The campsite is a mess. Signs of struggle are everywhere - in the kicked up mud near the creek bed, in the spilled coffee can near the fire, in the hastily tossed-aside gold pan half-buried in the stream.

And then there's the blue-clad body with a pickaxe through it's skull. The stench of decay seems to be coming from it. Not far away, quivering in a bush, is the old prospector, terrified out of his skull, muttering to himself.

Charging Bear moves to the recently re-dead blue-clad. He notes the pickaxe through the suck with a nod, as if in approval. Turning his gaze to Gabby, Charging Bear retrieves the flask from his jacket pocket and moves slowly towards the prospector. "I think you might need this Gabby." he says extending the flask to the obviously disturbed man.

Robert holsters his gun, and says soothingly, "It's allright now, take a drink, you probably need one."

14:16, Today: Robert Micklethwait rolled 24,9 using d8+4,d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of (8+8+4)20,5. persuation.

"...a drink...yeah...a drink would be good..." He grabs the flask and downs the contents in one long pull. "...it were floatin' in the water, just as lazy as you please...I done fished it out, thought I might give it a proper burial, like that clank in town done...then it got up, eyes all ablaze...shouted things at me, stuff about plagues and death an' all sorts o' biblical things..."

He looks up at Charing Bear. "This was the same sort o' thing you was burying this mornin', ain't it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:45, Thu 08 July 2010.

Charging Bear nods, "Looks like it... Union soldier back from the dead" he says spitting as he says Union. "We'd best see about getting this fellow either back to town or in the ground I suppose..." Walking back to his horse, he retrieves his bladed war club. Glancing at Gabby and Robert he inquires, "Head on ... or head off?"

Robert shrugges.  "I don't rightly know.  Head split in twain with pickax seems to work..."

09:53, Today: Robert Micklethwait rolled 3,2 using d4,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. Kn:occult.

Gabby gulps, and then looks from Charging Bear to the corpse. "I hate to say it, but better safe th'n sorry. Give me just a second, though..." he rummages through a pack, then produces a heavily dog-eared bible. "I ain't no kind o' preacher, but I figger we should say a few words. He may have been a Yankee, but, well, war's over, and we're all just folk now."

He flips through his bible, and begins to read.

"The lord is mah Shepard, I shall not want..."

After reading through the passage, he looks at Charging Bear. "Well...Do what ya gotta."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:40, Mon 12 July 2010.

"Logic error, Shepherd...refine definition: "person"?"
Of burlesque and loose women: "Why?"

The clank is an efficient mover of benches, though it won't put anything too near the spot it took against.

"You certainly don't ask the easy questions." O'Rourke smiles. "I suppose I mean individual humans, though with such strange beings as yourself about the definition gets a bit vague. It's not really that easy to refine, as you put it."

O'Rourke coughs. "No, you don't ask easy questions at all. Well, the spirit of man is in two parts - the base animal urges of the physical body, and the divine nature of the immortal soul. The immortal soul wants to be pure, and thus become closer to god, but the needs of the clay that makes him tempt him towards wickedness. Through prayer, good works, and acknowledging the failings of our mortal selves, we can transcend them and rise to heaven, but the base urges of man occasionally win out over loftier pursuits. When this happens, Sin creeps into our lives. The Sins themselves are not evil, but when they grow to define a person's being, instead of being recognized and repented for, then evil is done. A burlesque show speaks to those lower urges, specifically the urge of lust. It also serves as entertainment, though I pray people find loftier things to be entertained by. Sometimes temptation can be good, as it reminds us that we are imperfect beings, but it is only good so long as those failings are recognized for what they are, and not mistaken for virtues. That's the role of the Shepherd...to bring the knowledge of the higher path to his flock through the teachings of Christ The Lord to the side of God."

Alouette ticks, head tilted, taking this all in. When it has moved all the benches and nearly pitched over Jesus (he'd fallen off the wall - it doesn't seem to notice as it straightens for balance) it makes its way right around the inside of the church again and looks out the door, then at the priest in case he has any further instructions for it.

O'Rourke picks up the fallen savior, and sets the statue back in its place. He gives a glance to Alouette as it heads for the door.

"Be cautious, Alouette. There's a danger in this town. You might want to stick close to one of the other new arrivals from last night, in case any of the hidden forces here try to take action to prevent us from discovering the truth behind what's going on."

The automaton just tilts its head at that, not really understanding the idioms, then takes a few steps outside. Static roars a moment as it crosses the threshold, as though something dampens the electrical field within the building and it's been building for a while.

It grips the doorway and looks back, static subsiding to a hiss. "None are in more danger than yourself, Shepherd. Yours is to speak the Name in Darkness...a crow comes, storm-winged. Beware the sin of the Ancient Mariner." It turns to look out and the static shuts off, ill-functioning mechanisims getting it under control. Ignoring all it just said, the clank chirps its usual cheerful
"Fear not! John John Smith has fighting sticks...self will not stray far: primary command: protect."

It potters off to explore the exterior of the church and surrounds, looking for trees and porches along the way.

John had been wandering the town after the goons departed. He kept to the main street mostly trying to get a better feel for the place. Preferring to be about something productive he looked for the Sheriff to see if it might be wise to return to the walking corpse he and August had encountered the previous day.

[Private to GM: Had meant to go with Charging Bear and I swore I posted as much but I think I either forgot to hit "Post" and thought I did or it got eaten.]

Alouette:

O'Rourke gives Alouette a lightly bemused look, then ponders on the mystery

The trees around the church are bare of any feline inhabitants, and the only inhabitant Alouette spots under the three porches nearby is a mangy dog that starts barking at it.

Further down the street, though, Alouette can hear a plaintive mewling, which seems to be coming from the roof of a building bearing a sign reading "Red Eye Saloon".

John Smith:

Marshal Evans is easily found, and, when John presents his idea, he nods.

"I think that's a splendid idea. In fact, I think I should accompany you. I want to get a look at this curious corpse with the biblical bent." He straps on a belt with that curious gyromounted sixgun he waved around last night. "Lead the way, good sir."

[Private to John Smith: Yeah, that sort of stuff happens. It sucks when posts get et.]

Barring a drastic change in the scenery John backtracks towards where he and August found the undead yank hoping the body was still there. He'd hate to have to fight the damned thing a second time.

When the pair reach the spot, there's good news and bad news.

The good news is that John's worst fear, of having to face the undead yankee a second time, prove unfounded. The bad news is that this is because the body isn't there.

"Well, that's certainly an inconvenience." Evans mutters as they poke around the area. "I sincerely hope it hasn't gotten up again. No, wait. Hello, what's this?" He kneels to inspect some ruts in the road. "I'm not an expert on tracks, but I believe these are recent, probably made just after last night's storm." He frowns. "That makes me unsettled. It suggests someone came by here and picked up our corpse. Someone who didn't come and inform me about a body on the road. But perhaps it's an innocent passerby? Is there a fresh grave around here, dug by some good Samaritan? Or is the body just gone?"

[Private to John Smith: Make a Notice check if you want to try and find some other clues, or Tracking if you want to try and learn more about the tracks.]
This message was last edited by the player at 11:38, Mon 12 July 2010.

Charging Bear wastes no time removing the deadman's head. He takes a moment to see if the soldier has an identification, perhaps something on the inside of his coat as he'd seen on other soldiers.

As it happens, there is a cloth tag sewn into the neckline of the man's jacket. Tiny stitches form a name...whoever this was, they had someone willing to take a lot of time and care on it.

The sewn inscription reads:


This message was last edited by the GM at 14:37, Mon 12 July 2010.

OOC: is the body wearing any unit insignia?

"There seems to be an awful lot of dead but ambulatory Yankee's around heah." Robert mutters to himself

[[OOC: He has a single chevron on his sleeve, indicating he was a private.]]

"Yeah, no kiddin'." Gabby takes another pull at the flask, hoping to collect any stray drops he missed the first time. "First the body the tin can were plantin', now this. Wonder where they're comin' from. I heard the Governor o' the state done invited some bluebellies to San Antone fer some big 'goodwill' meetin', to show everyone how we ain't fightin' no more or some such, but that were a month or so back. Might be with the Railroads...I hear Union Blue has actual Yankee troops protectin' their rollin' stock, and there's a Bayou Vermilion line run through San Antone they might strike at, but that's still miles and miles away from us here in Blackthorn. The Railroads ain't been interested in us since the mine closed down, I can damn well guarantee that."

OOC: I means something mike, "1st Missouri Infantry Division" or etc.

"So you haven't heard of any, alive Yankees in these here parts?"

Alouette spends a little while attempting to talk to the dog before it catches the sound of a feline in distress.
"!"
It cranes and backs off, trying to see over the edge of the roof. If no other way up to the source of the noise is apparent, it'll wander into the building and attempt to simply amble on through to the nearest stairs.

After wiping off his war club on a scrap of cloth, Charging Bear draws his knife and removes the patch of inscription with every intention of having it sent to the deadman's kin. A grim look washes over the native's face as he says, "Best get this to his kin... I know they'll want to know he fell in battle." he then slips the cloth into his jacket pocket for safe keeping. "Let's get the body on the back of my horse..." taking a moment to look around, Charging Bear hopes to locate a bad to put the poor soul's head in.

Robert:

[[OOC: not on the jacket. The hat, however, has a regimental badge, company letter, and a bugle indicating infantry service. According to this, the man was a member of C Company, 24th Missouri Infantry.]]

"That would be news, certainly. Heck, if there were any live bluebellies in there parts I'd have heard o' Doc Ward goin' off on on o' his rants. He served at Gettysburg, you know, and lost his family to Sherman's March, so he never has anythin' nice to say about those on the other side o' the Mason-Dixon Line. You should o' heard him goin' off on the Governor's 'goodwill gesture,' I tell you what."

Charging Bear:

Gabby provides a sack from the back of his mule for the head, and helps Charging Bear load the body on as best he can. "Is there anythin' more I can do to help you folks out?"

In reply to Alouette (msg #50):

Alouette travels around the Red Eye saloon, looking for a way up. There doesn't seem to be one. The automaton heads towards the saloon entrance, and passes through the swinging doors.

This saloon is a rough place, much less clean and less well-lit than the Grand Bull. There are bullet holes in the wood near the door, and one spiderwebbing the mirror behind the bar. A badly-tuned player piano sits in the corner, mindlessly playing "Camptown Races."

There aren't that many patrons at the bar, but the ones that are there don't seem to be friendly. Three of them peel away and stand in front of the clank, barring any progress it might make further inside.

"Well, well, well." One of them mutters. Alouette might recognize him as one of the thugs that was with Nathanial Frost this morning. "If it ain't Roland's tin can angel. What's a matter? Didja git lost?" He eases his hand down to the pistol in his holster.