Charlie had tipped his hat over his eyes and was dozing a bit when the alarm went up. At first he gave Texas Jack a look like he was trying to yank Charlie's chain, but when other folk started going for their shooting irons, Charlie slowly followed suit, still wondering if it might be a practical joke.

Daniel heard the hoofbeats off in the distance heading toward them, and like some of the others he stood and face in the direction from which they approached. "Mebbe jus' some travlers lookin' ta share our fire? Safety in numbers an'all?" Daniel didn't believe that was the case though, and loosed his sword from its scabbard, relishing the weight of it in his hand. He moved away from the fire to make it more difficult for anyone approaching to see him, and to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

As the others begin moving around and making noise, Randolph wakes, lying still while he gathers the gist of the situation. He throws off his blanket and rises to a crouch, reaching under his saddle for the Gatling pistol stashed there.

Adjusting the pistol sling over his shoulder, Randolph looks about. Since it seems there are plenty of guns moving in the direction of the hoof beats, he turns his back to the fire and steps around to the other side of the tree under which he had been sleeping.

He presses his back against the tree, certain that the shadow cast by the fire will conceal him from watchers in front of him. Provided they have normal eyes, that is.

"They're ridin' hard. At night." Gabby says to Danial. "That ain't ever a good sign, no matter how it shakes out. I'm hopin' it's Marshal Morgan with some news, but if it is, he's still ridin' mighty fast."

The skin-wrapped shaman stooped for his riding-pole to make his profession more apparent and rested his hand on his hilt, looking in the direction Hawthorne had heard riders. Korpi took to the air as he straightened, flapping heavily into the fire's updraught for height.

The sounds of the pounding hoof beats grow louder and louder, until they should be right on top of them, but still no riders appeared. The night was well covered by the full moon up ahead, and the light that the campfire gave them besides, so it wasn't that those hoof beats were coming from far into the dark. Listening closely, they seemed to come from around them, as if there were mounted men riding in a circle around them, the lack of a visible appearance giving them an eerie and horrible sound. Off to the side, where they had found a lone copse of trees and tied down the horses and the mule, it was quite clear that the animals were becoming spooked.

This message was last edited by the GM at 13:06, Thu 03 Oct 2013.

Holy Hell... Gabby thought at the sight of the headless riders. He'd been expecting to fight dead men much like they'd faced in the past. Aim for the head, take 'em down. He hadn't quite expected this. He wasn't sure what a shotgun would even do to one of the riders.

So he aimed for the nearest horse instead. They were better targets at the moment anyhow, all rearing like that.

The horseman had his beast rear at just the right time. Where that shotgun blast would have put a big hole in the animal's torso, the mount managed to survive the attempt on its life, though it's rider looked none too pleased. Daniel's sword dug deep into the rider, the end of a cruel blow, but if it fazed the rider one bit he didn't show it. Instead, one facing Daniel holstered his pistol and the other two holstered their sabers, producing with seeming spontaneity pumpkin heads that glowed from within, which began to make vicious faces at those who stood before them. The faces would change as if the things were recarving themselves, making generic leering and angry faces, but sometimes twisted and cruel mimicry of the faces of their lost loved ones, as if the headless riders could see tragedy deep into their souls.

Realizing at last that it wasn't a joke, Charlie squeezed a couple rounds out of his Winchester, targeting the demonic horses. He was man enough to keep his bowels and bladder in check, at least for now.

Coraline was visibly shaken at the sight of the headless riders.  Her mouth opened in shock as she gazed at the horrible creatures that surrounded them, unable to think clearly for several moments.  One hand pressed against her quivering stomach as she staggered backward toward the fire, trying to remain as close to it as possible without being burned.

The gunslinger had come up with his rifle at the ready and, after only a brief moment of surprise, wasted little time in firing at the demonic beasts.  He targeted the nearest rider, butting his rifle against his shoulder as he aimed and fired, blasting at the thing's guts.

Randolph stands stock-still, only his head moving as he looks from one monstrous apparition to another. This isn't mad science or humans twisted by weird forces, this is truly supernatural! He just isn't prepared for this.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:26, Fri 11 Oct 2013.

Sky Dog had been bent over clutching his ears at the squealing; he straightened, a smirk at the spirits quickly becoming a nasty shine of teeth at the sight of the images waved at him. His glance flicked to Hawthorne, taking note of her movement, then back to their visitors.

Feathers flickered across the vision of the horse nearer Earp, but Korpi's nerve was a little shaken. Spirits with more or less than the total of limbs they should have were nothing new to a shaman's sister, but riders bearing flaming anything were always bad news.

She fluttered aside and up as Igor bolted away from the light, wheeling back into the sky. Risking her wings without picking a target would achieve nothing here.

Shotgun stayed crouched, not entirely voluntarily. He swore under his breath and tried brushing his left hand dry on his thigh, cursing the sudden tremor in his fingers.

Shaking free of his fear at last, Randolph brings up his Gatling pistol and loses a burst of bullets at the westernmost Rider.

Silent and stern-faced as he was, the colour in the shaman's cheeks and the tension in his body showed his quiet fury rising like a heat-shimmer lifts from the ground.

"Iron ghosts," he addressed the same, striding towards the one not distracted by bullets "If you had made your howlings and rattled your sabres only there was place by the fire for you. But you would disrespect a dead shamán? Seek to frighten those I am migrating with?"

Sky Dog struck the nose of the ghost-steed as it tried to bite, not looking at it, attention on the rider's chest. Privately, he opened his soul to the blue-black god, felt the Laughing One's attention slide to focus on him like steel over flesh. These have frightened my sister, ancestor-nephew. Let us teach them good conduct. Korpi glided overhead. Sky Dog felt the power come, gripped it, laughed.

"Ha! Perhaps I should not speak to you, Small One. Ha! Ha! You would answer in farting, maybe?" The last word trailed into a snarl. Grabbing the rein of the horse now urgently trying to rear away, Sky Dog struck out at the spirit with his riding-pole.

Korpi issued forth a caw that cracked into the night like a whip, casting aside even the sound of the bullets bursting from the reporter's Gatling, which seemed to harmlessly bury themselves in the rider.

As the shaman strode forward and cast out his riding pole, the headless being on the horse seemed to recoil as if the Sky Dog had struck him a grievous blow. The form on that rider slumped over in its saddle for a moment, then falling off the horse onto ground where it lay motionless.

Daniel had never felt even a glimmer of fear, at least not in the years since he had learned to call upon the power of the Lord's embrace to steel himself against it. His movement toward the thing was tentative at best, and his swing was both lackluster and low.  His blade may have sliced into the thing's leg, but it was difficult to tell if it had any effect one way or the other. Daniel growled in frustration and punched himself in the thigh in punishment for his lack of concentration and focus.

He placed his hand back on the hilt of his sword and waited for the creature to make some sort of move.

Now not only headless, but horseless and wounded, the rider that had been bitten by Daniel's blade stood warily, defensive in posture and if there were eyes on the thing they would be focused solidly on the youth. Dark, thick blood oozed from the leg wound - the very blood that now stained the young warrior's weapon - but the creature's movements seemed unhampered by it. While the barber had likely encountered desperadoes in the past who were unaccustomed to fighting with a blade at close quarters, Daniel could discern that his current foeman moved with the poise and grace of one trained to the weapon as he himself had been.

It didn't strike back with blade, at least not for the moment, instead throwing the jack o'lantern with its leering and menacing face. As soon as it struck the ground near Daniel's feet, it exploded bursting into flames. At the same time, almost at the same instant, the same happened as another jack o'lantern was hurled to the ground near the feet of Coraline and Bat.

Jack moved deliberately toward the unhorsed rider to back Daniel's play. With each step he fired a shot from one of the Peacemakers clenched in his fists.

Daniel had been wary of the pumpkin being brandished by the spectral horsemen, and wasn't entirely surprised when it was hurled at his feet. By the grace of God, Daniel skipped aside at just the right moment, as if someone told him when and where the strike would occur.

The explosion of flames blanketed parts of the ground, but whether on account of pure dumb luck, quick reflexes or divine inspiration, Daniel managed to steer well clear of it. As he moved, he gave Texas Jack the opportunity he needed to line up the perfect shot, plugging down the one that had just thrown the pumpkin.

Just as Bat was about to fire at one of the ungodly creatures, he was forced to throw himself to the side, hoping to escape the fiery bits of pumpkin head that exploded at his feet.

Cora wasn't as lucky as the gunslinger.  Reaching through to the other side, she grabbed a particularly weak manitou that was absolutely no help.  She flung her arms up to shield her face and tried to turn from the exploding pumpkin.

Wyatt Earp had gotten over the shock and drawn his Buntline special. He sighted along the long barrel at the last remaining horseman, and squeezed the trigger twice.\

{{CRACK! CRACK!}}