cora, loudly. Or, more accurately, at her purse.

"Oh, it did sir, believe me. I don't think anybody would understand really, what it is to have somethin' crawl into your mind and just...play, while you're forced to watch. That's what it felt like," he said.

"Cutting off arms and legs and hands, and heads, and carrying them around in a sack, and then putting them together, using my knowledge as a surgeon. I used to think that only God could give life, but that thing...it gave life to them."

"Only way I could try to forget was to drink till I could hardly see straight or think right."

Sky Dog tensed. "The alcohol, it will have made this worse," he said, low but carrying. "They are kin, these...corruptions."

He made to scratch his cheek against his riding staff, then realised he would disturb the fresh scab there and scratched the back of his head against it instead. "It will call to him, Hawthorn. Maybe you will be wary to be far from him, yes?"

Gabby frowns, but he supposed it made sense...he didn't know a thing about possessing spirits, but if it were using the doc's preexisting skills to make them, then animating them on it's own...

Gabby sighed. "I don't reckon Jake Simpkins is gonna be satisfied that it was the knife that done killed his brother."

"I suppose we could always try letting him hold the blade. See if he believes it then," he said bitterly.

Morgan returned his pistol to its holster. "You bring up a good point though, Gabby. Simpkins will have to handled carefully. Otherwise, he and the Wilderness Riders will start all kinds of mayhem."

He frowned. "I reckon we need to put Mansfield somewhere safe."

Wyatt Earp considered the situation before him carefully, looking at Clayton, and then up to Coraline over to Caleb.

"I thought I'd seen some strange things before tonight. I know I have. But I think this is just different strange. More than I would have expected," he said, passing a brief but meaningful glance at Coraline.

"We can find a safe place for Mansfield; that's the easy part. We're the only ones who know he's had anything to do with it. I saw that transformation myself, which is good enough for me. But people know there's been a killer about, and I reckon they'll be gettin' scared if they haven't been already. We're gonna need to tell them somethin'. Can't just let everyone thinkin' there's still a killer on the loose. Any ideas?"

"Tell them that deputies caught the killer in the act, but they were unsuccessful in arresting him. In the attempt to capture him, the murderer was wounded and fled on horseback, headed south. The deputies were able to give a good description of the man, which you've passed on to the Texas Rangers."

Paler yet than he had been, Sky Dog spoke briefly to his sister and moved back towards the priest, pausing and leaning on the staff to speak quietly to Mansfield when Clemya paused for breath: "If ever you are wishing to be killed safely, I am Sky Dog," he told the man.

"Do you know where we might find knowledge of this one's kin?" The shaman showed Father Iglesias the head, coming level and leaning the stick against Igor to soothe and stroke the reindeer.

Coraline gave Randolph a nod as he slipped away, thinking better of following him.  He did have apologies to give, and while she wanted to hear them in person, she didn't want to embarrass him.  She threw Sky Dog a glance, only understanding about half of what he was saying, but getting the basic gist.  Parting the drunken man from the demonic tool of death was an excellent idea.  Following Caleb's suggestion to find someone to destroy it was even better.

As she turned, she did her best to ignore the significant look from Earp, thankful for the darkness that hid the blush in her cheeks.  Holding her purse tightly in one hand, she eyed Gabby's dog.  "Mister Clarke, if you would rein in your mutt, I would be exceedingly grateful." 

"Well, I think it best that we all get a move on.  Take Mister Mansfield some place safe and have the doctor's men collect... that."  She eyed the corpse on the ground.  "I somehow doubt that the local blacksmith has his forge burning at this hour during a holiday celebration, but I will go check nonetheless."

"I'll accompany you, Miss Hawthorne," Morgan offered. He could feel a gnawing pain from the wounds he'd taken to the arm and chest, but as best he could tell, the cuts were shallow. He figured with some makeshift bandages, they would keep until Doc Smith could look him over in the morning. For now, the scalpel was what mattered. He wanted to see it destroyed, to be certain there would be no more monstrous killers roaming Dodge's streets who could shrug off bullets like bee stings.

Turning to Earp, he asked, "Deputy Marshal, do you know a smith here in town who wouldn't get too angry over being roused at this time of night?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:19, Fri 28 June 2013.

"I reckon that won't be good enough for Simpkins." Gabby says. "Better to say he done got killed. Means no one is gonna be afeared o' him comin' back. We got no shortages o' heads back at the dog Eye if'n we need to produce evidence to satisfy the curious."

Gabby glares at Coraline. "You know, I don't think I will. Your gratitude ain't somethin' I treasure over much, especially when it comes with a side of insults heaped on the parentage of my dog." His eyes narrow. "Unlike some bitches I've met, Clementine has good breeding."

Clementine, meanwhile, ignores the verbal sparring. Her attention is focused solely on the evil thing wrapped within the purse. It needs to go. It needs to go somewhere deep, dark, and far away.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:45, Fri 28 June 2013.

"How is it an insult if it is true?  A mutt is a mixed breed.  I somehow doubt she has a traceable pedigree.  You need to stop finding insult where no insult was given, Gabby Clarke!  If you were within reach, I would have slapped you just now for your insinuations."  Coraline was growing increasingly irritated with the barking dog.  "Now will you please shut up your dog!"

"Go!  Shoo!" She waved at Clementine with the hand holding the purse.  Her other arm hung limply at her side and wasn't doing much of anything.  "Go on.  Get!"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:10, Fri 28 June 2013.

Daniel looked around at the scene as they arrived and leaned his head to the side a bit so Korpi could leave his shoulder if she wanted. He listened to the back and forth and frowned at the discussion surrounding evil tools. "We left a lotta blood in the doc's room. If we tell Simpkins ta take a look up there, he might be convinced a killer died up there. Course we prolly wanna either get rid of the bits of body that might be important ta him, or provide them ta him so he can bury it proper."

Daniel narrowed his eyes at the interplay between Coraline and Clementine. Clementine was a great dog and Daniel liked her a lot. He had learned to pay attention when she thought something was wrong. Perhaps it was possessed scalpel?
This message was last edited by the player at 23:40, Sat 29 June 2013.

In reply to Coraline Hawthorne (msg # 48):

Clementine does not get. In fact, she leaps at the purse full of wrong being waved at her, attempting to grab it in her jaws.

Korpi rubbed her head against Daniel's jaw. "Spath'ba." She broke off and finally looked up, tense, at a snarling pause in the barking, bird-sharp vision tracking every movement in the gloom. She saw the shift of skirts as Hawthorne prepared a kick and launched herself from Daniel's shoulder to drive the witch away.

For Cora, the night became textured with rushing air and beating wings.
"KAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWW."

Igor startled and sidestepped heavily into the priest. *Ukh!*

Wyatt Earp looked like he was about to lose his patience with the scene before him.

"If you two can't keep your pets under control, someone is going to have to do it for you," he said, taking a step to interpose himself between the animals and the woman.

"Mr. Clarke, you ought to know better than to conduct yourself as you've been. Sky Dog, you can't keep using being from off as an excuse for all your antics. Don't take your example from Mr. Clarke here. Setting your animal on people isn't a civilized way to behave."

Sky Dog looked round from calming his reindeer several paces away and held up his wrist until Korpi joined him. A brief discussion followed, Sky Dog taking the raven's croaks, bobs and scraps of Evenki as seriously as anything the lawman might say.

"She did believe the witch Hawthorn meant to damage Clemya - in Siberia, a dog that is injured will be soon eaten by wolves. So. I have told her the American wolves are very little, and very frightened, yes?" He grinned, but it was an odd grin, flat, more a show of teeth than a smile.

"Please, if you do need us for your law, it is well to forgive us two customs: Korpi, she will not watch a friend struck; myself, I cannot lie to the people. I will be silent. If you are much displeased for this, I shall return your law and you may keep your dollars." He watched Earp for reaction. "For the rest, I will be well...civilised."

He cast the head back near its body like a lump of firewood. "Lay so," he told it, then looked up at nothing and shook his head, frowning, to some unheard question. He drove his riding-pole hard against the ground with a word, rattling the various charms and amulets tied to the top. Apparently satisfied for now, Sky Dog returned to his reindeer and mounted up, Korpi fluttering to sit on Igor's head.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:03, Sat 29 June 2013.

Gabby shrugs. "I didn't set Clementine on her...girl smells something foul, I reckon. I can't fault her for wanting to get at it and be rid of it." He looks over at the lav, who is seeking a way to get around Wyatt and snap at the purse again.

"Clementine! Heel!" He says. The lab whines, but backs down. "Come on over her, girl." he says. The dog sidles up to the old-timer who kneels to pet her and comfort her. "That's a good girl." he says. "That's a good girl. You didn't do no wrong, least not in my eyes. Just tryin' to protect us from the evil people-possessin' knife, is all."

He looks up at Cora. "As for things not bein' insultin' if they're true, well, I'll just keep that in mind, witch." He gives her a brittle grin.

Sky Dog looked confused at Gabby's words, then over at Cora. "This is a wrong word?"

The question appeared quite genuine: in fact, the shaman's general air of passive hostility towards Deputy Hawthorne seemed greatly lessened after having witnessed her feat of magic from down the street. "You would say 'sorcerer', or 'hexcraft', maybe? Apologies, if there is insult."

Igor seemed discontent with all the blood-scent around, shaking his head and neck as though the smell could be thrown off like water. Dislodged, Korpi rejoined Sky Dog and perched on his shoulder.

The bird's onslaught had caused her to take several involuntary steps backward as she used one arm to shield herself from the attack.  Thankful that Earp intervened, she took a breath and reached to grasp her other arm.  The color drained from her face the moment Sky Dog dared to utter 'witch'.  Her eyes flashed dangerously between him and the miner.

"Both of you need to shut your goddamned mouth," she hissed.  Swearing was so unladylike, but it was appropriate in this case. "People get burned from talk like that, or driven off at the very least.  You should restrain yourself from speaking of things you know nothing about."  That last was directed at Gabby.

Gathering up her tattered dress so she wouldn't trip over it, again with the hand holding the purse (she had yet to use the other arm), she stiffened and gave them all a withering look.  "Mister Earp, thank you kindly for your assistance.  It is pleasant to know that some men are still gentlemen.  Mister Morgan, I think we had better be on about our business before things escalate once again." While her slashed dress and injured arm prevented her from flouncing off as she would have liked, she did her best, leaving them to deal with the broken Mansfield and bloody corpse.

"No! Of course not!" Gabby says at Sky Dog's query. "How is it an insult if it's true?" he manages to pull off a fair approximation of Cora's tone. "A witch is a woman, ill of temperament usually, who wields magic o' the blackest sort. The sort that makes folks heads explode and unravels drawers an' stitches. I think I know enough about the world to make that sort o' pronouncement, at least." he glares at Cora. "You ain't given me much reason to hold my tongue, missy. You insult my dog, get all huffy about it when I take offense, then turn around and tell me to shut up when Sky Dog here points out that you've made some kind o' pact with Satan fer power? Ain't nothin' ladylike about that."

Sky Dog looked up from agreeing with a statement from Korpi that was clearly along the lines of 'these iron devils are crazy'. "Satan?"

He frowned at Gabby's outburst, leaning partly on the riding-pole. "Uncle! You are more wise than such saying, I think. Hawthorn is not wicked of nature, not more is a noisy woman worse than a noisy man, or shamán. That she must treat others badly, it is the price of bringing up the hungry little ones from the Lower World, else they will devour her onnir and send her into madness. Or worse than that."

Sky Dog gestured at the group. "You see that Clemya is not hurt, and Hawthorn has done well for this law, as you had criticised her for not doing before. She will not be better, that you burn her with words."

"Hawthorn!" Sky Dog twisted where he sat to look after Cora's attempt to storm off, aware he would likely be ignored. "I will not speak where you are not accepted - it is not my buisness. But if you do have need of help, I will also help you, yes? As any who has the ghost-infection or is injured by an animal."

Cora, to her credit, made no indication that she'd heard Gabby's tirade or Sky Dog's offer.  Her only thought was to get away from them both to keep herself from doing something she might regret.

At Smith's door, Randolph squares his shoulders and settles his hat firmly on his head. He raises his hand to knock, then lowers it, frowning. He removes his hat and finally knocks.

Gabby sighs. "I suppose you're right, Sky Dog." he says. He leans against the wall, felling the weight of the night settle on him. "Reckon I've had enough of a bad night that I done let her poor attitude get under my skin. And with her holdin' on to that demon knife, and snapping at Clementine when she tried to get it away...I reckon that's all Clementine wanted. To get the evil thing away, mebbe find some place to bury it. She can't be faulted fer not knowin' better. And then Cora had to start on insultin' her..."

He sighs. "You know, it ain't really got nothin' to do with Hawthorne, really. It's just..." He closed his eyes. A tear squeaked down his cheek. "You don't know what it's like, tryin' to explain to a five year old girl what the word 'mutt' means, especially when she asks you with innocent eyes why they were usin' it in regards to her..." His voice breaks, and he rubs at the tears. "So on top of everythin' else, tonight I had to be reminded o' that day. I guess them monsters done shook me more than I like to admit. Makes me snappish and ornery."

When Daniel had spoken up, Morgan had turned his attention to him. "I think you and Gabby might be right. As grim a business as it is, if you really think there's enough there to convince Simpkins that that's the body of the killer...well, it would probably be worth the trouble." Morgan sighed. "I certainly don't want to see anymore blood spilled. But I think it's something you and Gabby should handle. Simpkins and I didn't get along too well when we met."

As he finished speaking, Morgan heard the sounds of the altercation between Hawthorne, Clementine, and Korpi. He was pleased to see Earp step in the middle of things and calm the situation down. After Hawthorne and Clarke exchanged words, Morgan moved to follow Hawthorne as she began to walk away. But before he departed, he paused to speak to Gabby.

"Gabby, you know I think highly of you. Always have. I don't know what my word's worth to you, if anything. But I want you to understand something. When that thing that Mansfield became attacked us, Darling, Earp and I, we all shot it. More than once. Not one of us missed, best I can tell. But we didn't slow it down at all. The truth is it was well on its way to carving me to pieces."

He shook his head. "If it hadn't been for Miss Hawthorne, I honestly don't think I'd be alive. I guess what I'm trying to say is, you two may not get along, and I'm the last one to tell you that you have to. But I think Miss Hawthorne's on the right side. And I trust her. Just like I trust you."

Clapping Gabby on the shoulder, Morgan turned to follow Hawthorne. Suddenly, it felt as though the weight of the last few days had settled onto his shoulders like a shroud. He was as tired as he had been in many years. But this needed to be finished.

Then, he could put Dodge behind him, and ride on to Hays.

Sky Dog dipped his head a little, the tendons of his hand stark white against the staff's long strips of off-white inlay (it seemed to be single strips of bone or ivory, but no surely living beast had such long limbs or tusks). "It is the want of the hungry little ones, to make a sharp feeling - ow! - it is much thought for them in the Middle World, for them to become stronger."

The shaman tapped Igor a little closer at Gabby's despondancy. He had been mistaken for a white girl once or twice, as a traveller hailed him from behind, but never a half-breed. Not a human one, anyway. Sky Dog was immediately curious, but kept his tone and expression neutral. "It is a hard night, and a hurtful memory, I think. If you would like, after I have gone to warn the dark Americans, I will ask Dog Eye the use of his stove and make chai in the proper manner: it is good comfort."

He looked back at the corpse and Mansfield. "Please, I would ask for the dead man that you do not use him for your lying, if you do this. Already he is unhappy, most unhappy to be of a sudden dead and in pieces. I have told him it is not well to cross me, but a ghost that is...frustrated, it is not safe for the people. But I am being civilised. I will go."

"A neighbor of mine when I was growin' up had a dog, used to keep it 'round the farm. Real sweet, wonderful dog. Farm dog, you know, just let it run wild. Kept the kids safe when they were playin', killed the coyotes when they got too close. Well, one night it killed a calf on another neighbor's farm at night. Didn't matter that they didn't tell the dog to kill that calf. They still had to make right for what their dog did. When you have an animal, you can't just throw your hands up and talk about what it does or doesn't smell or like and say that it wasn't none of your doing. A dog can be a wonderful friend...family even, but you have to take responsibility for your animal. That's part of the price for keepin' one," he said.

"Sky Dog, the same goes for you. You ain't out in Siberia no more, where maybe everybody wants a bird flappin' its wings in their face or on sittin' their head all the time. When that happens, you gotta take 'er in hand. It's like...your duty." He thought that maybe that would be a word that the Siberian might understand.

After hearing Gabby's story, he did seem a little more sympathetic towards the old man. "You know, there are some bastards out there, but that's a step lower than human, to talk that way to a child. I'm sorry to hear that it happened even once."

He paused to listen to what Caleb said, nodding quietly in agreement. He was about to add something himself when the priest, having silently witnessed the proceedings, added his own thoughts.

"Some two months ago now I believe, we had a problem in Dodge City. People were removing the bodies of the dead from the graveyard. They were consuming the flesh of the dead, and turning into something else entirely. There were some men, in town by chance, who came to me with an offer to help. One of these men was British, and he did some things. These are not things of holy origin, what he did. You are using this word...witchcraft...brujería. I think that is what he did."

"And so I found myself at a dilemma. I know this is a wrong thing, but if it is used to fight these things that are worse and more wrong, then I say let it be, left to be dealt with another day. When the dead are not walking, when instruments of medicine are not transforming men into murderers...when all of that has been washed away, there will be time to bring these sinners back to a place where God is at the center of their lives. But in the mean time, if they are fighting the same fight it is a help to me. There can be forgiveness for those who have gone astray."

He looked to Sky Dog, and then the others. "I think, that you know these men. Stay with them. I will go and talk to the negros, and let them know of the danger you believe they are in. I think they might not understand you. It is difficult to understand you sometimes."

Sky Dog looked at Earp for a time. "If I may prevent her going against your custom, I will ask it - for friendship. If you are very much displeased my sister has the custom to be defending ones she would count as friend, again, I say I will return your law to you."

The shaman kept the lawman's gaze. "What I do, I do not seek to mend the wound in the world for one people; a thing is not done well only for the good and the pretty. But if it is one against another one, direly, my tribe goes before your tribe. Always." The raven feather whispered against his tin beasts as he leant back and summarised for Korpi before turning his attention to the priest.

"If there are those, as yourself, that deal only with the Upper World, there will be those that deal only with the Lower." He nodded to the priest's assessment, then flashed a grin at the giant's description of his communication skills. "If you think it well. You will come back after, maybe?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:29, Sun 30 June 2013.

Like most of the time, Wyatt Earp understood most of what Sky Dog said. Or at least part of it. He couldn't himself imagine what it must be like to walk across half the world and learn another language. He imagined that if he went to live among Sky Dog's people he might sound like a drunken lunatic half the time too. Still, the man's culture was so alien that occasionally he found it frustrating to even deal with him.

"Look, I don't have time to sit around talking about your bird, and your bird's tribe and your bird's friends and all that. If you want to have it keep on flappin' its wings in people's faces, that's your business. Just don't come tell me I didn't warn you when it pisses off the wrong drunken cowpoke and gets shot," he said.

"Until tomorrow, you still have my law, so I think it's time to be about it. Daniel, Gabby, and Sky Dog, I'd like you to escort Mr. Mansfield here to a cell. We'll see about his situation tomorrow. If anybody asks, he was drunk and fighting. Tomorrow we'll figure out what to do with him," He pressed the keys into Sky Dog's hand.

"I've got to go catch up with Deputy Morgan and Deputy Hawthorne, and help them find the smith. He ain't gonna be happy to get his forge runnin' at this time o' night. I'll catch you all up later at the jail." With that, Earp departed, going after the other two.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:06, Mon 01 July 2013.

The Siberian said nothing, the fingers of his free hand unconsciously brushing his hilt then Igor's neck before curling about the keys.

He tapped his mount, steering lightly with the stick more than the rope rein, and circled about the medicine drunkard. Mansfield recieved a not entirely gentle poking with riding-pole. "You will rise up or be taken," he informed the man.

"I'm coming," he said, seemingly like a man who didn't have any fight in him.

Gabby cradled his shotgun and helped Mansfield to his feet. "Hopefully you can start puttin' your life back together, now that you're free o' that thing." He says kindly.

"It's been so long with it that...I haven't known what it is to be a free man since Gettysburg. I hope to find some peace. Somewhere quiet...by myself. I'm not sure that I deserve it after all the things it made me do. But I hope to try for it," he said, solemnly.

Sky Dog continued to lightly herd the 'prisoner' as though he were a wayward reindeer, his own beast head-hung and unhappy.

The priest walked along with them for a time, before indicating that he would make a more direct route to what had been their shared destination for a time. "I do not know that I will join you again tonight, Perro del Cielo, but if you wish to find me tomorrow, I will be at the church building. It is near to where you keep your strange animal."

Without need for many more words, he went off in his own direction, to give warning to the colored people of Dodge City that someone might be looking to instigate a fight with them.

"Delshello," Korpi repeated, pleased by the sound. Sky Dog gave a deep sigh that let some of the tension out of his chest and rubbed his forehead with the heel his hand.

"I do remember...I will come," he said, looking after the priest a moment as he vanished like a Lifter ghost into the night, still unsure what to make of the man.

He looked both skeptical and fearful of Sky Dog, the one who seemed to be leading his escort. Though Daniel cut quite the imposing figure and Gabby had a shotgun, somehow the strange savage seemed to throw him off more.

"I am, uh, I say, I am quite regretful about attacking you earlier. And about all those people, yes, very sorry about that. I wasn't in control of myself, you understand. I didn't have any choice in the matter. I'm a doctor, not a killer. At least...I was, and I think I am again. I tried to do some good whenever it let me go...but I don't know how much good I'm going to have to do to wash out the bad that thing did with me."

The moon touched a ghost-glow to Sky Dog's skin as he looked over, silent for several seconds. Although he had not heard those phrases aloud, the sense of them was familiar, dragging his mind back to long stretches of working alone, trying to keep his own helper-spirits, the land's and the old shaman's propitiated and fed, the herders safe...and failing, sometimes, and a pair of boots by firelight...and knowing that in forty heartbeats a drunken man would lose the use of his feet in the snow. False warmth.

"Much," Sky Dog concluded. "It would be well to offer the unheaded man to sew his body back together, for he was still...shocked at being of a sudden dead when I told to him to quiet himself. You will probably dream him." He leant and angled the riding-pole a little, warningly, to keep Mansfield's path straight.

"If you can yet cease the drunking, that...that is better. I have also some blame in this, for that I did not see the threads between things sooner."

*Uff,* remarked Igor.

"I only drank to drown the memories of those horrible things. I won't be doing horrible things any more, God help me. I suppose it may take me some time to overcome the withdrawal of my alcoholism that I have lived in, but I know how it should be done.

He paused, and then said, "And I suppose I could offer to stitch that poor man's head back to his body. Oh, Lord. I still...I can't believe all of it."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot that most wouldn't believe in this world." Gabby says thoughtfully. "Hell, last week, I was laughing at most o' the stuff printed in the Tombstone Epitaph. But after what I done seen since I left Topeka, well, it puts a whole new light on a lot o' things. I got the feelin' that possessed cutlery ain't the weirdest thing out there by half, and I'm just sorry you weren't able to rid yourself of the thing."

He gives Mansfield a friendly pat. "The thing is, you did get rid of it. And it happened without you bein' killed in the process. I reckon that since the Good Lord saw fit to grant you another chance, perhaps you should be usin' it to help put some o' the dark things in the world back into the black. Marshal Morgan was planning to ride out to Hays an' track down another sort o' butcher. I'll be goin' with him when he does...why don't you come along? I reckon a surgeon might be handy...Danny's fine with first aid and sutures, but I reckon if we keep goin' the way we are we might need some one on our side what knows more about medicine than he does."

The shaman set his jaw against the temptation to criticise, though his look became bemused when Gabby's 'most' seemed to exclude all peoples with shamans trained to deal with such things, whilst all but next to a shaman. He rubbed a knuckle against his brow to knead away the frown.

"Quanterill is no longer at Hays, he is nearer to the oak-place, yes? Though I am starting to think the oaks are not in the light of the Middle World, for that no-one has seen them." He glanced at the two older men. "I do not have time to go flying all over the land in the shadows of the world...but I do not know how the thoughts, the dream-stuff, it would stay. Why for would a place be known or named for its oak-gang, that there is no oak-home there in the Middle World to see?"
This message was last edited by the player at 08:16, Thu 04 July 2013.

Daniel was uncharacteristically quiet while the back-and-forth between Cora and his uncle occurred. He was about to step in when he was asked to escort the prisoner. He figured it might be a good time to talk to the other two, at least once they deposited the prisoner where he was to go.

He listened to the doctor mention his lack of control. "I unnerstan' that ya weren't controllin' yerself. I think Marshal Earp does too."

At the request that the surgeon come along, Daniel perked up a bit. He was always concerned about who might patch him up when he was hurting. Sky Dog could probably do that just fine, though.

"Always nice ta have another pair o' hands along, doc." He then turned to listen to Sky Dog. "The acorn don't never fall far from the tree, ya know?"

Sky Dog looked completely perplexed at Daniel, apparently taking the statement for a random truisim. "...and ginger is hot in the mouth?"

Daniel shrugged, "Depends entirely on th' ginger. Most of 'em are insane crazy. But th' ones that're hot might be worth it."

Gabby laughs for the first time in a few days. "Naw, Sky Dog, it's one o' them idiom things. You know, things folk say that are like metaphors fer somethin' else? What he means is he don't think Quantrill might have gone that far from the places he's sacked. This stand o' oaks might be somewhere in the vicinity o' Hays, and if'n there was a trail, we might be able to pick it up there."

Sky Dog gamely tried to work out what in the Worlds Dalix just said, but turned his attention to Uncle at the laughter with some relief. "He is slow now his horse is died, yes...but I would like much better go before Quanterill and warn the people, than after him and be making sure the dead ones do not take to running."

"I think you're right. I think I should use the days I've been given back to help folk. And if you're talking about finding a murderer, I'll come along. I can still fire a gun, though most of what I did during the war was stitch folks up. So I can do that too for you, when the time comes. Now...are you talking about Bill Quantrill? I thought he was dead. At least, that's what I heard," he said.

Daniel nodded at Gabby's interpretation of his attempt to speak Sky Dog's language. Maybe best to stick to the English Daniel was used to speaking. "Yup, gettin' ahead o' Quantrill'd be nice. Jock is up fer some runnin', if we knew where ta warn folk."

He nodded at Clayton's response. "That's what folk've said, sure. But then you just been holdin' a scalpel what sews together body parts into movin monsters."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:45, Thu 04 July 2013.

"He made a pact with a demon, which is foolish, so that he does not die when he is killed...he has been buried, yes, nine years, and is pretty crazy for that, but also he gives the demon-"

"Avakhi," Korpi clarified, perking a little now the fireworks were nearly gone.

"-the use of his skin to walk in the Middle World, or it takes the body from him when he is weakened, as the vampire knife was doing to you. The demon has bound the no-mind running dead in pact to follow the skin, so Quanterill-the-man is wasting time when he has use of his re-made body: he sees the dead ones, runs, they run, he does run more, and such and forth, like a dog with the tin boxes tied to his tail."

"If we could find a murderer of buffalo near to an oak-place, we would know he was east of that place, for my cousin gave me to know Quanterill-the-demon would run westward to attack. Jock?"

"A buffalo hunter yah say? Weren't Miss Hawthorne talkin' ta one of 'em at some point? Course it seems there's no shortage of buffalo hunters, ya know?" Daniel closed his eyes briefly to think, but then seemed to interrupt his own thought process with another stray thought.

"Speakin' o' Miss Hawthorne, whaddya fellas thinka her?"

Gabby shrugs. "I try not to. Her tongue is too sharp by half and she plays with forces better left alone. I reckon she's tryin' to do right with 'em, though. From what I gathered, she's the reason Mansfield here was separated from the knife without losin' a hand in the process. That don't stop her from bein' a shrew, and I'll be glad when we part company with her."

"Many in Alhambra, yes. I am not certain it was hunting the white man from the vision did." The shaman shook his head. "Who could eat so much, when they shoot four, five buffalo, even to send pieces to the govenor?"

Korpi muttered something and tucked her head under her wing.

Sky Dog made the slight away-from-body gesture that seemed to be a shrug. "I had thought she was a terrible person only, but it is sense for a witch to be so: if she did not treat other people badly, she would be devoured whilst living by the hungry little ones from the Lower World. I have pity for her, that the Lower World knows the spirit-scent of her blood, and that she thinks badly of herself also, but it is how the world is, that if there are those who deal only with the Upper World, there will be also the...shadows, they leave. The witches."

"There's a witch in town?" Mansfield said, looking alarmed.

"Oh, Lord, but there must be. There was that big ball of whatever that struck my hand...his hand. Knocked that scalpel straight out! Do you think...oh, musta been that woman. Do you think she's dangerous? Is she gonna come after all of us?"

Sky Dog recovered some of his humour and started laughing.

"I think most o' the meat gets shipped Back East. Beef's gotten a mite pricy with the Fever that hit the herds in Texas. But the skins are where the money is at, so I think a lot o' buffalo might just be left to rot." Gabby says with a frown.

At Mansfield's comment, Gabby laughs as well. "I reckon if'n she was gonna do that, she'd have hit you with somethin' a mite more powerful. She could have used her power to blow your hand apart, but she didn't. I reckon that speaks to her character in that regard. Shew she may be, but she saved your life, an' mine too once. Ain't no one perfect in this world, but I reckon she ain't a problem for you."

Daniel nodded at the responses to his question, but grimaced at how easily his uncle threw around the term witch. "See, I ask 'cuz yappin' 'bout somebody doin' witchin' ain't a good way ta keep that person livin', ya know? Might also make 'em mighty mad. Now Gabby, I know ya like ta yap, but mebbe this be a good time ta shut yer trap, ya know?" He arched an eyebrow at his uncle, then turned it toward the others.

"You fellas mebbe should follow that just as well. Don't know if I trust those two Eastern folk, but I don't know that they ain't trustworthy, neither. Let's tread careful."

The shaman's laughter cut off sharply on the in-breath as though he'd been stabbed. "You...believe this is done often, Uncle? For what, for dollars?"

After a few seconds' silence, he elaborated to Mansfield: "Of many things that may wish yourself or our-selves harm, the one who has done well for you and did a-mend her ways when Uncle told her she did badly for the law is not the worst."

Sky Dog looked at Daniel some moments more. "I will not speak where she is not accepted, it is not my buisness. As for her cursing to my back - ha! I have my kujjai. Let her fight me, if she would fight any with this knowing." He struck the riding-pole against the ground in passing, causing Igor to turn his ears to the rattle. "But hear me, Dalix. If I took up this civilised lying, I would break meaning. I will not that." Colour was back in the shaman's cheeks, the scalpel-score oozing a thin line from where he'd rubbed at it.

Daniel shook his head, "Ain't askin' ya ta do no civilized lyin'. Jus' don't volunteer no information, ya know?"

In reply to Sky Dog (msg # 95):

"Shit, I know it's done often. I seen it." Gabby says with a sigh. "It's a damn waste, is what it is. Worst of it is, I think it might be bein' done to starve the Indians. Thin out their food sources so they's have to be moved on to their reservations. I reckon that's part o' what made 'em up and form their own nations."

Sky Dog went quiet, seemingly biting back a range of emotions. He swiped at his cheek, smearing the blood, then looked at the silvery shimmer of keys in his palm a time. When he did speak, it was quiet but with a rapidity the deputies might recognise as passion.

"I think that the white people - the first white people - something must have hurt them terribly at the start of the world...that it goes on down their blood, that they are acting always like drunken crazy people, shouting at each other, cursing God, decieving even their own families...it is like the wolf disease, I think, that the corruption drives you out to give this pain to others."

He shook his head. "It is my thinking the wound in the world has made worse this first fault - even the Russians, though they may kill and harm when they want to eat a band's own deer, they do not do this. It is too much for one shamán to heal. Already I am aching, just to be in the settlement. I have learnt harshly not to trust, although I do like you Uncle, and you, Dalix." The shaman sighed. "I am harmed in spirit. It makes me want alcohols such as killed my learning-master, so that I would sink in with it, cease to be a shamán, with duty to heal and be protecting whether I am waking or sleeping or dead; you see it is corruption. Maybe things will be better when the hole in the world is fixed. I hope it." His words exhausted, Sky Dog lapsed into a troubled silence.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 18:22, Tue 09 July 2013.

"What's the wolf disease?" he asked, touching on the one topic that he seemed to get from Sky Dog's long ramble. He didn't know about healing wounds in the world, but he did know about healing wounds in people. Of course, lately, he'd been more up to causing them than healing them, but that was another matter.

"Is it like rabies?"

The shaman raised his hand palm-up to show he did not know the word. "A wolf visits the person or their animals and bites them, or eats their food like a man, and the person's soul changes shape, becoming like a wolf. They die snarling and biting at others, with much of the," he gestured around his mouth "-spittle? If a woman is pregnant it will go to the child also."

"That's rabies, alright! It's got nothing to do with wolves, though. Well, it might, but it doesn't have to. Really, any mammal can get it. Dogs, skunks, coyotes, raccoons, you name it. Hell...your animal right there, whatever kinda deer you got there, it can get rabies too," he said.

Sky Dog carefully leant forward a little, looking for the light-shape of their destination, then down at the medicine drunkard. "Sometimes they do turn into wolves."

"Maybe you see it rarely, and have not fought a sickened wolf-spirit for a human soul." He shrugged, a tense gesture of white fingers. "The wolf disease - the rabies - would kill a prey animal, yes, but they cannot become wolves. It is for this the wolf disease can be cured sometimes."

Korpi shifted just slightly as her brother straightened and drifted out of wakefulness. Soft raven snores could just be made out between the jingle of shaman bells and the click of reindeer feet.

*ko...zizzz...ko....zizzz...*

Not far ahead of them was the city jail, where it seemed like ages ago they had been gathered by Wyatt Earp to serve as temporary deputies till the Independence festivities had come to an end. Using the keys given them, they managed to open up the building and secured Clayton Mansfield in a cell. Mansfield seemed old and weak, and went into a cell without protest. He was a very different man than the man he had been half an hour ago.

"So tell me the truth," he said once he was locked up. "What's next for me? You think they're gonna hang me?"

While Sky Dog was waxing philosophically, Daniel's face grew somewhat dark. He didn't think the man had the right of it on many counts, but didn't think this was the time and place to start an argument. He filed it away for future conversations, though.

Daniel shook his head at Mansfield's question, "I don't think so, Doc. Not if those in the know gots anythin' ta say 'bout it."

"I reckon bein' possessed by a demon blade counts as 'extenuatin' circumstances.'" Gabby opines. "The real trick will be to keep Simpkins from findin' out you had anythin' to do with this. I reckon I can give him enough of a song and dance to keep him off you, but you probably should avoid the Dog Eye. McNary saw those things in your room, same as us. I'm going to have enough trouble convincin' him you weren't the suspect we were suspectin'." He props up his aching foot on a chair, now that they've reached their destination.

"You'll have my thanks, sir, and my gratitude undying. I have a wire, should be comin' in...maybe even tomorrow, and I can take that and leave town. I've been trying to get as far away from civilization as I could, as far west...so that there would be less people hurt, you see," he said.

"After we find those bandits you were gonna hunt down, of course," he corrected himself.

Sky Dog reappeared from the porch where Igor was stationed and tilted his head a little, trying to focus on Gabby's boot. "Were you injured by the made things, Uncle?"

"Eh, one o' them tried to nip me a bit. It aches, but I done been hurt worse in my time. Got skin like old leather, I do. Why, once I got trapped in a bit of a rockslide and carried halfway down a mountain. That was not a fun day, believe you me."

Sky Dog dipped his head a little to show he really did believe Gabby, his movements careful so as not to disturb his sister.

"I am minded to make chai, if you would like to take this drink with me." The shaman looked and gestured about the room to include the other men in the invitation.

Daniel nodded at the invitation, first slowly, then more vigorously. "Sure thing. Chai don't sound bad." He was a bit curious to see how it was tied into his uncle's most recent comment. If at all.

"Tea sounds good." Gabby say. "Danny, you think you might want to look over that wound?" He points to the scratch Danny received during the fight with the head-things. "Don't want to see it get infected, now."

Sky Dog paced over to the stove whilst Mansfield made up his mind, not without a wary glance at the room's other corners. He steadied himself against the iron in crouching to keep his occupied shoulder level, then set the fire, straightening perhaps half a minute later with a murmur of greeting to the first licks of flame.

After a moment's difficulty due to antlers vs. doorway the shaman brought Igor inside - checking the corners again - and unburdened and unblindfolded the reindeer, setting his possessions against the wall. Aside from a certain apprehension of Gabby's beard Igor seemed extremely content with this arrangement and folded himself in a quiet heap near the cells. Sky Dog transferred Korpi to Igor's antlers and brought that looked like a large tin tied up with string back over to the stove, giving Daniel a small cloth sack on the way.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:11, Wed 17 July 2013.

"I'm not even sure what that is, but I guess I'll have some. I like trying new things," said the doctor from within his cell.

"A cure for impatience, maybe," Sky Dog said, checking the fire and unpacking his tin. "-also against tired and to make smooth the spirits, it is good."

The large tin proved to contain a square tin that rustled softly, two small nested tin cans carefully folded and adapted into cups with wire and another with a more mysterious device inside them. A sealed tin, spoon, and a few wads of cloth also appeared, demonstrating the extreme efficiency of someone used to fitting his entire life on a reindeer.

Sky Dog went and fetched water in the large tin and one of the cups. "I am not offended, if you mock my hobo samovar," he said generally, setting the big tin on the stove and tending the fire. A weak ghost of a grin passed over his features.

"Often I find these boxes on the ground - I have asked them and they give me to know 'I was emptied, then thrown on the ground; I am left'. So I take some, as they are not offerings." Clearly this behaviour baffled Sky Dog, but if the iron devils wanted to spend time and effort making metal objects then abandoning them it was not his buisness to ask why. The odd can got filled with now-hot coals and kindling and set in the middle of the big one to ensure the water boiled evenly. "They are well-cleaned, yes?"

Daniel nodded at his uncle and looked down at the scratch. He had a little time yet before he'd have to get it patched up. Sometimes he liked to let a wound breathe a little before covering it with bandage and salve.

He took the small sack that Sky Dog offered and hefted it, judging the weight to be about a pound. A quick sniff at it left Daniel to shrug. At Sky Dog's question, Daniel nodded. "Sure do lookat way." He was curious about what Sky Dog would do next, a half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"At least someone's gettin' some use out o' them, rather than just leavin' them to rust away." Gabby says. "I tell ya, sometimes during the thickest o' the war years, back in the '60's, no one in their right mind would toss out tin cans...Heck, there was almost a time when tin was worth it's weight in gold. Sometimes a can o' corn would cost half a dollar! And that was before Californy cracked like an egg."

Sky Dog was out of his depth with relative values of dollars and non-ferrous metals. The suspicion of deliberately-induced famine by Americans on Americans caused him to frown and skirt the thought. "Sorry, Uncle - what is Californy? I think I have heard of her, but I do forget." He went and fetched the battered tin mug from his ritual kit.

Catching Daniel's slightly bemused manner of holding the salt, Sky Dog gestured at it with the mug. "If a dead thing has broken the skin, it is well to drive off the bad spirits that come for its rotted onnir and make disease. Such things will not stand salt or silver." He opened the square tin and measured four generous spoonfuls of the contents into his medicine mug, adding a little for luck.

"That the water is all boiling, this is most important for chai," the shaman told Mansfield, since he seemed the most ignorant in these matters. "Any raw water, it offends the leaves; it makes a bad taste."

Giving the fire the first pinch of the tea leaves, Sky Dog supervised the big tin until the water was indeed roiling hot and set his medicine mug on the wires across the interior of the central can to heat. Once satisfied the steam had 'awakened' the leaves, the shaman used the empty can-mug to pour boiling water over them, topping the main tin up from the full one. "Now, waiting," he announced, but spoke seriously to Daniel:

"This, you do not drink." Clearly Korpi had told him about Daniel one-shotting undiluted vision-brew the day before. "When it is ready and the leaves sit, little bits with boiling water. If you drink the zavarka-" he indicated the brewing hyper-concentrate, "-yes, it gives you to see through time and space, but it is very dangerous to go into the shadows of the world unguided, and also there is risk of exploding."

"Californy--you know, the Great Maze. Californy was what the place used to be known before it done got shattered by the Big one in '68." he spots the frown, but misinterprets it. "Yeah, war shortages can be Hell. There's still shortages there, I hear...somethin' about sea water taintin' all the lakes and rivers and whatnot, which means things don't grow there the way they used to. I reckon there will be lean times ahead fer me until I make a strike to set me up."

he looks over at Danial. "What's he talkin' about? Seein' through space an' time an' all?" Suddenly, he's eying the chai with suspicion.

Daniel considered the brewing liquid anew. There seemed to be some danger in drinking the stuff, but his curiosity might just get the better of him. He blinked a few times to break the hold on his mind that the mixture suddenly had. He reconsidered the salt. "The Lord Jesus'll take care'o any bad spirits that're even thinkin' they gonna invade through these scratches. Though I 'ppreciate the sentiment."

He turned to Gabby at his question. "Prolly some kinda hallucinogen or magic potion or somethin'." He shrugged. Seeing through space and time was one thing. Being able to travel through time and relative dimensions in space, well, that was quite another. And far more useful.

Sky Dog watched Daniel a moment, then attended to making a third can-mug from materials among his possessions, leaning against the wall by the stove. "No, the Big One I do not know...the Maze, it is down the West coast, yes? I think. Maybe it is near the hole in the world...do they often see water-panthers? The very big swimming animal, many teeth and long - very long - tail, sometimes horns?"

He glanced back at Daniel, but only mentally noted to keep an eye on the injury in case Jesus didn't, placing the strip hacked from the top of the mug under construction over the brewing zavarka.

"Chai - zavarka and much boiled water - is not dangerous. It is very good! But the raw zavarka..." Sky Dog considered, "...it would be as to grind and eat all a sack of coffee, I think, and to ask it freely into your body to share all the things the plants have known. Maybe you would discourage Dalix, I see him think it." The shaman half-smiled across at Daniel, pale fingers twining wire into a handle by feel rather than sight. A scent, akin to a sun-warmed conifer forest some hours after rain, unwound itself across the room with a tang of smoke, subtly overpowering the hot-iron smell of the stove and all traces of blood.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:32, Fri 19 July 2013.

"The Big one was the earthquake in '68. I lived near Colema with my daughter at the time, up in the Sierra Nevadas, and we could feel the earth shakin' from there." He nods. "Yup, that's the place. Wouldn't know about a hole in the world, but I reckon it might be a good place to start. Trouble is, the Maze takes up the whole coast. If'n you were wantin' to head that way, Danny and I are headed there, to start up a small Ghost Rock mine once all this stuff with Quantrill is taken care of." Gabby scratches his beard. "I done heard there's sea serpents in the Maze--things like big snakes or eels, that're bigger than a boat. I reckon that's what you're talkin' about, yes?"

Gabby relaxes as he hears the coffee comparisons. Coffee--that was familiar enough, and he wouldn't be fool enough to try to eat a bag of coffee grounds nohow.

A pause followed as Sky Dog recalled what number the Americans had given this year and did some calculating. "Ah! I think I do remember...the people living along the coast did come further inland that year, back in Siberia, for that the whales were troubled." He pulled his sleeve up over his right hand and folded the sharp cut edge of the tin down over the encircling wire from the top of the handle, then rolled the remainder above into a rim with some effort.

The shaman considered the invitation, pensive. "My direction-knowing is damaged here, but I was drawn this way, checking often, as I sought the wound through the shadows of the world...perhaps it is the demon Quanterill, who walks the Middle World when he should not." He tapped the new-made mug with a finger, then set it down. "Yes. If I feel the harm is westward when we have caught Quanterill and ended him, I will migrate with you. If then you wish it." The shaman's smile quirked without the usual flash of teeth, almost shy.

"The water-panthers are usually living in the upper levels of the Lower World...they are like eels, yes, big eels, but also with little feets like a seal, with the claws. Do you hear that they have their little ones with them, or just one, two, as when an old wolf comes off the mountain?"

Eating or drinking a sludge that was like coffee grounds didn't sound particularly appetizing. He nodded when his uncle mentioned heading to Californy. "Don' hear much about water eels and seals round here. What stories we do hear are 'bout boats bein' broken up by 'em. Don't leave much time fer studyin'. If anyone done so, it'd be some scientists, but I ain't read no journals of late." Daniel wasn't sure if it mattered about the little ones.

He shrugged. "Sure do hope we can take care o' Quanterill an then head west, as ya say."

The shadow of a frown crossed the shaman's brow at the apparent heedlessness of the Maze-dwellers as he tended the stove. It was a while further into the tired quiet that Sky Dog picked up the thread of conversation, weighing his words.

"I will fast on the hunting-trail, I think. If we are well-favoured by the spirits that should be there, perhaps they will give us to discover Quanterill-the-Man, when he is less powerful. Is it your wish for to bury the quick dead with him in the ground, Dalix?" Checking on the progress of the zavarka and finding its surface shivering dark and clear and good, Sky Dog took up the spoon and the fresh-made mug, warming the latter in the steam before adding first zavarka then boiling water via one of the other mugs.

Mansfield was shortly presented with the first cup, Sky Dog's pale fingers pinking with heat to offer it handle-first through the bars. Leaving the medicine drunkard as soon as it was given, the shaman swiftly made up chai for Gabby and Daniel respectively. Gabby got a small handful of dried plant flakes from one of the cloth scraps alongside his: "Against the aching, if you wish it."

Daniel shrugged at the question from Sky Dog about Daniel's intentions. "Don't know nuthin' bout buryin' no quickdead. I jus' wanna make sure the Quanterill fella and any what follow him can't be hurtin' no more folk."

Daniel watched the preparation of the chai with interest, then drank when it was offered. Sipping at first while waiting for it to cool.

The shaman inclined his head a little, privately perplexed at Christians' somewhat haphazard treatment of their dead, transferring water to tin, excess zavarka to canteen, and awaiting re-boiling to make up his own chai in the medicine mug. "They will be stopped, yes, and then I think it best to give them to Our Friend," he indicated the fire, "-and the ashes salted, in case demon-onnir remains in them."

The drink proved to be one of those rare and precious things that taste as amazing as they smell: light on the tongue yet with a richness usually associated with aged alcohol, the pine-smoked taste offsetting more subtle twists of its dark flavour.

"I have no honey, but this stuff is good with, if you do not mind to sweat like a horse," Sky Dog's pale fingers tapped the little lidded tin, which with a quick levering application of the spoon turned out to be condensed milk. He left the tin and offer open and finally served himself, leaning against the wall whilst waiting for it to cool.

Gabby looks at the flakes. "Do I mix this in with the tea, or just hold it against the swelling?" He asks, since he's not that familiar with herbal medicines. he looks at the sweetener. "Sure, I'll try some. I like my coffee with sugar anyhow."

"Eat, like grain, then drink - the chai works with the medicine," Sky Dog directed, pushing away from the wall to move the condensed milk and spoon within easy reach of Uncle.

Gabby nods, spoons a little of the condensed milk into the tea, then chews the bark and grimaces. "Tastes bitter" He says before he takes a sip of the tea. "Guess that's how you know it's medicine."

Sky Dog tilted his head a little, birdlike, but added nothing. The chai ably mingled with and washed away the bitter-almond taste of the meadowsweet, warm, sweet and good.

The shaman lowered a spoonful of condensed milk to the bottom of his mug and retreated to his stoveside spot whilst pale tendrils of dissolving powder marbled the brew slowly opaque. At last, gradually, the tension left the lines of his figure. He sipped his tea, then paused and dug his free hand into his hair. "I..." he sighed, running his hand across his scalp and letting it drop. "...I offer apology. It was not well for me to lose my temper and criticise, unasked. I am ashamed of myself." He turned his hand palm upward before him, looking to Gabby and Daniel as though physically offering the sentiment.