With the diligent efforts of the unlikely posse from Dodge City, the camp had been relocated to a place that was a little bit further to the north, a mite closer to their destination, but more importantly further enough away from the site of the encounter they'd just experienced. The sun rose just on time, as it was known to do, and the camp stirred slowly, as camps were known to do.

The watch order that Wyatt Earp setup went off without a hitch, and though just about everyone was given a turn at the watch, none of them was disturbed from their post from any frightful spectres of the night such as the ones that had come upon their last camp. The remainder of the night had gone peacefully, save for the sound of wolves howling at the full moon.

Those who rose earliest would have found Texas Jack sitting at the fire, taking the last watch of the night that bled right into the morning and drinking coffee from a tin cup. Fortunately, there was plenty more where that came from.

Although the shaman had been spotted several times by the sentries, variously wandering the middle distance, staring at the sky, or crouched listening to the wolves,  he seemed to have slept at some point. His usual quiet energy ringed his movements as he wrapped his hands with cloth against the sun and wrung his hair out beside where he sat. Tea was long ready, and neatly-butchered snakeskin fluttered from a nearby bush, drying in the dawn breeze.

Korpi peacefully picked over kibble with precise attention nearer Jack. There was no sign of Igor yet, but for now the Siberians seemed unconcerned, taking things as they came.

Sky Dog shoved his hair back over his shoulder and set to warming fat in his skillet, quietly humming some tune far back in his throat. The fire had already recieved the day's first tea leaves and the tailtip of the snake.

"Think your reindeer got eaten by wolves too, Chalky?" he asked cheerfully, sitting down at the fire near Sky Dog, watching the man warming fat in the skillet with curiosity. For his part, John Collins took some coffee offered by Texas Jack, and spiked it with a bit of whiskey before taking a deep gulp of the coal black liquid.

Sky Dog just slid Collins a grin. "He has not been so yet, for many times they are trying it," he replied, then squinted at the southward sky in a vain attempt to discern what kind of birds were becoming interested in the carrion.

"If you wish to cook a thing, my pan is as your pan," he offered, noting Shotgun's gaze.

Coraline returned to the camp after finding a secluded area to do her business.  She'd washed up as well as best she could with only one arm.  Still, she looked presentable for a woman traveling through the frontier and had even changed into one of her comfortable riding dresses.  It was a fashionable bit of muslin and lace, though far less encumbering than one of her bustled gowns.  If not for her bandaged arm, she could have been a member of the gentry out on a casual ride.

Her search for a seat near the fire took longer than it should, for she was bound to find the most comfortable place to sit.  Eventually, she settled on a rock (after dusting it off) and pulled a tin cup from her pack to fill with coffee.  It wasn't quite her taste, but it was a hot beverage and she desperately needed the caffeine.

"Good morning," she said pleasantly.

Gabby groans when he wakes, at dawn as usual. Cross-grained, he stretches, feeling his joints pop and shift as he looks out blearily across the prairie. Out of deference to the lady, he forgoes his normal waking-up swear, then began working the aches and pains out of his joints once again. A sudden battle with demons followed by moving camp and being woken up at least once during the night to sit watch hadn't done his old bones any good.

Clementine was already up, bouncing around as usual, tearing around the campsite. Gabby watched her for a moment and smiled, then got up to find a bush to do his necessaries for the morning and wash up in the nearby lake. That done, he staggered over to Bessie, his mule, and unpacked his coffee pot and some beans. It was time to wake.

"Monrin'." He mumbles to Cora as he pours her a cup. He's not quite awake enough to manage more than that quite yet.

"Cora," Korpi noted, sidling around attention from a somewhat soggy Clemya.

Sky Dog gave the canine a pensive look, then beckoned her over with a strip of meat. He left it on the ground for her as he set about adding salt, sage and savoury to his pan and frying up snakes for whoever had asked the night before, occasionally pausing to sip chai.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, wandering over to a distant corner of the camp where he had tied up a pack in a tree. It wasn't a hard climb, and he took it down and brought it over to the fire where the Siberian was cooking.

"Figure we can cook up some bacon," he said retrieving some from the pack, "whenever you're done cookin' those...snakes. What kinda snakes are they anyway?"

Sky Dog nodded to the skins. "Some brown kinds. I do not know your word for them. Less bitter, than the ones like instruments."
He considered a moment. "Perhaps it would be well to place some in together - I think it might go very well, for the meats to take the fats of each other."

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't know the word, would ya? Well, if you wanna cook 'em up together, that works for me. I ain't never tried snake before. Never too late to try somethin' new," he said, handing off the bacon to Sky Dog. "You eat a lotta snakes in Siberia?"

The shaman accepted the meat and set to adding it to the fixings. "There are not so many to be caught...mostly, we eat caribou. God's deer, yes? Not the people's." In clarification, he added: "-the Russians do not understand they have a different soul, these animals: they are different, though they have the same shape. You cannot milk the caribou!"

He frowned slightly, watching what he was doing. "Other animals, we eat...fresh fish in summer, when the water moves...berries, cedar nuts, good things. My friend that was from Finland, who came to look at all the rocks, he ate some of a Lifter corpse. Ha! Ha, he said it tasted like boots! Russian boots, I was laughing that he wanted to eat it, that has been in the ever-ice since the Flood!"

He grinned. "It is mostly caribou we eat, though." The shaman gave Korpi a sliver speared on the tip of his small knife; she took it carefully, not touching the cooking implement. Sky Dog watched her reaction carefully and adjusted the seasoning a little.

"-It is the first shape the male shamán learns to take with his soul, to go to the Lady of the Forest and please her, that she is fertile and there are enough caribou to eat," he mentioned in the manner of one describing the climate, then looked to Shotgun. "Do you bring a plate?"

"You gonna eat some snakes too, Miss Hawthorne?" he asked her with a grin, seating himself beside her at the fire.

"I most certainly will not," she replied firmly, glancing sidelong at Bat. "Nor would I ever unless I was absolutely starving and had no other choice.  I prefer food that doesn't slither."  She nodded her thanks to Gabby for the coffee and brought it for a sniff, wrinkling her nose at the first taste.  It was much stronger than she liked, so she rummaged in her pack for the bag of sugar she'd packed as part of her trail rations, dumping a handful into the hot liquid.  She left the sugar out for anyone else that would like some.

Darling was awake with Texas Jack when the rest of the camp began stirring. He was working through his first cup of (slightly bitter) coffee and nibbling a (slightly stale) biscuit, having declined the general offer of a rasher of snake, when Cora offered her sugar.

He sifted a sprinkle into his cup with a smile and extended a paper-wrapped biscuit to Cora in exchange: "How is your arm feeling this morning, Miss Hawthorne?"

He refilled his cup and took a swallow with a contented sigh.

Korpi pattered around the back of Gabby and Cora whilst Sky Dog broke out laughing at Hawthorne's bizzarre theory of judging what was good to eat.

Since she had never seen fully-processed sugar that didn't come in lumps, the intriguing glitter of the substance spoke beguilingly to her corvid brain. Korpi turned her head to look with one eye, then the other: not salt, certainly, the crystals were too small, but it was clearly food...

Glancing between those nearest her, Korpi sidled up and pulled at the edge of the bag until a thin stream of sugar dribbled onto the ground, and tasted it. Oh, this was good.

"There's bacon too, if'n ya want it," he said to Coraline. For his part, he pulled out a tin plate from his pack and handed it to Sky Dog. "As for me, hell, how bad can snake be? I bet it tastes like chicken."

"Wild chicken, yes." Sky Dog served Shotgun a good helping of snake n' bacon, still snickering a bit.

The remainder of the lawmen and gunfighters gathered round as well, some of them partaking of the unusual breakfast treat, some of them sticking to coffee.

"Not bad," offered Bat after trying a bit. "Pretty closed to chicken. Goes well with the bacon. Well cooked, too."

Earp didn't have any though. "Not a breakfast person," was all he said. "After we break our fast, we might wanna see about packing up camp and heading for Oakley."

"Thank you, I would love some bacon."  She speared some with an eating knife and placed it on a small tin plate she retrieved from her pack.  Accepting the biscuit from Randolph, she smiled.  "Thank you, Mister Darling.  My hand feels much better than last night, thanks to the Doctor."

As she took a bite of her biscuit, Cora glimpsed a rustle of black fathers near her foot.  Her lips firmed into a thin line, though she didn't shoo the bird away.  Instead, she slowly pulled her fan from her sleeve, opened it, examined the back for a moment and then slid it back inside her sleeve.

Sky Dog nodded though he had eaten nothing himself, transfering Daniel's well-guarded share to one of his spare mugs and nestling it amongst the coals to keep warm. "It is as well not to wait on us, Wyittearp - I must find my steed, and it is well not to bring the black horse near that of Dalix, for they are both whole males and large...if he has not become rock in the sun, the demon one." Sky Dog looked towards where the black was last seen, eyes narrowed against the light.

Korpi continued to quietly eat the marvellous bagged stuff, occasionally tugging a little at the sack to make more fall out. It was hard to tell that this was the bird seemingly involved in re-killing a Horseman with just a touch.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:44, Mon 27 Jan 2014.

Daniel shrugged at the commentary as he gobbled down his portion of breakfast. Fighting always made him hungry. And often angry. But more hungry. His eyes roamed about to see if anyone might not be finishing their share of the meal.

"Jock don' usually cause prollems, but no harm in bein' safe."

He looked around camp briefly before adding, "I'm ready ta head fer Oakley. No cause ta stay 'round here, right?"

Suddenly, Korpi pulled her head back and took a few measured steps back, and then another two, making sure sure she was well away from the bag. The bird jumped up and down once, before taking flight again and alighting on her brother's shoulder.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:47, Mon 27 Jan 2014.

The shaman looked at his sister. "?"

Korpi blinked and preened among her breastfeathers a moment whilst he cleared up, not entirely sure what she'd wanted up here. The corvid seemed to mentally shrug it off and reached over to try and do something with Sky Dog's recently-washed hair, which seemed to have ambitions towards becoming a cloud.

Sky Dog let her make the attempt, but tugged his bandanna up over his nose and cheeks, feeling the former starting to burn even in this weak morning sun.

The men managed a vigorous and efficient cleanup of the camp and repacking of their equipment.

"I think it's just a regular horse, Sky Dog," he said, looking over at the black 'demon' horse the Siberian had tethered nearby. "How long you reckon it'll take you to track down your ridin' deer?"

The shaman made no correction, resaddling the animal and loading it whilst Korpi supervised from the pommel. "A small time-" he threw a short request to Korpi, who flew off, "-he will be near, yes, but afraid of the wolves and the Americans, so we do not see him here. It will be well! If we fall behind that you cannot see us, my sister can still see you, but I do not think we will be as far." He took up his Russian snow goggles and put them on, then pulled up his hood, staring at the merciless sky for direction, then the ground.

A little further on he crouched, estimating direction from the tracks, then wandered onward, leading the black behind him. "A little time. Igor!"

Coraline wore a satisfied smile as she picked up the bag of sugar and stitched up the hole with a bit of needle and thread from her pack.  After securing it, she went back to eating, though spared an eye to the sky where the bird flew free.  When she was finished, she cleaned up after herself and moved to ready her horse for travel.

"I'm pleased to hear it, Miss Hawthorne." As he finishes his coffee, Randolph watches with amusement as Coraline deals with the black-feathered sugar-thief. He wipes out his cup with a scrap of flannel and stows both items, then sets to saddling his horse.

He's ready to set out for Oakley.

Jack eats a bit of snake just to be sociable. "Not bad," he opines, "Could do with some chilis howsomever. I've et most things made a flesh that wander th' Western prairies, comes t' that, 'ceptin' th' human animal, that is. Much obliged."

He goes about the campsite once he's got his paint saddled up, to make sure nothing gets left behind.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:57, Tue 28 Jan 2014.

"A smart deer to be scared of wolves and Americans! We both like to eat deer," he said, with a chuckle. "Not that we're gonna eat your riding deer. Unless we're near starving, that is."

"Ha! I will remember," Sky Dog responded in passing, heading northwest with his riding-pole as a staff. "-feed the Americans well, or eat them first!"

It didn't take more than an hour before the Siberian found the rest of them again, a little time after they first saw his bird fly above them. On Wyatt Earp's call, they took a brief rest and waited a bit, to have the Siberian ride up to them on Igor's back, and they pressed on towards Oakley. A single lone oak tree waited on the road up ahead, and even from a distance they could see what was hanging from it - a body, held up by a noose. It wasn't far from the outskirts of what they could see as buildings as they came upon a town.

Gabby, still clinging to Daniel, sighed with relief as the town came in sight. He still hated riding, gosh darn it!

"Hey Sky Dog!" he calls to the shaman. "Is that there tree the one you done seen in your vision?" He points to the lone oak as they pass...then blanches at the body hanging from the noose. What was going on here?
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:32, Wed 12 Feb 2014.

Daniel frowned at the sight as his uncle brought attention to the oak tree with the body hanging from it. He wondered if this body would need to be dissected like the pumpkin tossing ones. The cause of death seemed clear...

Still keeping some paces to the side for the sake of keeping the stallions apart, Sky Dog glanced over. "It is one of them, yes - the others must be long cut down, under the settlement." He looked at the remaining Oakley oak with curiousity.

Korpi at once glided down from her soaring to go land on the branch over the corpse's rope to see if the body had any eyeballs or shinies left.

"His kin do not want him, this one?" Sky Dog asked, gesturing at the tree with his riding-pole as they advanced.

During the ride, Darling had kept his mount close to Coraline's, anxious to aid her if she became faint from her injury.

His mouth tightens at the site of the corpse hanging from the tree and his hand goes reflexively to his Colt.

As they advanced towards the tree, the body dangling in the wind became clearer to them, Korpi now perched atop the head trying to pry free one of the eyes. The further and further they got, the clearer it was the identity of the departed. The body of Jake Simpkins hung limply from the tree.

"Well, that's one problem that worked itself out," he said looking at the body.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:42, Wed 12 Feb 2014.

Sky Dog tapped Igor forwards a little at the sight of what he took to be townsfolk stirring at the edge of the settlement, pulling down his bandanna out of courtesy. He glanced up as he passed the dead man within range of his short sight, but made no remark.

Igor's summer-hardened hooves raised small puffs of dust ahead of the horses, the ringing glitter of the bells strung between his antlers bright in the morning sun. Korpi cast an eye over the proceedings, then cast one of Simpkins' eyes over them out of sheer exuberance, performing an acrobatic drop-loop to catch the morsel before it fell on Charlie. The raven finished up by swooping around the horses and flapping back up to the end of the hanged man's branch. "Ha! Ha!"

Behind them, Collins quietly checked his shotgun was ready and loaded.

As Sky Dog moved forward, a figure emerged from within the crowd. He wore a dark cattleman hat with a center crease, a bound kettle-curl brim, and a dark hatband. He looked to be wearing a dark suit, that seemed more rumpled than it usually was. As the figure approached, it was clear that it was none other than Caleb Morgan. The lawman looked a little worse for wear, wasn't as well groomed as he traditionally kept himself, and there was a shadow under his eyes like he hadn't slept in a week.

He turned around momentarily after coming out a distance, and yelled something to the townsfolk before walking up closer to them.

"Good to see you folks again," he said, greeting them each in turn, tipping his hat to Coraline.

"That's the older Simpkins brother. They hung him before I got into town. Apparently, him and his Wilderness Riders tried to hit the town, but the folks here were a lot better prepared than they expected. Simpkins is the only one that wasn't gunned down, but they caught him and hung him."

The shaman leant back a little to halt his deer and waited until Morgan was finished with the buisness of taking notice of people, wary that the huge black horse roped behind him did not get it into his head to bite. "The other ones, they are buried?"

He nodded to Sky Dog's question. "It's kept the undertaker pretty busy, that's for sure. They apparently wanted to leave this one out as a warning to any other bushwhackers." He shook his head, looking out into the distance for a moment. It looked like something was bothering the Marshal.

"There's something strange going on here. Everybody's on the ragged edge. I just got here a few minutes ago, so I don't know too much more than the basics - what I've already told you. I told them help was on the way, and I think they'd appreciate it."

Korpi clung to the the now-eyeless corpse's shirt as it twisted in the breeze, hanging upside-down partly for the fun of it and partly to see if he had anything good.

The shaman grinned, sliding off his reindeer. "Ah, we will help them." He squinted through his goggles at the amount of activity at the edge of town, pensive.

"Do you think it would be good for them to know, that we have ended some un-dead coming here? They were very annoying and without respect, those ones, and may have been frightening the farmers before they came to the Americans' singing. If they have spoken of things that throw..." Sky Dog rubbed his chin in thought, looked around for inspiration, but the word was not forthcoming. "The fruit, it begins with Puh...those things are ended." He shrugged slightly.

"I dunno about that...were the pumpkinheads part o' Quantrill's boys or a different group?" Gabby muses, his thought still on Simpkens. He hadn't liked the man much, but he hadn't really wanted to see him dead. "What about Wainwright, Marshal Morgan? Last I heard, that snake was callin' the shots o' the Wilderness Riders, or at least was jerkin' 'em about. Any idea where he got to?"

"What difference? I do not think Quanterill would trouble himself to make such, that cannot even speak of him to gain him...being, in the Middle World, but they were unusual things that might trouble the people." He looked idly over at the same.

Undead? Pumpkinheads? Caleb looked a bit confused at the turn the conversation had taken. "Clearly I've missed something. Could I trouble you for an explanation of what you're referring to?" he asked.

Earp launched into a brief but succinct explanation of what had transpired the night before, letting the others add in details as they saw fit.

"And here I thought my horse getting spooked by the howling and having to spend the rest of the night chasing after it and tracking it down was bad. That sounds like one hell of an ordeal. I'm glad you folks made it out alright."

He turned to Gabby. "As for Wainwright, I can't rightly say that I'm the best person to ask after that. We can see to the bodies that haven't yet been buried, or see if they've identified those that have. Like I said, I don't know much more than I've told you so far. Whatever else we find out, we're gonna have to get from them." He hiked his thumb over in the direction of the town.

Sky Dog had already moved off to take the direct approach, quietly hushing and scratching his reindeer since Igor seemed to find Morgan's tall form intimidating.

"A lot of working, a lot of people at the edge of the settlement today," the shaman remarked to the nearest human who seemed to be part of the activity. "Did they make much injury, the outlaws? I was hearing from Morgan," he nodded at the same, still talking to the clump of deputies, "your settlement was already attacked."

Daniel furrowed his brow at the suggestion that the pumpkinheads might be Quanterill's crew. It didn't exactly seem to fit, and he nodded at Sky Dog's response.

As Wyatt explained what they had encountered, Daniel added a detail here and there. He nodded at Caleb's sentiment concerning their well being. He was glad his skin remained whole as well.

"Mostly aright." Daniel corrected Caleb, remembering Cora's injury. He'd presumed the Doc would let him know should she need any further attention.

While Sky Dog started querying the locals, Daniel attention drifted toward his sister. He wondered if she was still toting an eyeball around or not.

Daniel soon spotted Korpi stretched up on the dead man's head, trying to polish a stolen tobacco tin against the hanging rope. It seemed unattended eyeballs didn't last long around Korpi.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:46, Fri 14 Feb 2014.

Though someone disturbed by the sight of a hanging corpse, Coraline's discomfort eased when Caleb appeared.  She smiled at the lawman when he greeted them, pleased that he hadn't come to any harm during the night.  "Well, I suppose that we did come here to investigate, so should probably get to it."  Her eyes turned toward the town, catching glimpses of those moving about.  Carefully, and with much regard to her burned hand, she dismounted and took her horse's reins in her good hand, walking toward the town in search of a hitching post.

Darling rides as close as his mount will tolerate to Sky Dog's moose and tries to include Gabby in his low-pitched remarks: "These seem pretty frightened already. Let's not add to their troubles with a lot of stories about terrors they probably haven't even seen. Ask questions, if you must, but let's try not to spread any panic."

Seeing Cora rein up, he walks his horse over to hers and dismounts, taking hold of her horse's bridle to steady it as she swings down.

"And if they have seen 'em?" Gabby retorts. "These folks're already upset about somethin'. If its Quantrill or the pumpkinheads, they'll be glad to know someone's on their side. If it ain't, and I'm gettin' a notion somethin' else might be rotten here, then they need to be warned. Keepin' folks calm is all well and good, but wrappin' 'em in some magical shield o' ignorance ain't gonna do jack squat to help 'em." He looks Darling straight in the eye. "The whole damn reason we're here ridin' with Wyatt Earp and his boys is to prevent another massacre like in Hays. Or have you forgotten that?"

"I certainly haven't forgotten, Mr. Clarke," Darling replied icily, "And I think having a dozen strangers come riding to their aid, several of them notable lawmen, will do more to assuage their fears than ghost stories about headless horsemen.

"Of course, you won't be the center of attention in that case..." His voice trails off and he turns away from the older man.

Gabby glares at Darling, his eyes narrowing as he curls his hands into fists. "You want to take that back, Darling. I ain't the one tryin' to keep everyone gagged to protect his fuckin' byline."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:26, Mon 17 Feb 2014.

Sky Dog gave the local a gentle poke with the end of his riding-pole to help the townsperson shake off that familiar look of 'what are you and why are you talking to me?'

"That is enough.  From both of you," she said quietly, sounding more tired than irritated.  Cora's gaze traveled between Randolph and Gabby.  "We aren't here to argue and this sort of sniping won't give these people the right impression.  How could we possibly help them if we can't even get along within our group?"  Sighing softly, she tied her horse so that it couldn't take off once they ventured into town.

Daniel nodded at Coraline's response, seemingly always of a similar mind with her whenever these sorts of eruptions occurred. "Mebbe we fin' out jus' what they've seen fore we go tellin' more stories. Then if we think mebbe they know 'bout the punkins, we can tell 'em we dealt with some of 'em."

It seemed reasonable to Daniel, though he was sure there were holes in his logic somewhere. It didn't take him long to remember the logical problem is that Gabby wanted to talk about all sorts of things no matter what.

Caleb sighed. One night alone in the wilderness, and he had almost forgotten about all of this. "I say we play it by the ear. Gauge the temper of the town, and see what needs to be done to bolster their defenses first and foremost. While I will assiduously avoid the debate over whether we should be the arbiters of the knowledge they receive about wild events in the world, there is the possibility that we may lose credibility by kicking things off with a discussion of other worldly topics."

He wanted to try and keep a neutral position on this topic. His first concern was with preventing another massacre here, and finding out what the hell was going on that was getting people killed out here.

The townsfolk there were milling about a small building with a shingle hung indicating that a blacksmith by the name of Turner Jefferson operated there. There were about six people there talking in hushed voices about themselves. All of them held either a rifle or a pistol, and were sort of sheltering behind the building more than being in front of it. They seemed somewhat startled by the Siberian's appearance, as if he might be some kind of spectre. As one tried to come up with something to say, Sky Dog prodded him with the stick. This seemed to prompt the man into talking.

"Hey!" he said, taking a step back. "Well, they tried to shoot us. Turner got grazed in the arm," he said, tipping his head towards a tall, brawny black man in his middle years that stood nearby with a rifle. "But we took care of the rest of 'em. Weren't that many actually, and we'd seen worse before that."

The man noted as Turner was taller than the other men, broader at the shoulders, and by the looks of him perhaps as strong as any of them put together. There was scarring on his shoulder, as if there had been a wound that had been cauterized. "Ain't no thing, jus' a scratch. Doc Whateley patched that shit up real quick. We done seen worse anyway. Killin' live men ain't no thing after you killed deaders, ain't that right?" he asked the rest of the men, leading to general agreement and a bit of a cheer.

Pointing to the body on the tree, he commented further. "Hung that last one up down the road, in case more them bushwhackers think about takin' on Oakley. We don't play 'round down here."

"It is well not to play with such!" Sky Dog agreed, then to the blacksmith, with a very respectful tone: "You have made certain, the live ones you have been killing, they will not walk also?"

The Siberian listened intently, eyes narrowed behind his goggles as he moved into the shade. "Ah? Have Quanterill and his quick dead ones been here before us? I had a vision and brought the men this way for that I saw they would come here after Hays, but when, I did not know. If any have gone onwards, we must go onward also."

"I heard Quantrill was dead. You sayin' he undead too? Sheeit. I talked big, but it wasn't easy killin' them deaders. Only gotta few dead eye shots up in here, and you gotta go for the head." Suddenly, he seemed to grow a bit suspicious.

"Say, what kinda Injun you is? Doc says them undead bein' sent at us by some kinda Comanche magic."

Darling looked abashed at Coraline's admonishment. He nodded at Daniel's words and the Marshall's.

"That's mostly what I meant. Let's see what they need and what they know before we possibly open a new can of worms."

"Quanterill...he is not like the other dead ones. He must have given himself to a demon when he was alive, so that he did not die when he was killed, for it is the demon leaving...tracks, in the shadows of the world, yes? But the man also is still in the skin, though he was buried a long time. Two creatures in his skin." Sky Dog gestured things coming together two-handed, causing Igor to take a step forward on the other end of the rope. The reindeer looked at the nearer townsman with his usual expression of barely-contained alarm.

*uh!*

"-The demon, he is dangerous even to a smith, and he has gathered dead ones with him - this is why I say to be sure, yes? Even only to be burying upside-down with salt." He gave the men a serious look. "Quanterill the man, he is only a crazy sorcerer. He fears his own dead ones! So we will look for him in the day, when the demon, he is weak and probably sleeping. Perhaps some here will come with us?"

The idea of being a Comanche cracked Sky Dog up for well over a minute, his laughter ringing down the road. Pink, he straightened, and just about got a grip. "Ha! Ha ha...hoo...no. I am a wild Tungus!" The animals on his shirt rang against each other with his laughing. "Haa...but if it is the witch making punk..." he paused to call back to the others:

"Pumpkins, the fruit?"

"-we ended three of that one's works last night. Would you consider to trade for the horse?" Sky Dog asked the smith, pulling the hood forward a bit and stepping out to fetch the animal into view. "He is maybe from the Lower World, but he seems as happy to eat grass."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:05, Mon 17 Feb 2014.

"I never heard o' no Wild Tungus," he said, but didn't seem to know what to make of the rest.

"I don't know about pumpkins and demons and all that. You'll probably wanna talk to the Doc about that. He's usually up at the church across the road down there, and he knows all about demons and fairies and magic," he said.

"Don't know 'bout him, but I'll buy your horse," offered another, walking up to take a round at inspecting the animal. "How much you askin'?"

Gabby sighs, but backs down for now and follows along to hear the locals talk.



At this, Gabby gives Darling a smug smile. "Seems like they'd have cause to believe a tale or two." He says, but doesn't push further. Instead, he hobbles closer to Sky Dog and the large guy.

"We don't know if it's actually Quantrill or just someone claimin' the name yet." he says to Turner. "All we know fer sure is he's got a pack o' deaders ridin' herd with him, and he's attacked some Ya-, er, Union towns around here, so we come to give warnin' and some gun hands if'n he do show up. But you're sayin' you got ones that are bein' raised by Comanche? When did these critters attack?"
This message was last edited by the player at 08:08, Tue 18 Feb 2014.

Korpi joined Morgan's hat as the posse moved into town and tried to buff her tin a bit more on that, pausing to look over at Dalix and straighten as though to say 'look! shiny!'

Sky Dog's expression was mostly lost under hood, hair and goggles, though he paused at Gabby's appearance. "If you desire it, Uncle, I will draw the one I have seen." To the men, he added: "It is better to be fortified than to try and end them all as they come: the avakhi makes the dead ones very fast."

"Ones an American has said 'they are made by Comanche'," the shaman corrected mildly as he want to see to the sale of a horse, glancing at the smith to be sure he wasn't going over that honoured man's head.

"He is a strong horse, and his tack and a good saddle with him - but I will trade him for a small horse without such, feed for that one, and some potatoes, or two eagle skins, a hard cheese," he mimed a fair-sized wheel, "-two wool blankets and jam...or anything as good."

"Maybe Comanche, he said. Maybe also Kiowa, he said. Didn't know for sure. And he ain't American, not exactly. Some kinda European," offered the blacksmith.

The horse trader took his time to survey the horse, nodding in appreciation. "A good animal. I don't have all you want though, you'll have to go to the general store. I can give you a smaller horse and feed in trade, and twenty dollars besides. You can take that and go to the general store, though I'm not sure they'll have...eagle skins - they should have the rest. That sound like a deal to you?"

"Sounds like a fella to talk to, though I wonder how he'd know. And I wonder how in heck Comanche or Kiowa would have gotten their hands on Radcliffe's machines." Gabby muses. "Still, when was this deader attack? How long has it been goin' on?"

Daniel paid attention to the back-and-forth, though didn't find the time to interject any of his own thoughts. He did notice Korpi looking at him with a shiny, and he winked at her and beckoned for her to come closer. Perhaps he could help her add some luster to whatever it was she held.

His brow furrowed at the mention of Radcliffe again. That was one name he had hoped they wouldn't hear again, or with whose works he had hoped they would no longer be concerned.

"Oh, three days ago. It wasn't always deaders, though. We had a pack o' nasty wolves come in here too, all rabid, bitin' folks week before that. You wouldn't believe the shit we been seein' these last few weeks. Hell, I wouldn'ta believed it a month gone," he said.

"I'm just glad the Doc got here in time to help us out with it, thank God for that. He taught us how to kill deaders, and shown some folks how to use fairy power."

Having no interest in horse-trading and 'shinys,' Randolph leaves the crowd and walks into the village, trailing his horse behind him. As he goes, he keeps an eye out for a resident who might be able to direct him to Doc Whateley.

Korpi tilted her head at Dalix, wondering what he wanted her over there for. All the same, he could probably help polish things...the raven crouched, then leapt with a single flap to take her across the distance to Daniel's shoulder, more a jump than a flight. Once back in balance, Korpi leant to hold the tobacco tin in front of Dalix's mouth.

"Ha! There are many kinds of those," Sky Dog remarked of Europeans, then to his new friend: "Very good! It is done."

He began removing his own goods from the black and transferring them to Igor, addressing Gabby as he did so. "They were not hostages...true undead, the pumpkin-men - they were spirits called into the flesh. Any witch or even a shamán can do this, they do not need machines. It may be a rival for me, as with the good gunslinger, yes?" This statement lacked Sky Dog's usual levity, almost as though he was speaking of someone else. He placed the spare saddle on the ground.

"If it is Comanches that are become angry, and I see them, I will speak with them," Sky Dog told the men, dusting off his wrapped hands with a growing smirk. "-but I think if the Comanche had become angry they are like the Mongols, yes? You would know very soon who had wrath!" The news of an outbreak of the wolf disease quickly made the shaman concerned. "The bitten ones, are any taking a small bite but still alive?"

The would-be horse trader spat in his palm and extended it to Sky Dog, to handshake on the deal.

Sky Dog was clearly taken off-balance a moment, but quickly unwrapped the strip covering his right palm and little finger and licked the exposed skin before shaking hands. "I am Sky Dog," he offered.

"Jared," he offered in return. "I own the stable just down yonder, and if you bring your horse over there I'll give you what we agreed on. You can take a look at the thing yourself, to see if you like it or not first. But if you do, then we do the deal."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:01, Fri 28 Feb 2014.

Sky Dog nodded, clearly belated in realising how easy it might be to cheat him with the casual manner of civilised lying and touched by the trader's honesty. He took up his riding-pole and lightly touched Igor into motion with it, walking with his reindeer clicking at heel and the black in tow, tack over the saddle of the latter.

"The wolves that were diseased - if they did bite any here, I think I might be able to save those ones...it is a bad death, or hard living, the wolf disease."

"Can't say I fancy the idea o' folks rasin' the dead without machines none." Gabby mutters, then looks back at Turner. "Say...how much o' this weird stuff you been havin' before this Doc Whateley fella came here, anyhow? And what do you mean by fairy powers?"

"As for the fairy powers, I ain't got mucha the talent m'self. None of us heard 'bout that 'fore he came to town. Says its some old kinda Christian religion from where he is, from off. He said that God sent us the fairies - like some kinda fallen angels or somethin' - and we can use their fairy powers to fight off the evil. I done seen it too. He took out some deaders with black lightnin', sprung from 'is fingertips," said Turner, shaking his head.

"He's teachin' some o' the other folk that took to it how to get the fairy power. Rest of us just gotta use our guns."

He turned to Sky Dog. "Wolves did bite a few people. Some of 'em done died, and some still dyin'. Doc saved a couple that wasn't that bad wounded, but others he couldn't do nothin' for. Said they got some kinda infection."

Sky dog paused and pressed a fist to his forehead, then pitched his voice to carry: "Mansfield! Perhaps it is well to come with me when I have gone to the stables, yes? The wolf disease is in the settlement."

To Gabby, he added: "Be wary of this doctor: he is a very great fool, or maybe a sorcerer." Turner got a frown. "The fairy - little spirits, yes? - they do not like you, for you have the power of iron over them. It is stronger than most spirits! But if you will make sure the people have knives it is well, for this calling the little spirits without sense, without balance is why your...luck is crazy."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:07, Thu 20 Feb 2014.

"Is this the wolf disease you were talking about earlier?" he asked Sky Dog first, then turned to the smith. "Is it rabies?"

"Nah, it ain't that. Somethin' different that I ain't never seen," he replied.

Daniel's attention had briefly turned to assisting Korpi with making her shiny tin even shinier, paused in the middle of what he was doing at the mention of lightning. "Black lightnin' ya say? An' teachin' udders? Gotta be a good one ta meet 'fore long. Seems ta be helpin' folks round here though, right?"

"We sure wouldn'ta survived any o'them attacks without 'im," Turner agreed.

Korpi happily polished the breathed-on tin shinier on Daniel's head.

Sky Dog made his usual hand-away-from-self shrug, confused by the blacksmith's conflicting description. Of the good doctor, he simply pressed his lips together a moment, then shook his head. "This doing is as to drive a bear into your home to get rid of drunking cossacks - yes, they run away, but now you have another problem!"

Daniel furrowed his brow at Sky Dog's comparison. "Let's don't be assumin' nuttin' bout him. Mebbe he ain't like no bear atall. All the same - Mebbe he is." He shrugged, then looked toward the town, curious about what might be in store for them within.

"Ha! Perhaps not the doctor, but many little spirits all together, yes..." the shaman looked about as though staring down the same, the dust-scoured beasts on his shirt adding their own flashed glances. He thought a moment.

"If many are badly infected when I go to look on them, it may be that I will need another helper in the Middle World to try and save them...I am not sure when - it will depend - but would you help me to fight wolf-spirits if I ask it?"

"Where might we find this Fella? Sounds like a person I'd like to meet, alright."

"Doc's usually up at the church. See, we didn't have no pastor or priest or nothin' before. Every once in a while we get a revival preacher come in and put up a tent. 'sides that though, all we got is ourselves, our bibles and Jesus," he said. He pointed right across the street where the church was.

"So Doc set up shop in the church when he got here, started talkin' on his old religion, and for me, it holds up well."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:58, Thu 20 Feb 2014.

He addressed Gabby, Coraline, Daniel, and Sky dog. "If you folks are gonna go up to the Church, me and the boys are gonna examine the perimeter. Find the points of attack and the approaches, scout out a bit. Maybe take Caleb with us. We'll meet back up here after we get the lay o' the land."

"Turner, tell your folks we ain't no banditos or bushwhackers. We're lawmen from Dodge City, some of us are anyway, and friends besides. Came up here to help, as these folks've told you."

"I'll pass the word to the sentries," he said, and told some of the other folks there to get back to their watch posts and pass the word.

Gabby gives Sky Dog a glance. "Let's pay our respects to the Good Doctor, then, eh?"

"Maybe you will tell me how he explains himself, yes?" Sky Dog smirked, himself occupied with horse-trading. "Korpi-" he looked up at his sister and switched to Evenki for a few sentences.

Korpi considered, then tossed the tin to her brother and cleaned her beak on Daniel's shoulder, clearly intending to stay there for a bit. Sky Dog cached the object in his shirt for hiding properly later.

"Will do." Gabby says, and heads off to the church.

Clementine, in the meanwhile, goes about sniffing new and interesting sents around Sky Dog ant Turner. She seems fond of Turner, rushing up to him and barking, looking to be pet.

Jared, the man that had agreed to the horse trade with Sky Dog, gestured at the native and Clayton. "Come on, we'll walk over there and have it done," he said, pointing at the stables that could be seen just a little bit over from where they were standing, a few horses meandering about in the field. He clutched a rifle that he carried while he was on 'patrol.'

"Whoever learned you English done a pretty good job," he said. "Don't meet too many natives speak that good. Some do, though. Those that done lived 'round white folks. That how ya learned it?"

Clayton followed along as well, medical bag in hand, curious to learn about Sky Dog's mysterious 'wolf disease.' While it was likely some pagan superstition that the savage clung to, it did make him curious.

Sky Dog grinned broadly, walking beside his reindeer. "You are the first to say so! I have learned fast, to speak with the people in the north-west of this country who have no Russian, then the Americans, but some of them do not understand me at all...much signing, yes?" He tugged his sleeve down over his partly-exposed hand, feeling the knuckles starting to burn.

"Are there people...that live on the land before, that live near the settlement?" the shaman asked. Igor eyed the wandering horses warily.

"You mean Injuns, I s'pose. Well, there's mostly Arapaho out there somewhere. Don't reckon I know where they live, but they're around. There's Kiowa and Comanche too, but they mostly like killin' buffalo hunters and people that got a lotta horses. I only keep a few at a time 'round here, so I guess that's why they ain't bothered us. Thank the Lord for that," he said.

Sky Dog listened with close attention, memorising the information. "They will not want this one, at least - their horses live like God's horses; it would not be well for foaling, to let the big one go to such little mares," he remarked, then looked up a little at some subtle movement from Igor.

"Do you live here a long time in this settlement, with your family?" Sky Dog asked, then pointed to the edge of the corral fence. "Is it well to let my kujjai scratch his antlers on the post here, or are your horses frightened?"

This message was last edited by the player at 21:20, Tue 04 Mar 2014.

The shaman nodded, but slipped the lead rope from his deer and let Igor walk past to get some scratching in, holding the slacked line himself. The black stallion paced willingly behind now, ears turned and nostrils flared for the scents of the other horses.

Sky Dog glanced briefly at Mansfield at the mention of cholera, but listened intently, eventually leading the black up close to the fence. He looked at his reindeer, then out at the horses. "It can be hard, to live without family," he said.

"Probably more that the Americans do not understand it well, to share the heart as much, with one that is never human." He squinted at the horse indicated, leaning against the fence and at last pulling his goggles up to see if colour contrast would help. "It looks well! ...but it is to do with the no colour, my eyes are very poor. Will you call the spotted horse here?"

Igor experimentally nibbled up some stray straw from the dust.

"Sure thang, jes' wait right here," he said, hopping the fence and walking out among the horses. He made his way back over to where the horse was and then gently guided it out to the fence where the strange Siberian waited. "You can see it now, I reckon?" he asked again, bringing it over to the fence.

Sky Dog perched up on the fence to watch the horse trader work as best he could, abruptly grinning in delight at the patterns of the horse's pelt. "Ah, like something from the Upper World, this one!" he remarked, leaning to scratch the appaloosa between the ears and judge its reaction to the scent of him.

He stroked the horse's nose. "I am well content, if you are willing to trade this one."

"Works good for me. Jes' gimme a sec and I'll go put this big'un away and come out with yers," he said. Taking the reins on Sky Dog's large black horse, he walked it up to a gate and lead it inside the yard and towards the stables. Reappearing a minute later, he came with the smaller horse and lead it gently out of the stables, it responding well to his guiding hand alone towards Sky Dog.

"Don't have much feed as I reckoned, but you can get some from the general store," he said. He handed the Siberian twenty two dollars in Union scrip.

Sky Dog hopped down to take the funds, slipping the tin horse that had been in the black beast's mane into his shirt. He cocked his head slightly trying to focus on the dollars, clearly having little idea how they translated to worth. "It is much by a very little, I think - if I am alive in the evening, and we are not fighting many kinds of demon for that they come for the doctor's little ones, maybe you would share chai with me? The others, they will probably go to drink alcohols."

He tucked the dollars away and held the rope for the spotted horse to smell and understand as non-threatening before asking the beast by movement to take the loop over its head and be led. Igor watched dubiously from nearby. "The ones in the store will know where the bitten people live, yes?"

"T'be honest, I'll prolly be drinkin' the alcohols too. You'd be welcome, even if ya ain' a drinker. Bring your...whatever it was ya said. How you gonna get that thing to stay put without anythin' to hitch it with?" he asks, gesturing over to the horse.

"I do not think the tavern-man will be so happy," Sky Dog replied, wrinkling his nose and resettling the goggles before breaking into a smirk. "-but I will give to someone to buy you a drink, yes?"

Sky Dog held up the rope now attached to said horse, a little confused. "I do not think-" he leant to glance under the horse "-she will go so far, but if she is wanting very much to wander, I will tie the rope to Igor. I can always find Igor!"

The bells in Igor's antlers glingled as he scratched himself against a fencepost.

"I think that's prolly for th'best, tyin' the rope to...whatever the hell kinda fuckin' deer that is," he said.

"Far as the, uh, bitten people, I s'pose you could ask at th'gener'l store...Brady & comp'ny. Jus' down th'street...look for th'sign. Oh...I forgot you people can't read. I can show you the way if ya want."

The shaman was clearly quite defeated in attempting to parse the profanity, his pale brows remaining deeply furrowed until the conversation reached firmer ground.

"It would be well, if you are willing," he agreed to the proposal. "Who is the company of Brady, that is there?"

"I say Brady? Guess I did. S'pose that's what I get for takin' to drink this early in the day. Ira Bradley is his name. Him and his son Anthony run the place. I suppose that's who the company is," he said, leading Sky Dog down the street. They passed a couple of other buildings marked prominently by letters until they reached one that they stopped at, and Jared lead the way in.

The place looked like any typical western general store. The shelves were lined with a variety of dry foods, like flour, beans, or cornmeal. Smoked and dried meats hung from hooks near the back. Containers of candy sat on the sale counter at the front of the store. One man behind the counter in his middle years idly chatted with another on the other side, and a younger man seemed to be stacking things in one part of the store.

Jared set about helping Sky Dog to identify the items that he wanted. As predicted, they did not have eagle skins.

Hood back, goggles at his throat and as human-looking as the strikingly pale man ever got, Sky Dog was by then too fascinated by the shop's contents to care. His attention was presently focused on the jars of sweets.

"-They are all good to eat?" he asked Jared, tilting the vessel of brightly-coloured gobstoppers in sheer awe at their brightness before righting it to tap another. "-and these the little rats, they are all sugar inside, yes?" He looked up for the less occupied, younger shopkeep. "What do you ask, to trade for these things?" he asked.

"Ain't no rats in here, I don't think. Keep a clean place, Ira does. But yeah, you can eat all them," he said.

The young man, after having unloaded his box, wandered over to where Sky Dog was. "Those are penny candies. You can have 'em for a penny each, two for the chocolate," he said.

"Gonna have to pay them in currency. Can't try to trade 'em no beaver skins or whatever," Jared said helpfully, to make sure Sky Dog understood.

Sky Dog laughed. "But these penny-candies, they are made like rats," he showed Jared the jar of charmingly crisp pink and white sugar mice, then experimentally handed Anthony a dollar. "One dollar, there are how many rats?"

Jared's interjection got a quirked eyebrow before Sky Dog looked to the shopkeep again. "You do not trade for any skins here? I have snakes half-dry, good for belts, tobacco pouches," he offered, moving into buisness. "Perhaps it is your wolf-hunter that likes them better, yes? They are all dead, the wolves that brought the disease to your settlement?"

"These are two cents each," he said, pointing to the 'rats.'  "So you can get fifty for a dollar if you want 'em," he said, holding the dollar up to see if Sky Dog changed his mind. Unless the Siberian objected, Anthony would begin to fill up a small sack with a large amount of the candies.

"We don't need no snakes and skins. It's like Jared said, Injun. You pay us in money," he explained patiently.

"As for wolves, we done killed all the ones that came."

"Damn wolves bit one o' my horses. Had to put it down, it was goin' all crazy like and weren't nothin' else to do 'bout it," he complained aloud.

Sky Dog paid close attention to the currency. "Two cents, one penny?" he queried, then leant on the counter with a 'hold up' gesture before recieving more sugar mice than any sane man could ever eat. "Good. Of the rats, half a dollar, of the other things, I can have...five of five things? Yes?"

"After, it would be well that you would give me to know how much is a dollar, in the grain for horses, in potatoes, in the hard cheese, in the pretty glass notions...yes, also...I think, how much of the oil for lamps. It will be well if there is much burning to do, hunting the walking dead ones. Then I will give you to know how many dollars' worth I wish to have of these things, yes?

He smirked a little at being told to pay with money, then looked seriously to Jared. "It is a brave horse you had - that one had taken the place of a kujjai for you, and stepped between the bad...way the luck went, and your own spirit." The shaman winced slightly.

"It is good it did this, for the prey animals cannot become wolves, only crazy...if it was yourself that was bitten, very soon you would be as a wolf, and try to devour beasts and children, maybe women also." He caught Jared's eye, grave. "Your horses see you are a good man; so, they honour the pact between ancestors. You have buried the body in the ground? It may be well to see if there is some onnir of the sacrificed one still in the blood, if the bitten ones are only in the first quiet."

"Well, a dollar will get you five pounds of potatoes, and about oh, I guess maybe seven pounds o' that cheese there." Figuring the Injun might not know what a pound was, he tried to make representations for each of the commodities he offered with his hands, to show Sky Dog how much he'd get for a dollar.

"Them marbles is five cents a piece, so that's about 20 for the dollar. Oil'll run you about ten cents per gallon. That's one of those. So that's ten of those for a dollar," he said, pointing to some metal containers they had containing oil.

"We'll get you some feed at another place that just sells feed," Jared chimed in. He was having a little trouble focusing on helping Sky Dog with his shopping list and talking about werewolves at the same time.

"Well, the horse didn't become no wolf, that's for sure. It just went all crazy. We burned the body, just like we did with the dead wolves we killed, like Whateley said. Keep the disease from spreadin' to th' rest o' the town."

"It is good that Whateley has some sense! More difficult in curing, maybe, but good that he knows to give the flesh where onnir was corrupted to Our Friend, the fire," Sky Dog remarked, twisting a moment to see where Mansfield had got to and whether he was listening. "Do you know where the bitten ones are living, Bradley's son?"

The shaman watched the gestures with close attention. "I would like...one dollar of cheese, one and a half of potatoes, twenty cents the oil...two marbles for a box of oil, yes? Ah...one dollar, sixty cents the marbles, I have the rats...do you have a cabbage? My steed would like a cabbage, I think."

Mansfield was looking at the various shelves, inspecting the items available, but within hearing distance if Sky Dog should call him.

Anthony set to work on wrapping up the various goods that Sky Dog had asked for as he thought about the answer. "Them folks as got bitten by wolves that are still alive all are at the dentist's place. He ain't have much luck curin' em, but he can suture up some wounds and just hope for the best. We ain't got much of a doctor beyond him."

He quoted Sky Dog a dime for the cabbage, offering to package that up as well if the Siberian wanted it.

"Ah, no, do not pack this cabbage...a dime is a quarter-dollar, yes?" Sky Dog slid one of his ten-dollar notes across the counter.

"You have given me a lot of dollars, Jared," he grinned at the horse-trader, offering the same his pick of sugar mice and sundries. "I will think of cursing you when we are pursued by bandits - ha! but then I will bless you for the horse, so it is well."

He glanced across at Anthony, then watched the shopkeep's hands rolling brown paper. "I will try to cure the bitten people, but first I will look at them to see how strong the disease is in them. It would not be well that I wear myself out in fighting many large wolf-spirits then fail at hunting the quick dead ones, who after come to kill us all. Where does the dentist live?"

It was a small town, and between Anthony and Jared, they were able to provide Sky Dog with sufficient directions and landmarks that he would have no trouble finding the Dentist himself were he to go there.

"Myself, I gotta get back to my horses. And my post," he said, patting the rifle at the latter and looking suddenly in a rush to leave.

"You have my thanks," Sky Dog told the departing horse trader, and eventually set out to find the dentist after claiming his change and making sure Mansfield had enough dollars to keep himself fed, luring Igor along with the cabbage.

In the street outside the dentist's, Sky Dog set the cabbage down for his deer and pretended to eat a candy by way of establishing dominance before offering one to his pony. He glanced at the house and frowned into the shadows before offering the bag of sweets to Mansfield, still fasting himself.

"It sounds like strong rabies, this kind," he remarked, then mounted the steps and called for the owner. "Dentist! Are you in the building here?"

"Uh, yeah I'm here," answered the man, opening the door just a bit and peering out through the crack at the strange Siberian and his animals, but looked a little reassured upon seeing Mansfield nearby. "Is something the matter?" He held a rifle in one hand, though he didn't seem ready to use it.

Sky Dog flicked down his hood to appear less bandit-like if no less peculiar, his tin animals glittering with the movement. "You have the matter here, I was told by the people - there are the still-living ones that were bitten by wolves in the house, yes? The white doctors, they do not know how it is done to cure the wolf disease, but Mansfield would learn," he nodded over at the same lingering in the street. "-so he is here as well as myself."

He listened to Sky Dog, and looked over at Mansfield, who merely gave him a nod. "Well, I don't suppose it'll hurt, lettin' you have a go at it." He beckoned them both in.

"I'll be the first to admit, I don't have a clue as to how to treat these folks. If you can help 'em before we have to put 'em down, then that's for the best." Inviting Sky Dog and Mansfield in, he lead them back to a sick room. There were three beds, in which patients lay, visibly sick but also bound with leather straps and manacles.

"Gotta keep 'em bound up. The progression of the disease is such that when they reach a certain point, they start going crazy. They will kill people, and then try to eat their flesh. I've never seen its like before."

"It is the kind of rabies from when a wolf dies a long death from metal shot or eats something that has been touched by the Lower World," Sky Dog said, narrowing his eyes at the room's corners before padding across to the nearest patient and dropping to a crouch beside their cot.

"Their onnir - the living-spirit of them that is in their spit and their body, it becomes corrupt, trying to spread the same rottenness to what it touches. So the spirits of these, they are trying to become wolves...ah yes, you would bite me if you could," this last was to the patient, watching to see whether the American could track the movement of pale fingers through the space above the bed.

"These are too far to cure by sacrificing a steed, I think," the shaman told Mansfield, frowning. "I will have to fight the sick-wolf part of them...probably after our hunting, though I do not like to see the pain here."

"This is something more than the ordinary rabies, I fear," said the doctor, in a weak but clear voice. "I don't know about this special form of wolf rabies, though. I have not had to treat it previously."

"Doctor..." he paused, addressing the dentist.

"Zach Ross. I can do some surgery, and I am primarily a dentist, but I've done what I could for these men based on general medical principles. I have a book somewhere with instructions as to how to treat rabies, but it doesn't address some of the things we've seen."

"I'm Doctor Clayton Mansfield, originally of South Carolina, and this is Sky Dog. We'd like to help if we can in the tending of the wounded. Sky Dog might know about this...wolf disease. He seems familiar with it. Would you accept our assistance?"

"I'll take all the help I can get," he said as he watched Sky Dog.

"Sky Dog, I think this is far worse than anything I've seen," said the doctor after conducting an examination of one of the patients.

"It will infect their bird-soul also, at the end...I would think they have this night, and four hours again after." The shaman pushed his unruly hair back, thinking. "Can they still drink what is not blood, Zachross?"

He sighed and rose, pacing to inspect the middle cot and then the man that Mansfield was looking over. "Hm. This one, it might not be so long, and this settlement has no want for more angry ghosts..." he looked to Mansfield for his opinion.

"Perhaps I should not go to hunt Quanterill, if the Americans are well to handle him in the daytime, when he is weak, and only ask my sister to go scout for them..." The youth looked to the floorboards, frowning. "Ah, but I do not trust Hawthorn, why she has come here, nor that they will know well what they are doing...yet these..." He took in a deep breath and rubbed at the frown line between his brows, trying to weigh up lives and time in a manner Mansfield had seen long before, among officers and medics, in tents and under fire.

"They're takin' broth, but that's about it. None of them have had the fits yet, where they try to start killin' and eatin' folk. But it's comin', sure as eggs is eggs," he pronounced.

"Why don't you trust Miss Hawthorne?" the doctor asked the Siberian curiously.

Sky Dog laughed at the question from one who had been so alarmed to hear they travelled with a witch at all. "Ah...why is she here? She did not take interest in the people before, with the killing at Hays - it was for dollars she worked as a deputy in Dodge, also: I lost my temper and criticised her, she worked so badly for the people there. Yet she comes here...I will not criticise her again that she does not anger me so badly, nor speak where she is not accepted, but I saw, at the camp, her first action for seeing the pumpkin-men was to shield the belly, not the head," he raised an eyebrow at Mansfield. "So. She risks much to be here, for why, I do not know. My sister says I trust iron devils too well, and that one...I do not trust."

"I suppose that's fair," he said, understanding about half of it. "Especially with the...whatever you call it."

Mansfield got a small nod in response.

"What is your thought?" the youth asked both doctors. "I am not so happy to leave the Americans to themselves for a day hunting the quick dead, but Morgan at least knows what he does..."

"Well," he said, pushing his spectacles a bit higher on his nose as he considered the matter. "You came here as part of a posse to warn the town about the bandits and try to put up some resistance against them. We arrived to find the townsfolk were already putting up some resistance, but not against the bandits. I suggest you speak with the others and figure out where you'd best fit in. Healing the sick is important work, to be sure, and a worthy goal. But I can't help but think that, well after hearing your story about the bear, I guess you'd be crafty on a hunting trip - no matter what's being hunted."

"That will give me some time to hang back here and conduct a more detailed medical examination on these patients, and assist Doctor Ross here in figuring out what the hell is wrong with them."
This message was last updated by the player at 22:47, Thu 03 Apr 2014.

The shaman gave a small snort. "It would be well to believe me, what is wrong with them - they are ones that are not wolves, whose spirits have taken in a sickness from wolves that tries to make them wolves also...it is why the biting, yes?" He considered. "I will go to ask the Americans what they are planning. For these...if you boil up the water for them with silver - give them no raw water, always to boil it and make cool, or it will encourage the disease - and set salt around them, it will keep them calm longer. I do not like to see them hurt, but ah, it would not be well that I cured these and they were killed after. Yes."

The decision clearly did not sit lightly on the youth's shoulders. "I have spoken it, Zachross. So, I will do," this slightly obscure pledge given, Sky Dog headed back outside.

"Uh, alright," he said. After the shaman left, he asked Mansfield, "What's his deal?"

"Siberian," Mansfield replied.

"Ah," he said knowingly, as if that had answered anything at all.

"You think we oughta try that salt and silver-water thing?"