Despite her familiarity with the tunnels, Harry knows better than to attempt to traverse their labyrinthine depths without a light source. She instead elects to head for the nearest egress atop the cliffs and, once she reaches it, pauses to wring out her wet clothing and don the dry things from her duffle bag. She allows her eyes time to adjust to the growing darkness before setting out for Collinsport on an indirect path that will take her past both Collinwood and the Old House.

You trudge past the old house, and then you pass south of Collinwood itself... but just a little while after that, you run into more fog and mist.

You hear someone stomping around, sort of muttering... it doesn't sound like the panting, growling thing from the night before, it definitely sounds like, well, a normal man... very possibly a man who's even more irritated by the fog and mist than yourself.

Then the footsteps stop.

"Who's there? Who is that? I hear you-- I heard that footstep, Professor! You cannot hide from one appointed by the Lord!"

Oh, terrific, it's that weird fanatic you and the Professor met yesterday. For some reason he thinks you're the Professor.

Harry crouches and feels around the ground at her feet until she manages to collect roughly a half-dozen small stones. At intervals of approximately ten heartbeats, she lobs a stone toward the southwest, west-southwest, due west, west-northwest, and northwest in sequence as best as she can reckon. She then draws her knife silently from its sheath and waits, eyes and ears straining for any sign of approach.

"Ah ha!" the man shouts, and he heads stomping off in a vaguely north-west direction.

Harry mulls leading the witch-hunter to an untimely fall onto the rocks at the base of Widows' Hill, but reconsiders given her weakened state. Just my luck if he were the Lord's appointed and it's me who takes the untimely fall. Battered enough already from my swim. She lobs the last of her stones to the north and north-northeast before heading to the southwest as originally planned, keeping as best as she is able to the edge of the fog. Professor owes me twice now, she thinks to herself. More if I include coming up with the tale that bought us all time to puzzle through who... or what... landed us here.

You hear, a bit farther off, the sound of loud footsteps, running away into the trees. The sound seems to originate somewhere past your unwanted listener, then head away into a direction off to west.

You very soon hear stompy footsteps pursuing these noises, also heading off vaguely to the west, where the land slopes increasingly downhill... with no trail. Mr. Appointed-By-The-Lord might very well run into a tree and hurt himself, given the slope and the difficulty of the terrain...

Oh well!

If you continue to move slowly and quietly at first, it should now be safe for you to resume heading back toward the town...

Morbid curiosity gets the better of Harry and she sets off in the direction of the two pair of footsteps, moving as safely and stealthily as she can. Safety being more important, she periodically pauses to crouch and get her bearings. She gathers another handful of stones along the way, and uses them in an attempt to adjust her prey's trajectory... and that of her prey's prey... toward where the railway station would eventually be located, north of town.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:52, Sat 14 July 2018.

(Before we continue-- there were no railroads in Maine (as was true of almost everywhere in North America) at that time. The steam engine was only barely that developed yet, and most people didn't have that much faith in its ability to handle things like hills, so they weren't laying much track yet.)

OOC: Edited to correct my mistaken modernism.

As you reach the edge of a downslope, you can tell the man is having trouble moving through the thick trees and bushes down there...

You toss a rock or two, but it's so thick that you soon stop, because it's increasingly hard to keep him going without making it sound like his quarry has taken to the treetops...

Following the edge of the slope as best she can, Harry circles to the north, alert for signs of the two men's positions. The fog would thicken as it flowed down the hillside, making visibility even worse for those traversing it, but keeping to higher ground might win her free of it sooner. She cursed it under her breath.

You can hear one man down there, getting more and more irritated.

Nothing else, though...

Harry reverses course, following the edge of the slope back around to the southwest. Once the sounds of stomping and thrashing fade somewhat with distance, she turns and makes her way directly toward Collinsport.

Soon, the mist and fog clear. Huh. Odd. You look back. Still there, for now... But none ahead of you... Seems like a comparatively clear night. And the full moon makes it fairly easy to see, considering...

Harry returns her knife to its sheath and continues onward to town.

(Nothing will stop you from getting back to town... What do you plan to do when you get there...?)

Harry figures she's out of luck where a hot meal is concerned, it being after sundown on the eve before the sabbath, so she stops at the Blue Whale for a bowl of cold soup, a hunk of crusty bread, a wedge of cheese, and a mug of ale to wash it all down.

OOC: Did we ever determine what time of year it was? If so, I've forgotten.

Harry feels a bit better now that she's eaten...

Just as she's finishing, though, Harry sees Zeke Macintyre come through the door.

Zeke sees her, too...

Harry pushes her chair back and raises her mug to him, content to let Zeke make the first move. She leans back, knee raised and crooked, and rests the sole of her boot against the table edge on the off chance he's rash enough to charge her and she needs to kick it into his path. She drains the last of her ale but holds onto the mug as a weapon of opportunity.

---

OOC: Are the mugs glass, pewter, wood, or something else?

Zeke gives Harry a look of surprise and scorn (and is there, perhaps, a bit of grudging respect? Mm, it's probably just more surprise than anything), then looks around. He seems to feel that the room is perhaps too crowded to start anything. He sits (near the door) and loudly orders a drink, which is soon brought to him. He seems content, for now, to simply drink in peace...

Harry orders another mug of ale and pretends to down it all in one quick series of gulps. She keeps pace with Macintyre, ordering two drinks for every one he orders, but drinking none of them. When his consumption finally seems to taper off, Harry rises to her feet and, feigning unsteadiness, stumbles toward the door and out into the night. She takes careful note of anyone who seems preparing to follow her.

As a matter of fact, after two blocks, Harry does detect someone following her. They don't seem terribly good at it... the surreptitious part, that is. Or maybe they want her to know they're back there, just to scare her?

Harry continues weaving her way toward the Widow Morgan's, pausing to lean against one of the buildings where the lane turns and feign sickness. She lingers there long enough to hopefully gain a glimpse of her pursuer, but not long enough to allow them to catch up with her.

So I did a WIS check...

08:47, Today: They, on behalf of Harriet MacLeod (aka 'Harry'), rolled 20 using 1d20 ((20)).

This just in: The dice hate you.

Someone completely blindsides Harry.

Before I roll... is your Armor Class of 1 based on what you're wearing...?