Near Sundown, April 11th, 1879. The outskirts of Blackthorn. Good Friday.

Some Mood Music

The ground rumbles as the riders thunder into town on the wings of the storm. They head straight for the church.

---

Jake Cuthings

The trip to the church is short and uneventful, but eerie. There's something foul in the air that Jake can't quite trace. Could be the fact that the town feels too empty. There aren't any lights on in the houses he passes. There isn't any music from the saloon. This place feels like a Ghost Town.

The feeling of unease doesn't leave as he comes within sight of the church. The crossroads around the place shows signs of a violent struggle. There's blood in the streets.

And, just to make things worse, a dozen riders are making their way toward him...

---

Jake Lawrence, Alouette, John Smith, Carl Allans

Once all the people injured in the riot are in the church, Alouette and jake continue bantering on about repentance while John helps Evans tend the wounded. The Priest also tends to the wounded, though he spends a lot of time with Carl the Dust Adder. Evans mixes up some sort of strange, noxious brew using holy water, communion wine, sawdust, and some of that fresh-baked pie Alouette fetched earlier that seems to actually work at making people feel better (the first person he tests it on is himself).

As people in the church discuss events, the sound of riders on horseback can be heard outside...

---

Wildcat Hawkins, Adrian Vega

Wildcat and Adrian are discussing plans with Al Milburn, who has some very vocal things to say about Wildcat's so-called "plans," most of them negative...

((OOC: And we're off!))
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:21, Mon 12 Dec 2011.

Carl looks up from where he's been outlining hasty battle plans and indicating the importance of destroying the heads of corpses. He whistles sharply to catch attention and halt any panic before it starts, touching his ear to indicate folk should listen. No war whoops.

He still motions those with weaponry to grab some as he moves towards the door however.

Wildcat stares down Milburn.

"Well feller if'n ya'll got a better ideer let's hear th' ideer wit'out the att'tude, 'cuz bein' ornery wit' me, that there's a contest ya'll will lose."

"Alrighty." Arthur says, and pulls out a map of town and some of the surrounding area. "Now, I take it you ain't real familiar with fightin' injuns. I've done my share workin' for the railroads, so I got some advice for ya."

"The thing is, you seem to be under the impression them injuns are out to kill folk first and foremost. That ain't it. Sure, they'll kill folk what get in their way, but what they really want is spoils. Comanche are horse thieves o' the highest order, and looters to boot. They ain't after the townsfolk so much as they're after food, firewater, guns, and horses."

"That means their first priority will be the Circle W Ranch. It's got almost everything they could want. And if they destroy the Ranch, well, that leaves the town wide open for a follow-up raid. They won't be goin' after the church. They could give a shit about Jesus. They're more like to target the saloons, the livery, and the general store."

"That don't sound like much, but without the Circle W the town is sunk. Defending that has got to be the first priority."

Jake is going to have the good sense (I hope) to move into the church, not the kind of street he wants to be caught out on

The band of riders halt and look around at the scene of devastation. Their leader, a stocky, well-armed roughneck in a black stetson, looks about.

"What the hell happened here?" he mutters, then looks over at Jake. "Hey!" he shouts. "You there!"

By this time, Jake has made it to the church door and opens it...and finds himself staring straight into a band of armed and frightened townsfolk...

((OOC: that's your cue, Carl.))

Carl looks bemused at some very tall random standing in his way and shoulders past Jake without a second glance, walking out into the street to meet the riders. He fishes in his duster and throws the big redhead something.

"..." he indicates what overhangs are available to stash horses under and jerks his head at the church.

[[go in, JakeII...]]

Jake will waste no time in entering the church and shutting the door behind him
"Any idear who them folks are?

In reply to Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings (msg #8):

Jake's question isn't answered immediately. The church has been turned into a makeshift hospital, with wounded people draped over the pews. There's a lot of random clutter all over, making it hard to find space. The priest is moving among the injured with a bowl of water and a damp cloth, while a dapper gentleman in a torn and bloody suit is administering some sort of elixir to the wounded people on the pews.

A young man shivers in the corner. When the townsfolk who are up and about give him any attention at all, it's hard glares. One person even spits on him. A chicken, of all things, wanders along pecking at the floorboards.

Strangest of all, however, is the brass automaton wandering about...

((OOC: Alouette, that's your cue! Give Jake a better description of the marvelous machine...))

"Which folks, Very Tall Man?" asks a...weird metal thing, the like of which Cuthings has never seen before. It appears to be an object, not armour, but it's certainly talking to him.


[[see profile for a rough of what the clank looks like...it tends to scare the bejeezus out of folk not used to automata, hence the -3 charisma...welcome to Blackthorn! We'll arrange your traditional undead ambush presently...
@Stray - I am going sleeps, it is silly in the morning. description will happen! Later.]]
This message was last edited by the player at 01:31, Tue 13 Dec 2011.

Jake jumps upon the metal...Thing speaking
"Uhh, the riders...outside..."
This message was lightly edited by the player at 01:33, Tue 13 Dec 2011.

In reply to Alistair Milburn (msg #4):

Wildcat just smirks like Milburn is a 10 year old bragging about defeating a snake.

"Feller ya'll wouldn't believe half th' things I fought... but that don't matter right now.  Ah like th' way ya think, but ah don't think ya prop'rly understand how things are here.  Ain't normal.  Everything that happens ta this town is under th' control of th' same evil, th' Big Snake.  Even ya'll.

"Their true 'jective, ah don't reckon ah rightly know what it is, only thin' the Snake has made clear is he wants me dead.  But that cain't be all.  This here's a distraction from whatever he's really up to.  All that's happenin' right here is he's playing his pieces 'gainst each other to hide what he really up to.

"But ya may be right fer a diff'rent reason... looks like they'd have to cross thataway.  That ranch's awful 'mportant to them folks as you say it is, they will hit it and hard, th' Snake will see as much misery done as he can, but that ain't gonna be only thin' they hit.

"We still gon do th' same thin'.  Gonna have a ruse, ah don't trust their better nature ta loot and run like ya'll.  Gonna set men up on the rooftops, rig te streets up ta blow, if'n they's coming after the stores, let's not make it easy for 'em.  But we'll do it with as few as poss'ble.

"Set up what forces we need to at th' ranch though ah reckon.  If'n we got more than four fightin', we need a smaller secondary force or we's never gonna route 'em... is there a natural bottleneck anywhere in their path?"

"To identify folks outside, you must first open the door," the automaton advises cheerfully.

Gus motions for the other riders to hitch their horses up, and looks at the cougar tooth. "Well I'll be damned. At least Mike won't have to worry no more..." he mutters, putting the tooth in his shirt pocket. "But just what the Hell is goin' on here, Carl? This place looks like a goddamned warzone!"

In reply to Alouette (msg #13):

"Well now, the problem I ahve with that is that them outside might start shootin Inseide

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #12):

"Wait, wait, wait." Alistair say. "Ya think the Devil is whippin' up the Comanches to come and kill you?"

He stares at her.

"My god. Glenn was right. You're a crazy person."

"Not th' Devil, are you loco?  Don't ya'll listen ta me, I done said it's more than wantin' to just kill me, although I'm sure they'll try to do that too."

Wildcat stretches for patience.  She's been so inundated now she thinks it's weird when people don't take this stuff at face value.

"Why do folks wish to shoot you, Very Tall Man?" It's learnt to recognise the grey jackets sported by several veterans about the place now. "Are you having a war?"

"Listen little...burd..clock thing, I just wandered in here to get something left to me by my uncle. I dont have any sorta clue what in hell ghas been goin on round these parts.

Jake (the original) sits quietly away from everyone else, he's taking the time to clean his pistol and make sure it is in working order. Water after all can do bad things to a side arm.

Jake will walk away from the bird...clock, and ask people questions around the lines of
"Did you know Kaleb Feigenbaum?

If Adrian had anything in common with the mustache man, it was that he too had no idea what Wildcat was talking about. He had a hard enough time understanding the woman to begin with, and all her talk about snakes didn't make it any easier. Not for the first time since meeting the Ranger, he began to suspect that she might be of questionable sanity.

"I don't know 'bout snakes or none o' that, but I guess it is important to make sure them Comanches don't take no horses if'n that ranch is the life blood o' the town. Don't them Injuns take women too sometimes? Not sayin' all of 'em do, but I heard stories 'bout it happenin sometimes." He hadn't really had too many dealings with the Comanches in his time, but stories had a tendency to run wild. He didn't believe half of what he heard, but he did believe the other half.

A little old lady answers Jake's question. "Fiegenbaum? You mean the Jew?" She nods. "Yes, I remember him. One of the Wendell people. Wasn't very social. Didn't come to church much, poor man, but well, you kinda expect that from a Jew. Died in the cave-in in '74 without letting Christ into his life. Poor man's probably burning Hell right now. Such a shame, too, because other than being a Jew he seemed like a decent fellow."

((OOC: I apologize to any members of the Jewish faith for any offense I may have caused with this...))
This message was last edited by the player at 16:48, Tue 13 Dec 2011.

"Well damn, syas here in this letter he left me something
He shows the note from the will

In reply to Adrian Vega (msg #22):

"No, no...I think we need to acknowledge this." Arhtur says. "Ma'am, with all due respect, you're the one who's loco here. Ya'll're talkin' 'bout big ol' evil snakes controllin' everythin'. I mean, what is this, I don't even...you're crazy! Crazy! I thought maybe I could talk sense with you, formulate a plan...thought this all might be some kind o' misunderstandin' we could clear up. But it ain't. You're nuts. An' worse than that, you're nuts and you got a badge, so you think it's right to force other people to act on your crazy notions!"

He raises his shotgun again, aimed right at Wildcat's face. There is genuine terror in his eyes.

"Senator Sideburns, don't you see? We gotta do somethin' bout her!"

It didn't take but a flick of his wrist to bring his weapon back up and aimed squarely at the other man. "Crazy or not, you better put that down, Captain Mustache, or this here truce we got ain't gonna last too much longer," he said, his voice cold as the grave.

"Peace, Dep'ty Vega."  Wildcat raises her hand and stares past the bore of the scattergun.  "Ah normally would never mention such things Mr. Milburn, but 'round here there ain't no point, yer all in on it already.  It sounds a might far fetched, but mister ya just don't understan'... ah don't know how ta make ya understan', you ain't see what ah seen, it has been hidden from yer eyes.  It works in th' dark 'n hides its hand.  The fact it sounds plumb crazy is how it hides itself.

"Ah cannot convince ya'll every word I done said is true, but what is it gonn' take ta convince ya'll I ain't lost my noggin kibble?"

Alistair keeps his gun trained. "Well, for one thing, claimin' that somethin' is crazy is hidin' itself by bein' crazy don't exactly make a whole lot o' sense. You're gonna have to give me more than just your word on it."

"I'd humbly advise you to quit talkin' 'bout snakes and speak up plain, Ranger," he said, not lowering his gun unless the other man did.

"Cause to be honest, I think neither of us has a clue what you're talkin' 'bout. Now, don't much matter to me long as we deal with this Comanche problem, but I think all that crazy talk's got Mr. Mustache 'bout to wet his pants. Tell you what, Mustache, you put that thing down I won't tell no one."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:13, Tue 13 Dec 2011.

In reply to Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings (msg #24):

"Did he?" The old lady says. "Well, bless him for that." She looks over the letter. "hmm...his house? I think that was up where the Lodge of the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon is now. I know they tore down some old houses to build it...a lot of the deeds belonging to miners killed in the cave-in went missing after the Wendell folk pulled out. Could've tore down the house, could've not, I dunno for sure. As for the box, well, the bank was in the old mining offices. The marshal," and at this she points to the dapper gentleman dripping elixir on the wounded, "well, he's using that place as a jail, on account of the actual jail gettin' blowed up the other day. You'll need to talk to him about it."

Wildcat thinks carefully.  The part of her that cares about protocol whimpers and dies inside, thwomped into brutal submission by the resurgence of Katrina Hawkins, who cares more about people than those rules.

"Ah am talking plainly Dep'ty.  That there's th' problem because what's plain sounds plumb nutty... look, ah got me an ideer.  Mebbe if'n ah can convince ya'll part of what ya'll think is crazy is th' truth, is that gon' help ya wrap yer brainpan round it?"

Alistair glares at Adrian. "How about I shove it up your..."

Then Wildcat starts talking. Alistair frowns, but he lowers his gun. "Alrighty. I'll give you one shot to convince me."

Pleased that his comments had gotten a rise out of the man, he kept his eyes on him, but spoke to Wildcat. Once bitten twice shy though, and he kept his gun upright. "Go 'head Ranger, say yer piece."

Jake will aproach the marshal and try to get his attention

"Well, blessed are they who have not seen and yet believe, but even th' Lord had to prove his point at one time or another in diff'rent ways... maybe that time's done come again..."

She ponders, and a realization comes over her.

"Ah cain't show ya'll th' evil or th' Snake.  But ah can show that somethin' here ain't regular, that the Lord hisself is here opposin' it.  Mebbe if ya can reckon that somethin' good that ain't like what yer used ta seein' is at work here, ya can reckon there might be somethin' evil at work here.  It's all I got fellers.  Either ya will reckon I'm off my crock or ya won't, mighty hard to argue it better 'n this."

Wildcat closed her eyes and bowed her head, removing her hat to cover her face.

"And he said, Behold, I make a covenant: before all thy people I will do marvels, such as have not been done in all the earth, nor in any nation: and all the people among which thou shall see the work of the LORD: for it is a terrible thing that I will do with thee.  And it came to pass, when Moses came down from mount Sinai with the two tables of testimony in Moses' hand, when he came down from the mount, that Moses wist not that the skin of his face shone while he talked with him.  And when Aaron and all the children of Israel saw Moses, behold, the skin of his face shone; and they were afraid to come nigh him.

13:22, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 11,2 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+5)11,2. Call Down the Thunder!

The Ranger removed the cover from her countenance and looked back at the two men.  Her face glowed.  No, that's not to flatter her features, it literally well and truly glowed in a radiant light that defied explanation as well as darkness.  Her face was like a beacon, bright but soft, gentle but undeniable, and above all far too bright and far too lacking in normal explanation.

Light Miracle.

"If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 19:34, Tue 13 Dec 2011.

Carl shrugs, indicating town hall, badge, church, flinging something, then looks back towards the church. "..." Internally his heart is singing, probably just from the sheer excitement of being able to breathe without pain. Carl's firm grip on pragmatisim remains unshaken, especially in the serious situation, but the Dust Adders might notice a certain energy to him, as though he's hosted a hog-killing or been wed. In truth he wants to eat hot food and/or find a whore and do her hard against the nearest conveinient surface, but he tells his hindbrain to shut up about that and gestures widely out of town, town hall to ranch, and takes a quick look at who's there. "..."

"Angel," Alouette corrects, before the man wanders off, then stands and ticks, trying to work out priorities in its rather haphazard way.

[[Jake want to talk to it/Evans want to fix it a bit?]]

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #35):

Alistair just stares at her.

"Y...you...you're tryin' to convince me there's a giant devil snake tryin' to eat the town, and your proof is sticking a lantern down your bust to make you look all sparkly?" he mutters at last.

((OOC: Ah, Doubting Thomas...such a fun hindrance in a Deadlands game...))

Wildcat pokes herself in the bosom to show what's there is, well, squishy and fleshy.  "Mister Milburn while ah 'ppreciate th' compliment, ah ain't that well endowed."

In reply to Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings (msg #34):

The man looks up at Jake's approach. With his slicked-back black hair, curled mustache and goatee, and black suit complete with top hat and tails, he looks as if he'd stepped out of a dime novel...or perhaps off of the Joker from a pack of playing cards.

He sighs, clearly in anticipatory dread. "Yes? What is it? What's happened this time?"

((OOC: Is it just me, or is Evans beginning to resemble Rincewind?))

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #39):

"So it's some kind o' phospherous, then. I'm still not seeing the connection to giant devil snakes."

"An' in what personal portion o' m'self a gentl'man ought rightly ne'er speak of would ya reckon ah keep that in... Ne'er mind I don't wanna know.  Anyway nothin' come off me.

Wildcat wipes her finger on her skin and shows him it's clean.

Wildcat shrugs.  "Ah give up Mister, ya don't believe me that there's somethin' strange goin' on here, fine.  All ah plan ta do is go out there 'n get whacked with a tom'hawk anyway, what does it matter if ah am teched."

"Well, I believe you, Ranger, for whatever that's worth. Mustache here though, he still ain't buyin' it. I don't see how it matters no how right now though. We got us some Comanches to worry 'bout," he said.

"So what's it gonna be, cowboy? You gonna be a problem, or cooperate? I'm fine with the latter, but most importantly...I gotta job to do. I ain't gonna 'pologize to you about doin' it, but if you get in the way, you ain't much different than a Comanche to me."

"Doin' what?" Gus says, face screwed in confusion. "Damn. I knew that Ranger was trouble. Didn't figger she made no deal with the devil, though."

Along with Gus are "Mad Irish" Murphy, Elliot, two of the Johns, Dishonest Abe, Ned, Frank, Tom, Max, Slim, and Little Tom.

Gus nods. "Yeah, Felix, Black Jeb and That Spanish Prick are already on the move. We're gonna need all the guns we can get if we're gonna go after the bastards. Mayor's already on his way there...passed his carriage on the way in." He shakes his head. "Whadda ya mean, defend? We're gonna take the fight to them redskins. We're gonna slaughter 'em all where they've camped!"

At this pronouncement, the Dust Adders cheer...

"In your hat, obviously." Al mutters, then looks at Adrian. "I'm fine with cooperatin', but I ain't gonna work with a planner what wants to put contingencies in place because she thinks a devil snake is comin' to kill her personally. I'd rather have a plan that has some basis in reality..."

And just as he's talking, a cheer can be heard from outside...

"Ah hell, somethin' tells me that cain't be good."

The last time Wildcat had heard such adulation, they nearly hung a man.

Carl snorts, picks up a rock and makes ten marks on the flat stone of the church doorway. Gestures to Gus, the Dust Adders, and adds another forty-odd. Pauses, then another fifty. Makes a halving gesture on his diagram, three times, and adds another ten. He takes his rock, indicates Gus, and holds it up in the middle of all those, raising an eyebrow at the men. "?"

He makes a vague gesture that's mostly at the horses, then one at the church. "..." Then out from the town hall in a certain direction. "?"

Gus shakes his head. "No, it was an even dozen. I counted. Might have had a couple on watch. We injured over half o' them that came at us, and I know I killed one...I think Ward killed one, as well. That's two down. Killed two of 'em today that came at me an' Mike. That's four down total, as well as four more injured. if we're assuming fifty, sixty warriors...hmm."

Gus crouches next to the scratches. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Can't have all o' us goin' in, which is why we come to get some support. We got thirty-three, thirty-four hands among the Dust Adders, not countin' those we lost in the past few days. But we also got Tex, who won't go down easy."

He grins nastily. "And I reckon we can dragoon the Yankee and his band o' bullies into this shin-dig, push 'em out in front. Maybe you won't even need to shot the Ranger yourself."

He makes some scratch marks of his own. "Add to that some o' the other locals, like Old Crazy Pete any any sonovabitch who wants to pick up a gun...hell, maybe even some o' the women folk what are feelin' inclined."

He looks down at his scratchings. "I reckon the forces would be just about even either way. They ain't gonna send no dozen braves if they're gonna do a big raid...they'll probably try to swarm us. And I don't know yet if they're goin' for the Ranch or for the Town first...it's even odds, and if we choose the wrong place to reinforce we'll be cornholed."

"That's why I want to get them now. Maybe just a good bushwhackin', get 'em riled enough to lead 'em into an ambush."

He scratches his head at the question. "Hell, I dunno. Didn't see her in the carriage, but the windows were down, so that don't prove nothin'. It's the Spanish Prick's job to check on her, anyhow."

Carl meets Gus' gaze with an icy stare. "The Ranger's mine," he growls, then looks back to their estimate of Comanches. "Ain't gonna give no white woman to them Comanches, anyhow."

He continues before Gus has even got over his surprise at Carl's voice, feeling wired and just a little bit crazy. "Their camp'll be in arms - all of them, an' if we lose horses, we lose mobility." His gesture echoes how screwed they'd be. "Streets here." He draws a very rough map, sets toothed lines across it in a few places, smaller lines in others, shows Gus how to make a grid plan and a handful of men grind attacking cavalry to power. "..."

"Hold it easy." His hand flicks to the Dust Adders, then ranchward. "... Was goin' to escort Evans out there - claimed he wanted t'play peaceable. Might. I'd leave the Yank an' get their horses to stay put."
He gives a sort of grim grin. "..."

#$%&ing Dave, spare his sorry hide and this is the thanks I get.  But seriously, do Wildcat and Adrian see two or three dozen rough looking hombres through the win'der?  If so we're going out there fast and Milburn is going to to come with or be left out.

Also, Carl is talking.  That's the sign the end of all things is nigh.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:27, Wed 14 Dec 2011.

All the Dust Adders are staring at the suddenly talkative Carl. Some of them even have their mouths open in shock. Dishonest Abe is even crossing himself.

((OOC: In defense of Dave, well, he hasn't met up with the main body of the DA's yet...Carl sent him off pulling in folk living at the edge of town.

And it's only a dozen out there at present. Still a lot, though, and easily seen from any window.))

"Kaleb Feigenbaum aws my uncle, it says here"
He shows the letter of inheritance
"That he left me something, an old lady down yonder told me that anything he might have left me would be in a box. YOu wouldnt happen to have any idear what box im talkin about would ye?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 15:53, Wed 14 Dec 2011.

"Mister Milburn, Ah didn't get th' name Wildcat from m'self 'r my ma 'n pa.  Crazy is jus' what ah do som'times.  But we's all gon' be left out if'n we don't get out there, hold our noses 'n make nice.  Reckon ya ought to getalong too Dep'ty."  Wildcat starts heading to the growing congregation of Little Snakes.

In reply to Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings (msg #54):

The marshal is clearly befuddled. "What does your uncle have to do with the price of tea in china? Good god, lad, look around you! I have a room full of injured people from a failed attempt to rally the townsfolk against a marauding band of Comanches about to ride in and slay us all! I was pounded within an inch of my life saving the skin of an ingrate who probably would have liked to have seen the brute finish the job! I have a jail full of criminal assassins and precious few people to guard them because I'm here trying to find out why everything, absolutely everything, I have tried to do for this town has gone to utter shit in the last 72 hours, and now, now, you need me to worry about your uncle as well?"

He sinks to the floor and covers his head in his hands. "I can't...I can't do this any more...I just can't...can't..." He begins to sob.

((OOC: I think you caught the marshal on a bad day...;).))

Jake takes a step forawards
"Whoa now fella, I just got into town, you have my condolances for what happened here, but I had no idear of what in sam-hill had happened here. But this aint no reason to just give up! Your the marshal for Gawds sake, if somebodys gotta look strong its gotta be you! Think of what these people might do if they see you down in the dumps! It just aint good for moral!"
he offers his a hand up
This message was last edited by the player at 16:24, Wed 14 Dec 2011.

In reply to Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings (msg #57):

((OOC: Make a Persuasion roll, please.))

_{11:49, Today: Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings rolled -1 using 1d4-2, rerolling max with rolls of 1.
Next time its intimidation}

((OOC: Remember the Wild Die. It's always added, even if you're defaulting--it just has the same -2 penalty))

_{Forogt about that
11:58, Today: Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings rolled -1 using 1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 1.
Oh dear lord he's going to kill me...}

Jake holsters his pistol and walks over to where Evans is dealing with the new comer. He listens to the two talk and shakes his head, Not exactly a charmer is he

"Marshall I've come to report that I'll be leaving the rank of your deputies, I can't in good conscious be a deputy and keep my loyalties to my employer in the aftermath of things here. Consider me a helpful citizen for as long as you have need of me. As it stands this young man is not looking for his uncle as the fellow is dead, but he is looking for something left unto him by his uncle." he looks at Jake_v2 "That bout right fella?" with that confirmed, he continues. "As for the rest of this, no need to get into a fuss Marshall. You've got lots of good folks helping you out, even if the town doesn't realize it needs helping."

"So what can this here helpful citizen help with?"

OOC: Trying to calm him a bit
12:06, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 8,4 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+2)8,4. Persuasion.

Carl gives a tight twist of a smile to the most shocked parties, aware of the rumours that'd gone round the town when he'd returned from that first clash of smoke and steel, soundless.

Alouette, having found a piece of silver-shot funeral brocade and a can of sardines for Danny, patters up to Evans and starts trying to polish his knees.

Inside City Hall:

"Reckon that's a good idea, crazy lady?" Al mutters, looking out the window into the street. "It's the Dust Adders out there, and from what I understand, they don't like you at all."



"Well, fuck." He mutters and follows, then stops at the door and looks at Adrian. "Well? What you waiting for, Senator Sideburns? Git on goin!"

Outside City Hall:

Once the shock passes, the DA's get planning. Gus looks over the streets on Carl's crude map.

"That's good if they're comin' for town. We ain't sure which way they're goin', though. If your plan works and we can get their horses, fine, but it's nigh on to sunset now...got maybe an hour's light left. That means they're either comin' now, or they're waitin' until dark so they can attack by the light o' the moon. They don't call it a Comanche moon for nothin'."

"If they break south, there's the creek between the Ranch and town. If they cut the bridges, well, we'll have the devil's own time gettin' over the creek to reinforce, seein' how all the rain has the creek ridin' high. And they might come from the North End...too many empty houses to cover there..."

The door of Town Hall opens, and the Ranger steps out. Instantly, a dozen guns clear leather, and the sounds of levers and hammers coking actions sound out.

"Preacher did somethin'," Carl gives in almost-explanation, and demonstrates by the holes in his sleeve the man's damn fine at stitchin', too.

"Gamble." Carl indicates the clouds, then a circling gesture round the map. "..."

He gets up quickly at the Ranger's appearance and puts himself between her and harm, shoving her shotgun away if she's raised it, setting his shoulders back, thinking himself big and making steely eye contact with anyone who has an issue with this. He makes an odd rope-tugging gesture near his neck before flicking his hand to the side. "..."


[[13:08, Today: Carl Allans rolled 13,4 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (8+5)13,4. *growl*. ]]
This message was last edited by the player at 13:26, Thu 15 Dec 2011.

Wildcat nods to Carl.  Luckily said shotgun is lazily cradled in the crook of her arm from the conversation from before.  The Ranger's packing a fearsome array of weaponry, with a rifle scabbard and a leather thong dangling from behind her, but her poise is like a lounging cougar.  She steps lightly and lazily, not the least bit phased.

"Now now boys, that ain't no way ta treat a lady, much less a mean bitch of'a Rang'r.  Way ah reckon ah see it, that lead's a lot better spent on them Com'nche raiders.  Ya'll see yer man here?  He gets it.  Mister Vega here, he gets it too.

"Make it real simple for all ya'll.  We need ev'ry horse soldier, ev'ry cowboy, bad man, dead man, witch man, preacher man, ferrier, barber, ev'ry Christian, ev'ry heathen, ev'ry sunuvabitch, ev'ry house wife wit' a mean att'tude, ev'ry Snake, ev'ry mangy dog, ennythin' this town's got right the damn hell now because we're all ridin' th' same muck wagon wh'ther any of us like it 'r not.  It ain't th' army any of us want, but it's th' army we done got.

"Now ah ain't seen yer boys here be mean 'n bad 'cept when the odds is... oh, 'bout twelve on one.  But ah will have ta take it on faith ya'll can actually get sideways wit' a band o' screaming Com'nches cuz guess what, ah ain't got a choice.

"Now mister Milburn here is representin' th' mayor.  He thin's ah'm a batshit loco devil-woman wit' lanterns an' cold cream shoved down mah shirt, an' ah think his mayor's a piece of cowardly cow dung who'd rather spend his time tryin' ta tan mah hide than dyin' on th' walls of th' town 'e's s'posed ta run.  So con-grat-u-lashuns Snakes, ah now have a higher 'pinyun of all ya'll than ah do yer sorry ass Mayor.

"But that don't matter right now.  Mister Milburn's got some ideers 'bout them Comanche, ain't exactly what ah was thinkin' but ah like it ennyway cuz at this point enny plan is better'n no plan.

"So here it is Snakes.  Th' best plan we got is that ya'll, me, th' Marshal, Mr. Milburn, every 'un, we's all gonna pinch our snooters, grin 'n bear it, 'n play nice so folks all listen.  Bill McCoy is a good man.  An' ah saw that crazy sunofabitch right thar' crawl inta a damn mess ta save 'im.  As fer me, ah'm right here ain't ah?  Now, ah know three of ya'll got the grit fer an Injun fightin' truce if'n ya want ta reach fer it, but enny o' th' rest of all ya'll got th' stones ta do th' same?"

The marshal glares at Jake, and seems like he's about to retort, when the other Jake comes by and starts speaking his piece.

"I suppose I can't blame you, things being as they are. But I'm grateful for whatever help you can provide. Still, I can't help but feel an awful failure. It has been a grinding few days."

He stands and looks at Cuthings. "Sir, I would like to help you put your uncle's affairs in order, but at this particular moment I am busy with building a defense of this town. There is a band of Comanche Indians nearby that have been riled to the point of hostility. I had originally planned to meet with them in an attempt to parley, but as it is near sunset I fear that opportunity may have been lost. Now I need to work on a defense. Would you be willing to help aid us in our struggle? Once the town is secure and the hostilities are deceased, I'm sure I can help you with your affairs."

And then the clank moves into view and starts rubbing the Marshal's knees. "Er...ow...ow! Stop that, please! Alouette, what in the world are you doing?"

"No worries Marshal Evans I know exactly what ya mean." He listens to Evans talk about what's happening and interjects "What are the Comanche here for exactly?"

Jake^v1 puts his hand gently on Alouette's shoulder, "That's not acceptable clank."

The big, ruddy roughneck that seems to be in charge looks at Carl, looks at Wildcat, then nods and starts holstering his gun. The others follow his lead.

He steps forward. "I don't give a good goddamn what the fuck Al here 'represents," nor what his fuckin' ideas are. I don't like you. Jesse was my friend. So were Charlie and Luke. I'm glad to hear you pinned a star on Bill instead of shootin' him, but that don't make us friends. You fuck with us, I'll just add your pretty blonde hair to my collection."

He pats his belt, on which half a dozen scalps hang.

"But Carl's got first crack at you. And you're right, we need every sonovabitch who can hold an iron in on this thing. But let's get one thing straight. The Dust Adders are in charge of this show. You wanna input some ideas, we can listen, but the final decision ain't with Al, or you, or the fuckin' Yankee. It's with Carl, and it's with me. You got a problem with that, we can hogtie you and shove you out o' the way while we save our town."

He steps in close, and looks the Ranger right in the eye. There's something strange about his eyes...something about the pupil, which seems elongated. Almost a slit.

But he holds out his hand.

Inside, Wildcat is wincing in anticipation.  Wildcat had taken to wearing gloves to do even fine tasks some years ago.

Her first ruse to pass as a Deputy had nearly failed as a result of not wearing gloves constantly.  It hid the fact her fingers were small and slender and so stereotypically feminine.  Some men did have hands the size of hers, but even an Eastern dandy like Evans had a boyhood, and his hands showed it.

Oh she had callused fingers all right.  But they were the calluses of someone used to needle and thread or various kitchen tools.  She was just now getting one from repeated pistol firings.  The miracle of gloves hid all these things however.  And they had another benefit besides.  The gloves kept her hands from getting chewed up and kept her nails from breaking.

For all her bravado, Katrina was a little fussy (the myriad of hair pins so carefully tucked away were a testament to that) and maybe just a little vain.   Of course some cuts and bruises had set in by now, weathering her hands some more, but when no one was around to look, she fretted over each one, fearing it would leave a blemish.  Normally something like that burn on her arm would lead to a crying fit, but she hadn't had time or privacy.

But no one here will ever know that.  Outside, she's a stoic rock.

Her gloved hand slides into his grasp, and in a rare moment she wishes she were a man.  It's just not as strong as his, she can't do anything about that.

"Cain't ask fer anythin' more Snake.  You's damn right, there's more.  But it's fer anoth'r day."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:01, Thu 15 Dec 2011.

In reply to Jake Lawrence (msg #69):

"I surely don't know." Evans sighs. "They arrived a month ago and were relatively quiet. There was some tension with Dr. Ward not appreciating them camping out on the edge of his land, but my jurisdiction doesn't extend that far. Then I hear that they've started attacking travelers, and Deputy Colby went missing while following a lead. Now they're attacking the Ranch, and gearing up for a full-on attack of the town. At least, that's what the Dust Adders have said, though how trustworthy that is I can't say. I just don't know what they're after, or if they were attacked and are out for revenge, or if they need supplies and aren't willing to barter for them. I just don't know."

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #71):

He shakes her hand. It's firm, but he has the good grace not to squeeze. "Right. Come on over then, and speak your piece."

He leads her over to Carl's makeshift dust scratchings map. "Carl, this is your show. Let's get her up to speed."

In reply to The Amazing Evans (msg #72):

Jake nods, "I'll see if I can come up with something on the restless natives." Without another word he moves away from masses of people, particularly Alouette, he tries to find a side room if possible.

Once alone he takes out a old deck of playing cards, "Alright lets see what you have to say."

OOC: Hunch time! Let's start with Deputy Colby and the native uprest.
13:14, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 12,7 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (8+4)12,(6+1)7. SpellCasting (Hunch).

In reply to Jake Lawrence (msg #74):

((OOC: All the information you could want is on the "Dr. Franklin in Comanche Country" and the "Adventures of August Colby in Comanche Country" threads, which you have permission to read. And if you have any further questions, play the Revelation card and you'll get more.))

"Polishing you...otherwise you might have to have a bath," Alouette explains, then looks from where Jake went to the Marshal. "Are leg joints inappropriate touching?"

"Ah. polishing. Of course." Evans says. "It's...well, remember that humans are not made of metal. We can take baths without extinguishing our inner boilers, as it were. And skin doesn't polish well. So it's only inappropriate because you don't polish humans." he looks at Alouette. "Oh dear...I see some wires are bent out of shape. Do you want me to look at that?"

The visions blur through Jake's mind. The dealing with those in the hunting grounds are always a gamble but this seemed to be information overload. In a matter of moments he's managed to live through hours if not days of events. "Tonight... hundred or so Indians... its going to be a slaughter."

Jake puts the cards away in a hurry and starts to walks back to the other room but he stops. "Doesn't tell me diddly about why they're here or how to stop 'em..." He looks at the cards in hand and shakes his head, "Damned if I do, dead if I don't..." In the end he pulls another series of cards from the deck and sees what he can see.

OOC: Lots happened in those threads
Going to play my Revelation card now
This message was last edited by the player at 18:59, Thu 15 Dec 2011.

"Ambrose may always look at self," Alouette chirps. Then after a few ticks: "Should fish be polished?"

"Now, I dont reckon fish should be polished, but what about you being polished? Hygiene is important, 'specialy for something that has gears

The clank looks over at Very Tall Man. "What is 'hygene'?"

"Keepin clean and such, washin' your hands and such"

In reply to Gus Shaw (msg #73):

Carl watches the Ranger a few seconds, then beckons her to his roughout of the town on the church step. He adds a W to the map. "Most like they'll come out of the sunset. They know us boys at the Ranch expect 'em, so they'll want to raise some hell back here what they think's unprotected, draw us 'way from the stock." There's a brief gesture to Gus, indicating the base of one finger then the map.

"This." Carl points out the spiked line apparently across Main. "Metal. Sharps." he indicates cavalry sweeping into such hidden agony and changes the sweep to a tipping gesture at the line, lets Wildcat imagine the horse screams and men broken between falling beasts and mere scrap metal. Has she ever seen battle? Carl watches the Ranger's face a moment. She'd killed Jesse like it was nothing so she must've killed men before, or at least shot down dogs for sport, but that was not the same. God, Charlie, I need you here. Maybe the former'd help out. "Slows 'em. Shoot from here, bring in horse behind. Sent a man to find Roland, he'll git folks together."

He indicates certain alleys. "Block as many streets as possible 'fore they hit, even stuff as won't hold but jes' look solid in the gloom. We get 'em goin' where we want them-" Carl pauses, the effort of talking causing a kind of panic to war with the buzz of returning to life. He clears his throat a bit. "-can let 'em run a gauntlet down Main, run some wires 'cross up this way where they'll speed up. Dynamite'd be good. We let 'em "escape" here n' here, they won't realise streets git narrow 'til too late. A kid could hold 'em. Round here kin use Grand Bull's hob, big pans, roof easy - ain't no need for boilin' oil, water works. They play silly an' come in another way, blocks'll hold 'em 'til horse can get behind 'em an' push 'em through." There's a setting-aside gesture to Gus over part of the map. "..."

John was tending the wounded as best he could, he wasn't a doctor, or even a medic but he could assist here and there. Anyone in particularly severe condition would get his attention and he'd try his best to use his chi while looking like he was only applying bandages or a compress. Though it seemed the worst of the injuries were dealt with. Eventually he'd rise, he was a better fighter than a healer and he intended to see the folk of this town protected, he wanted to see Zhang protected as well but his master had given him orders. So made his way through the church toward Ambrose.

He'd pause as he noticed the mans weary tear stricken face and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You... you're doing good things here Evans." he said and smiled at the tin Angel,  "Alouette, you think you can handle that med'sin man again if'n he shows up?" he asked. "Or... the mayor?" he added though in a more hushed tone. Last thing he wanted was to spread panic and claiming the mayor was a witch was not something he wanted to say loudly, town was worked up as it was.

The clank looks at its hands, the flexion of the fingers lifelike enough to make any mechanist gasp, then at Very Tall Man. "Why is hygene of hands important? Self has internal static dust condension-combustion system: gears remain shiny, like God."

"Self will tell Owl Comanche to shoo if he comes," the self-declared angel tells John with confidence. "-but the other angel told self to stay here, and be special, and Deputy Chicken to stay here and be in reserve, and Owl Comanche is very heathen so he might not come to church. Self can also handle witches," it asserts.

"Did you give positive energies to Danny Albatross?" it asks, looking round for its huddle of pet wendigo. "It would be plus plus bad if he got worse or died again now."

Wildcat nods and listens so far.  Really this idea wasn't too far from her thinking for what to do with the town, in fact a great deal of it was the same.  She'd hoped that it wouldn't come to this, that the Comanche wouldn't actually get to Blackthorn proper, but it had to be prepared.  They would have to do this with Not Enough Men.

OOC:  An embarrasingly bad sketch of where Ranch, Town and Comanche are would help a lot actually.  Here's the thing: if the Comanche "base" has two viable targets, and that's assuming a lot but it's a reasonable assumption, it's like one point of a triangle.

Wildcat's thinking there needs to be a flanking force on the side of the triangle.  Very basic and simple strategy, Comanche ride up, Comanche get flanked.  That may not be viable due to terrain, distance etc however.

Jake looks up at the marshal
"Anything I can, uh do to help 'round here?

Carl looks over at the silent Ranger. "You got that dynamite you kin comandeer a barrel o' flour off Sam down at the store - May an' Angela Bennett'll see to food, they've done this before." There's a querying look thrown to Gus. "?"

Then he looks to Wildcat and gestures around at the general rained-on destruction. "Everyone's got a different story on this mess - do we got witches we can use?" There's a slight twitch of the hand that Gus'll understand meanwhile.



[[The camp's East of Ward's, which is Southeast of the town. I believe it's easiest for them to circle North if they do mean to make use of the setting sun to their advantage. Carl isn't interested in meeting them fairly on the field of battle and doesn't believe there's time or place to set up an effective ambush, but letting them basically bottle themselves and riding in behind from the cover of the town to mop them up is basically the same thing at less risk to the defenders - and more importantly, the defenders' horses.

Carl is very confident the place can be held with a handful of folk, but he isn't allowing for much magic outside the risk of zombies. I think he will be taken by surprise if Pale Moon shows and/or the Comanche just get annoyed when you shoot them, since Gus/John/Alouette haven't mentioned that detail about the outriders they encountered yet.

On the other hand, if he manages to reach the Comanche with Evans and nobble their mobility, the raid might not happen even if the Fear level rachets dangerously high. Possibly the only advantage of a PC from an NPC background with no deliberate building for fights/magic/tech - the folk magic he uses really is all sleight of hand and instinct manipulation and as such cannot be dis-spelled by magical means.]]

In reply to Carl Allans (msg #88):

"Ah don't like that word... but we done got us some folks ain't exactly garden variety if'n that's whatcha mean.  This here place is a rat's nest of weird... it's even... somethin's happened ta me.  Wherever ah go, ah know th' will o' God happens, an' not in th' reg'lar way, like an Ol' Test'ment or life a th' Savior kinda way.  Ah need talk to th' preacher mebbe.. but most o' that kinda talent is prob'ly in Evans' stable.  Gotta get him on board.

"Ah can think of a couple more examples... but they ain't contr'll'ble.  Jus' as likely ta burn us as the Com'nche.  We only need heads we can steer."

Adrian looked at the mustached man, Milburn she had called him. Had the man given him his name? Things seemed murky in his mind. "Alright, Sergeant Stache," he said.

He took his time about it though, as if afraid to go out there. He was afraid, but not of anyone or anything else. Afraid of myself. Afraid of what I might do he thought. Well, if that wasn't foolish, he didn't know what was. He lowered his gun slightly and worked his way to the door, though he didn't exit it completely. He kept his pistol in hand, but it was behind the side of the door frame. He didn't want to be the cause for trouble, but he intended to be ready for some. The way his new acquaintances were regarded around these parts, he was pretty sure that any amount of yelling could just end up starting a shit storm. He had accepted the badge of a lawman in this town, and he intended to do his duty.

"If they're like to burn us, they go out." The ex-militiaman's eyes are hard. "Likewise, anyone falls behind defenses I want corpses headshot, b'headed or otherwise made so's if they try to walk, they cain't git no-one."

To the rest, he adds: "Rumour is Jesse's walkin', but th'Yank claimed he'd come back right...never heard of that save for Jesus, but if y'all can spare him a few seconds," his hands emphasise the 'can' where his voice doesn't, "-see if't's true, I'd 'preciate it. Undertaker's vanished: down a medic here, priest's..." he stumbles on thoughts and words somewhat "...pretty good, though." He looks questioningly to Wildcat, who previously told him of some ability to skin and sew.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:34, Fri 16 Dec 2011.

Wildcat looks right across at Carl with a cool blue eye.

"Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?

"We ain't all heathens snake, we don't cut ourselves fer 'r desecrate th' dead."  She glances over at Gus Shaw's grisly trophies.

"Well, some of us might, but ah made a life opposin' murd'rers fond of collectin' them ears an' fingers an' sech, a doin' things ta cadavers ain't speak'ble, cain't do that route mah'self, or what's the diff'rence?  Ah ain't manglin' th' Lord's temple, even if it is a heath'n redskin who don't b'lieve in th' Lord no how.  But ah will give th' Savior a new winder ta look outah if'n ah has to.  Clean shots if it has ta be done in th' field, otherwise we bind 'em, gather 'em, an figger out how ta do it clean after."

Here's Hoping The Stray Would Allow a use of Consecrate to keep the dead from rising... of course that takes a week of praying, so... yeah.

"As fer a sawbones... me?  Not sa much."

Silently, he agreed with Carl and disagreed with the Ranger. He wasn't sure how a member of the vaunted Texas Rangers could be innocent with respect to the matter of the strangeness that had been occurring with corpses in recent years. Whatever her thoughts on the sacrilege of desecrating a corpse, surely it was the lesser of the two evils, the greater evil being the abomination of dead rising.

He'd have to have a word with her later on the matter, but he thought perhaps it would be best to remain silent for now. There was no reason to side with those that might try to shoot the law dog at the slightest provocation. But he did give Carl a slight nod from the doorway. Let the man take that for what he would.

The blue meets unblinking grey. A stillness spreads down Carl's body as he stares.
"Y'know, Deputy McCoy happened to mention someone in town wantin' to cre-mate bodies. In a pit."

His gaze flicks briefly to Adrian at the movement, then resumes holding Wildcat's. "Deadders got out of th' cemetery fence before, rope ain't gonna hold 'em."


[[ >_<  Catholics! ]]

"If'n we gotta do somethin' after, we gotta do somethin' after, we work it out then.  As fer the rest, a rope ain't a fence. Ya need a lesson in tyin' knots?  Ah'll oblige."

Wildcat smiled bitterly.  She had no delusions that she could control it, she could only control herself and speak her piece.  But maybe she could leverage this into what she actually wanted.

"Ah ain't doin' it 'til it needs doin'.  Ah have volunteered ta do what needs to be done after th' fact, might be easier for me, they ain't my kin dir'ctly 'cept in Jesus.  Ah have spoken th' words writ down.  Ya got nothin' ta say to me.  So it might be best then if'n I meet 'em Com'nches head on so ah don't see what's goin' on 'hind me.  Reckon?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:28, Fri 16 Dec 2011.

Carl rises from the map and looks at the Ranger a moment. There's no warning, no flicker in his face or twitch of the fingers. Just stillness. Within a heartbeat he's reached up and pushed her hard against the church wall, moving in close to make shooting/kneeing him harder, hand braced hard enough against her sternum to make headbutting him difficult. "Listen."

[[*le sigh* Stray, d'you want me to roll grapple on that? (for Wildcat to oppose and decide how much injury she metes out post-talkiness etc.) It's more a trapping of Intimidate than any kind of actual grab, but I don't want to roll that against a PC, especially in a scene where RP's this important for character arcs...]]

"'Less Gus or I say different, you are not the decendin' hand of God. Need you alive, need you here," the faint trace of a growl behind the measured words implies that if this wasn't true, she wouldn't be either of these things. "Not kilt warnin' th'Injuns the town's a-ready for them or fucked by a half-dozen bronc Comanche by way of workin' themselves up."

There is ice in that grey stare, though if Wildcat's not blinded with indignation she might note he seems to be trying to tell her more than the words, remember her own observation on what the dynamic between them must be in front of the gang. "I need a horse soldier," he tells her. "You put our kith an' kin in danger acause some corpse would just not be so pretty without a head, so help me I will have you stripped and put in petticoats." By the feral tension in him and the intensity of his stare, that's not an idle threat.
He lets her free with caution.

I'm not really interested in striking Carl either, I'm fine with free forming things a little bit.

Carl sees something from the Ranger that's... well it's new.  She smiles.  But it's not that damnable smirk, it's a smile, a sad one motivated by something finer than smugness or even righteousness.

"Then ah will fight in petticoats, Snake.  Ah done fought half nekkid, it'd be an improvement.  Ah feel sorry for ya, ya been through a lot ah don't understand cuz it didn't happen ta me.  But ya know I'm right, cuz yer only recourse is this, threatenin' me.  Ya only say this cuz yer tryin' ta save what ya care 'bout, ah'm right ain't ah.  Ya do this cuz this is all ya think ya know ta do, that there ain't no other way.

"Ah said my piece, ah am right, and ah will nev'r back down from it.  But we's gettin' two things straight.  One, quit puttin' yer words in mah damn mouth an' ask what dumbass thing ah'm thinkin' 'fore you decide what that dumbass thing is.  That ain't what ah said ah were gon' do."

Carl feels something very hard against his hip, next to his femoral artery.  It's not a knife, or a gun, or anything resembling conventional weaponry.  It couldn't have come from her waist or from over her shoulder, he's got that pinned down...

It is, in fact, a very sharp chair leg carved to a fine point.  It seems carrying a bizarre variety of weaponry all about your person in strange places pays off some days, like a low duster pocket where one normally doesnt' find furniture pieces.  Shoving it through and rupturing that critical vessel would have been tricky, but viable, as Carl can't hold leverage over her everywhere at once.  Of course it's worthless now, he's seen it and can just step inside it or grab it with his other hand.  The Ranger knows this and simply drops it, her point made.

"Two, when ya got th' advantage o' force over someone, never back them into a position where they got ta fight ta escape, cuz they's gonn' hafta fight wit' what'ver terrible thing they got in 'em.  That's wh't th' Com'nches done to ya'll, an' yer gonna murder 'em fer it.  It's why th' Union lost the war, they gave no quarter.

"Ah want to be at the door of this funhouse, not doin' ungodly things ah refuse ta do in th' back, nothin' more or less.  Yer better'n this ol' bull shit, Carl!"  Wildcat yells at the others over his shoulder.  "Ya'll all are!"

"Yes. Things like this." He waves halfheartedly at the room full of injured people. "I've been spectacular at getting deputies killed and the townsfolk pushed to the point of rioting. And for what? What do I have to show for all this mayhem, eh? Is the town better for it? Have we made any great strides getting to the bottom of all the madness? Can you honestly say this place is better for me hiring you all on?"



"I have not." Evans mutters, even though the question was directed at John. "I've been too busy treating the people he injured in this great flaming idiotic cock-up."



Evans sighs again. "I don't know if I'm really the best judge of that, anymore. I mean, what could you do? What do you have any background in? where do your talents lie?" He pauses, then asks, "And are you wanted anywhere? I'd rather not ask for your help and then find out later someone's after you, because I really don't think I could take that right now."

Jake recoils
"My uncle left me something when he died."
He shows again the letter of inheritance
"I came here lookkin' to claim whatever he left me. As fer bein' wanted.... maybe in an Ol' glas heart back in Floriddy."

"Danny Albatross is not a flaming cock, Ambrose," Alouette corrects mildly, "His spirit bird friend is pointy and feels like storms."

Carl frowns a bit, confused by this behaviour and the denial that wanting to meet the Comanches head on means going and meeting them, well, head-on. "?"

He doesn't react much to the sudden bizzarre weapon, apparently trusting that if Wildcat had a real desire to kill him this instant she wouldn't hesitate any more than he would. He wonders if she understands that. "..."

His shoulders tense as she tells him about the war, but it's short-lived. Everyone knows everything at twenty-four. Katrina remembering his name, though, that surprised him. If only she made some damn sense.

The roughneck lays a meaty hand on Carl's shoulder. "Whoa, there. Simmer down."

Gus gives Wildcat a hard look. "Ain't no one suggesting nonone sit on the sidelines while the menfolk do all the hard stuff. You wanna run off and get yourself killed, well, there's more than a few here who'd applaud you for doin' so. But if'n you actually wanna do somethin' useful, maybe you oughta start listenin' some to them what have more experience in this sort o' thing."

He gently pulls Carl and the Ranger away from each other, then continues speaking. "Now, if'n you're a bit squeamish 'bout desecratin' corpses, consider this. The only thing you get if'n you tie a bunch o' deaders together is one big, nasty deader. Ya'll wanna face a 'glom o' them? There's a critter down in the mine made up o' the bones of all them that died in the cave-in. You can try your luck against if you want a taste o' what that's like. It ain't fun."

He looks at Carl. "And it might not matter if'n we get them in the head. I gotta talk to you 'bout that later." He turns back to Wildcat. "But gettin' the dead in the head is the best weapon we have. Or else gettin' them red niggers 'afore they get us."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 01:13, Sat 17 Dec 2011.

Milburn stands next to Adrian, watching and listening. his frown is getting ever deeper.

"Walking dead?" He says, incredulously. "Are we seriously discussing contingencies for the dead coming back to life? Ain't that a little...far-fetched?"

In reply to Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings (msg #99):

"Well...as long as you didn't kill anyone, or could be accused of rapine and murder, it shouldn't be a problem. What skills do you have?"

Evans looks at the letter. "Hmm...I really don't know this person. Must have been before my tenure as marshal. And we're currently using the old bank as a jail. Once we've dealt with the murdering assassins we have locked up there, I have no problem with you retrieving your property."

He looks up at Alouette, confused. "Er..." he parses back his previous comment. "I...see. Hmm. Well." He frowns. "The issue at stake isn't what form the aetheric entity inside the boy takes. My concern now is that the town is going to want retribution for the damage he caused when it got free. Retribution that I am willing to let them have, quite frankly. He has proved himself too dangerous to be allowed to remain existing."

In reply to The Amazing Evans (msg #104):

Rattler pats his Doulbe-action Peacemaker
"Well I aint nothing to sneeze at with my Pistol here, and anyone who thinks they can beat me easy in fisticuffs can kiss my wrist."

In reply to Gus Shaw (msg #102):

Carl is confused?  Holy crap that worked perfectly.

"Then shoot 'em in th' noggin if'n it's gotta be that way, but ah much prefer yer second option, though I met a hell of a lot more white niggers than I ever has enny oth'r color.  Ah don't cut parts off o' dead folks though.  If'n ah'm th' only one, don't change much 'bout yer plans, but don't mean I's wrong neither.  Ah 'ppreciate yer candor sir, but bullshit like that ah don't cotton to when they is other ways. None.  Gets me a might worked up."

Wildcat picks up her furniture and replaces it.  She looks at Carl, that weird, confusing sad smile.

"Reckon ah'll need this fer serious at some point.  Ah'm gonn' tell ya somethin' ya don't wann' hear Snake.  Ah don't hafta be ya to understan' ya, an' now ah think ah understan' ya."

Now how do you reconcile Heroic, Blessed and Vengeful?  Like this.

And then something really, utterly, bizarre happens.  She hugs him.  Wildcat platonically hugs Carl who just yelled at her.  In front of all the Dust Adders.

"Ya poor, poor man.  It'll be all right."

And that's all she says before letting him go.  It's the same tone of voice she used with little Tim Landers.  If Carl isn't completely confused already, he sure is now.

But the bitch Ranger he's used to comes back presently.

"Mr. Milburne!  Yer trailin' th' herd, this here's not perfect but nothin's gonna be, ah might not 'gree wit' one tactic but it's a gonna work, Gawd will use it ta his will.  The exact thin' we do don't matter much as we's all doin' same thin'.  We's out of time.  This is th' plan.  We's all can argue 'bout who were in charge of it later.  We got wire 'n dynamite 'n all sorts a things ta get, th' time fer the bickerin's run out."

[[It's like {{Carl puffs up for Big Wolf dominance/threat display, treating her almost like one of his own}} *Wildcat sits up, begs and wags her tail in response, being very much not* He just has no idea what to make of that...]]

Carl is further confused at the need for sharpened chairs, and as such isn't fast enough to avoid the random Ranger glomp. He smells like horses, blood, kerosene and dead cougar at the moment, and something bitter like vinegar. He tenses, but doesn't attempt to fight her off like a fidgety three-year-old.

When it's over, he gives a scattering gesture or so to the best part of the Dust Adders, apparently delegating tasks. "..."

Then he catches the Ranger's sleeve briefly and steps up to talk to her, quietly. "You ought 'know," he says seriously. "What we were gon' do when ah grabbed you 'side Underhill's-" and he leans in a bit to rasp the threat of whatever dire torture they planned to do to her (in front of Evans in the middle of the street, no less) in her ear...only doesn't. He kisses her high on the cheekbone instead before moving past to Gus, to whom he gives a neck/head indicating gesture. "?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:19, Sat 17 Dec 2011.

Gus just stands there, blinking.

"Now that there," he mutters, "is just downright unsettlin'."

Wildcat laughs.  The game is on.

"Well played Snake.  Now can we get ta killin'?"

"You know, I used to think that kinda stuff was crazy talk until I saw it. I take it you never made the undertaker's acquaintance. Saw him on his way outta town. He woulda told you the same, about the dead rising and all, and if there's someone who knows about the dead it would be an undertaker." He spat on the ground outside as he watched the strange interactions taking place between Carl and Wildcat, but still spoke to Milburn.

"Course, I don't see how that rightly bothers you. Bruebaker's into some voodoo type shit, and you work for him," he said, keeping his eye on the situation ahead of him even as he spoke.

Carl smiles - not the usual smirk that's a twitch away from a snarl, but an expression that touches his eyes with fierce amusement. "Need a run-down of your strengths. An' a gun." That more to Gus. "Adrian, c'n you use that thing on a horse?"

"The damage was the fault of the witches, Ambrose," Alouette corrects patiently. "His bird is like any baby bird, and will eat, seek, what power is given to it...if you give it hatred and try to destroy Danny Albatross entirely - which would be plus plus difficult, and if you only killed him again he would be far worse - that is what his bird will learn, and try to display. Some of his Christian soul remains also - to cause Danny Albatross to corrupt and be minus humanity, you would destroy all he was when he was human, also redeemable, and that is a sin."

"No one asked fer my opinion but I'd be inclined to believe the tin-angel." he said . "And 'Sides Marshall, I'm damn near certain more people would be did ifn' you had done nothin'." he turned to leave again. "I need to find that Wildcat woman or Carl. Let them know some o' what's happened when we faced off against the Comanche's the other day." he'd then leave the church and see if he could find the aforementioned duo. Should he spy a bunch of Dust Adders gathered round something he'd approach them.

"Well, I suppose I can't argue with that." Evans says. "I think you'd need to talk with Miss Hawkins abut where she can use you. She's outside. The lady with the blonde hair, grey duster, and Ranger badge."



"And what would you have me do, then?" Evans sighs. "I can't let him roam around, and he's garnered enough ill will that we might yet have another riot situation on our hands if we were try to defend him from the people he's wronged. Three riots in two days is three riots too many. Something needs to be done. I don't see any other solution."



"I beleive Miss Hawkins is outside. Take Mr..." Evans looks at Jake's letter again. "Take Mr. Cuthings with you and make introductions."

"Feed him fish, and kindness," Alouette suggests.

"People here are not rioting, and he remains under the law of God and the Pope, not the law of Ambrose, whilst within these walls; therefore, Ambrose does not need to do anything with him. Danny Albatross wishes to go to Missouri but the other angel said he must never be alone again - self can go with him, when Town, Texas is safe from demons and immediate untimely apocalypse is prevented," it chirps happily. "-or someone else Danny Albatross cannot eat."

He lifted his voice to respond to Carl. "Yeah, I reckon I can, Carl," he said with a nod.

"Where ah go, so will the will of th' Lord.  If'n we's gon' do this, it ain't 'xactly a cav'lry man'ver, so ah'd best serve at whatever the most crucial chokepoint is whar ah can get as close to 'em as poss'ble.  Ah say me make it hard to even enter th' gauntlet ya got set up fer 'im, so everythin' we got in thar will be ready ta spring later in when we need it tha most."

Jake moves twoards the door, looking for this "Miss Hawkins"

Jake "Rattler" Cuthings:

Outside the church is a group of men. Roughneck cowboys, from the look of them, and all well armed. Might be the local militia. Among them is a woman, discussing tactics. She looks as Evans described her...the sight of the shiny silver badge on her chest confirms it. That must be Miss Hawkins.

---

Wildcat, Adrian, Carl

Gus nods. "Reckon that might be a good idea." He bends down and picks something up. It's a huge LeMat pistol, with a wicked Bowie blade in place of the shotgun barrel. "Now, who'd leave somethin' like this layin' around?" He says as he passes it to Carl.

---

Alouette

Evans sighs. "I suppose I can't argue with that. If you can keep him out of trouble just for tonight, I'll see what I can do about arranging transportation to get him away from here. Miss Hawkins may not like it, but it's not her call right now." He says, then looks over the damage. "Here, let me work with that..."

He proceeds to start attempting to reassemble the clank's damaged bits.

((OOC: 13:01, Today: The Amazing Evans rolled 3,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. Repair. Not enough. Spending a white...
13:01, Today: The Amazing Evans rolled 3,5 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,5. White Chip.

That removes 1 wound from Alouette. He can tinker more, but it'll take him a few hours to do so.))

Smarts roll to remember Cantrell's crazy weaponry?

((OOC: No roll necessary.))

"That blowhard Cantrell prob'ly done dropped that out here somewheres a crawlin' ta th' church.  Well pay it no mind, I got that sorry sucker guardin' them damn idjits... least ah hope ta God he's guardin' em righ' now.  Someone needs ta, an' he were purty tore up, an' ah don't think none of us here trust 'em no furth'r we can throw 'em."  Wildcat shakes her head.

"How he shoots that thin' straight within' that much weight hanging off th' muzzle ah never will reckon."

Jake will wait till there seems to be a pause in the conversation before saying
"Excuse me Ma'am, the marshal in the church told me I should talk to you 'bout helpin defend the town.

Wildcat has to look up at this feller.  She has to look up at most people, they just don't realize it due to her seeming taller than she really is.

A cobalt blue eye stares at him top to bottom through a squint.  She doesn't know him, but he apparently thinks the war is still on.  Well, that doesn't hurt much at the moment.

"How old da ya'll think ah am?"  Wildcat reacted to being called "ma'am" out of reflex, but she corrected herself.  "Ne'ver mind, ah guess ah look like hell 'n murder in this sorry getup.  Pardon mah' manners, intraduckshuns later.  Ah'm gonna make some Chinaman laund'rer richer'n two gold mines.  Yer jus' in time soldier, we got fort'f'kashuns ta build for them Comanches show up ta get their sorry hides tanned, don' we?"

Wildcat's gaze shifts back to Carl, but then lingers on Milburne.  Hopefully the point that this is the plan whether any of them like it or not has set in for him.  Wildcat was of the disposition the Dust Adders had devised a similar approach sans the distraction element, but that wasn't much of a loss considering what had been gained in terms of the time gained in not arguing with them.  Any reasonable plan was fine after the strangeness not too long ago, and she was not quite her usual self, but at the moment that was working out.

"'Cuz we need ta get this feller 'n yers truly ta pickin' cotton."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:00, Mon 19 Dec 2011.

"Well, I suppose it's the best idea we have. So, to recap, the plan is to place barricades on most of the entrances to the town, funnel the Comanche to the crossroads near the Grand Bull, and hit 'em with snipers, yes?" Milburn says. He doesn't respond to Adrian's barb about his boss, except to snort dismissively.

Carl toes at the spiked line on his map, then jerks his head at where one of the Dust Adders was until recently. Wildcat might remember he mentioned the use of improvised caltrops to cut up the enemy charge, which would certainly bunch the force at the head of the gauntlet quite murderously, especially with cavalry coming in behind to force them on. "..." Apparently someone's on it.

He looks at Cantrell's massive weapon with distaste, clearly not wanting to handle it. "Idjits?" he asks, taking the thing gingerly and clearly having his suspicions confirmed. He throws it carefully to Frank, who's still about. "..."

He points Adrian at Wildcat, addressing the latter. "Dynamite, flour." He points down the street, catching Adrian's eye. It's the tiniest flick of a gesture, but after knowing Carl mute for a good 5-6 years before leaving town Adrian will probably catch his meaning, even after this long away. "..."

"Bunyan," he addresses Jake II, "Ladder. Lead." He indicates the church guttering, which can't be seen from this angle but is apparently lead-lined from the town's better days - or simply the common concurrence of lead and silver.

"Murphy, get back tell Ward Whateley ain't comin', make sure folks know what they're doin'. Gus-" he pauses, getting a grip as his subconscious tells him too many words are spent already, far too many. "-goin' or stayin'? Murphy, if you see my roan mare or Dave's brought her in, git her back here."

Wildcat's bossy even when carrying out other people's orders.  This is a talent.

"Ya heard him soldier, get to it!  Let's go Dep'ty!"

jake climbs the ladder

Frank grins at the big gun being passed to him. "Hell, you can have mine." He says, pulling his colt and handing it over. "I like this thing."

Murphy nods. "Sure thing, boyo." he says. "But I'm comin' back. Me place is here, with Flora."

"Stayin'." Gus says. "They got Tex over at the Ranch. One o' us at each site oughta even the odds a bit."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:07, Mon 05 Oct 2020.

August Colby:

August and Dr. Franklin ride into town. And immediately, Augusts notices things are...off.

There's an oppressiveness about the air, something thick and heavy. Could just be the storm...but the rain feels oddly greasy, and there's no lights on anywhere, even this close to sunset. Many of the buildings have a vacant feel they didn't have before, as if the life had been sucked out of them.

There's no sound at all from the Grand Bull Saloon. One of the windows has been busted out and boarded up, and the sign is askew. The ground near where Alouette buried the dead soldier looks slightly disturbed.

But the worst of it is coming to the Jail. Or what's left of it.

The Jail is nothing but a crater filled with charred sticks and twisted iron. Something happened here in the three days since August was gone. Something bad.

"Oh dear." Dr. Franklin mutters. "What a dreary place this is. What do we do now?"

((OOC: Didn't notice I'd forgotten to give you an actual in until just now...fixing that.))

Carl gives a slight headshake at Frank, taking and checking over the gun, and a bemused glance at Murphs. He taps his forehead once, and narrows his eyes. "..."

"Dave can handle Tex, I guess," Carl considers a moment whether that's a dangerous combination, but no, he trusts Dave right now. Trusts all of them. You cain't break us, Snake, he thinks with sudden, fierce pride. He gestures for Gus to set to rounding folk up and helping with barricades unless he has something further to add.


[[going to wait on John's arrival/input here, since he stepped out of the church at some point during Wildcat's last post.]]
This message was last edited by the player at 13:16, Tue 20 Dec 2011.

"Sure wasn't like this last I was here," August says quietly, an unpleasant twisting sensation in his guts.  "Looks like they had half a war already."

He keeps one hand on the old Spencer; any fool could sense trouble brewing here.  "We need t'figure out where everyone's holed up - if they're still in town, that is."

((OOC: Looking at the town map, I'm assuming we're near the crossroads between Main Street and Cross Street.  If we arrived from the east or the north, I'll head west along Main Street, or if we came from the south or the west, ride north up Cross Street.))

"Okay," Alouette chirps, though it's more of a hinderance than a help in trying to aid Evans' efforts. At least it's staying still, though.

I'm at a point where either shenanigans happen as Wildcat goes to gather 'mite and flour with Adrian, or we either hand wave the battle preparations or reduce it to rolls of some kind.  Well that and answer inquiries from other PCs.

Just as August and Dr. Franklin are about so set out, a man turns the corner and runs up the street. He's obviously panicked and breathing hard. He grabs as August. "Monsters!" he shouts in August's ear. "Monsters at the Oriental!"

"Aw, shit," August says with feeling.  His head is pretty damn sore, and none the better for being yelled at, but he shakes it off.

"What kinda monsters?  What's goin' on?" he asks quickly, knowing he might not get much of an answer from someone so terror-struck.

From atop the ladder
"Wudda ya mean What kind of monster? E'reone knows thems just kids tales."
Said with a chuckle

"Dozens of 'em! Great pointy teeth! Horrible red eyes!" the man gasps as he gulps down air. "Cantrell...oh, god, Cantrell's still back there!"

"Listen, d'you know where the rest of the townsfolk are?  Go tell Marshal Evans what you saw, and anyone else with a gun who'll listen.  Doc, you should go with him, tell 'em what you know about the Comanches.  I'll..."

August stumbles over his words momentarily.  Damn, he feels rough.  Three days in captivity, escaping with an evil bullet-proof sonofabitch on his heels, and this is what he comes back to?  It could be all smoke and no fire, but the man seems genuinely scared, and looking around at the state of the town, he doesn't hold out much hope for peace and good will.

"I'll go see if I can help at the Oriental," he promises.

"The church!" The man says. "Yes, gonna get Evans..."

Dr. Franklin nods, and frankly looks rather relieved to not be heading back into danger. He slides off the horse. "Lead the way, my good man!" He says, and the pair head off up the street.

Leaving August alone. To deal with monsters. Dozens of 'em. With pointy teeth. Fun.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:04, Wed 21 Dec 2011.

August sets out down the street towards the Oriental, and maybe he's holding the rifle a little tighter than before, but what of it?

As he rides, he looks this way and that, scanning the surrounding buildings and alleyways for any sign of life - especially the kind that might have red eyes and fangs.

((OOC: Overconfident is as Overconfident does, or something.))

August Colby:

As August is riding up towards the theater, he hears a mulled {{BOOM!}} from inside. Glass shatters as the windows give, and the horses tethered to the htiching post outside whinny in terror and try to pull away.

Oh yeah. Something is wrong here.

((OOC: Draw a card and post it on the "Blood at Sundown" thread. You're now going to be involved in that little donnybrook.))

---

Meanwhile, at the church:

As the Dust Adders are finalizing their plans, Bill runs into view, trailed by a dapper-looking gentleman who looks like he's gone through a rough time.

"Monsters!" Bill shouts at the assembled. "Monsters at the Oriental! Warn Evans! Warn everyone!"

_{now, sorry for the earlier}
"Shut yer gob man! Aint no such thangs as monsters."

Carl grabs him before he can get any further, ignoring advice from on high. "?"

He gestures for Frank to ride after Adrian and the Ranger with her dynamite. She probably wouldn't use that if the alarm was genuine and any of the girls were still alive, but in his experience a scattergun dealt with most things. Monsters could stay at the Oriental.

"You didn't see 'em!" Bill shouts up at the heckler on the roof. He looks back at Carl, clearly half out of his mind. "I seen the Devil when he tried to claim me...felt Hell itself nipping at my heels! I know they were sent by Satan to drag me back! Burning eyes...fangs...demons in human skin!"

Alistair coughs. The word "bullshit" is just barely audible. "You know, I think yon naysayer has the right of it." He says out loud. "I think the only 'demon' you saw was the Demon Drink. Did ya'll happen to spy a pink elephant too?"

"Ya'll might want to shut the fuck up." Gus growls at the man. There's a sudden ratting sound rising from his general direction, like the shake of a snake's tail. He turns and stares at the rooftop heckler. "That goes for you, as well. Ya'll ain't seen some o' the shit we have. If Bill here says he seen monsters, well, that's good enough for me." He looks at Carl. "Well? We gonna get on this thing?"

Carl considers, keeping hold of Bill like he's a restive horse, stance calm. "Jes' you. Bunyan, Grath," the last addressing Alistair "Y'ain't gettin' nothin' done - git fire, go with him. If the girls're et, block th'entrances, torch the place. The demons talk sense t'you, tell 'em they can have the Comanche an' never come back." He makes eye contact briefly with Gus, echoing the looks with a gathering gesture. "..."
He makes a scattering motion to those who're left, sending them on their various tasks, directing Little Tom to take over from JakeII. Providing all obey, he'll step up/half-drag Bill into the church.

"More than Monsters." John says as he arrives to the group. "Them Comanche's have some fierce med'cine and not the type the doc gives you." if given a chance to say his piece John would continue, otherwise he'd wait until there was a break in the conversation and slip in. "I went to Dr. Wards ranch with a purpose, to rescue and protect my Master, Zhang, who had ventured onto Ward's lands to try to go through Comanche country. He was captured and Dr. Ward as well as a few others and myself went to rescue him."

"We faced the Comanche, some of them are just warriors, you shoot 'em, you cut 'em, they die. They have at least one med'cine man though. Right powerful feller too." John shook his head "Heh, believe it or not that tin angel, whatever craziness about, managed to hold their witch-man off in some sort of spirit battle. Now I ain't crazy, well maybe I am fer stickin' around here but that's aside the point, but we need to consider they have resources beyond normal ken." He pauses, could they have already heard of this? "If'n I'm just repeatin' what's already known then ignore my words and tell me where someone who fights up close and personal can be of the most use and Mr. Cuthings here wants to be helpin' as well."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:24, Thu 22 Dec 2011.

"Shit." Gus says. "That reminds me. I hit one o' the injuns with a shot dead on, but saw it bounce offa a fancy shirt. I thought it was just a fluke at the time, or perhaps them wearin' a stove door underneath, but John here's right, well, it might be more'n that. Though I stabbed one and it tore right through, so maybe not."

He looks at the other Dust Adders, who look a bit grim. "Well, we can figure out what to do about injun witchcraft after I've dealt with these monsters." He looks at Jake, John, and Alistair. "Well? You gonna stay up there all day? We got monsters to hunt."

Alistair sighs and hefts his shotgun. "Reckon we oughta see what the trouble is, at least."

Jake climbs down the ladder
"Fur the love of gawd, if we get there an' it isnt just some feller in a wierd getup first round 'll be on me."
He scoffs at the prospect of monsters

Carl closes his eyes a moment to think. He makes a sharp git-gone gesture to the men standing around, then looks up and stops John, his hand moving as though to intercept him, shaking his head. Close-fightin' was not the best use against monsters.
"Barricades."

He points towards the Grand Bull (if John's vaguely familiar with the town layout by now). Seems he thinks it likely folks will re-collect in that direction, or has caused them to do so. Shirts that bounce bullets. He'd heard the soldiers' legend of a metal cross deflecting shot, so maybe it was fluke, but with the Snake on the heathens' side he wouldn't bet on it. They'd just need to get more of them down and cut up, maybe scalded, and the shaman...maybe the clank could deal with the shaman somehow.

Carl looks at Oswald as he becomes more obvious with men moving away around him. "What c'n you do?"

With much contempt Jake_V2 will acompany the man to the theator

In The Church:

As Evans tinkers about with Alouette, Father O'Rourke kneels over the wounded Danny. "Let me take a look at that, son." he says.

"Don't bother. They're going t' hang me anyway. Can't say I blame 'em."

---

Outside the Church:

The doctor looks around, then blinks a bit when he realizes Carl is directing that comment at him. "Me? Oh, no, sir, I just escaped from the Comanches. I have no intention of dealing with them again. I'm just trying to get in touch with a Dr. Ward. Do you know him, sir?"

---

Headed to the Theater:

Gus, Bunyan, and Alistair start off toward the theater. The trip takes them several minutes, as the only one with any enthusiasm is Gus...Until the unmistakable rumble of a dynamite explosion and a plume of smoke suddenly make the trip more urgent.

"Fuck!" Gus shouts, and turns to Bunyan and Al. "Git goin!"

"Logic error, Danny Albatross," Alouette calls from a few pews away, where Evans is trying to get wires back in their right places. "Folks know that killing you will make you worse: self has told them."

It glances down at Evans a moment, then continues to chirp blithely in the little Yankee's direction. "Ambrose said he would help send you to Missouri with self and/or inedible people when Town, Texas is safe from Pure Blooded Comanches, also demons, damned Yankees, other undeads, witches and vampire tumbleweed."

Breaking into a run Jake_v2 heads for the theator, his Colt Peace Maker going from his holster to his right hand as training took over
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 21:49, Fri 06 Jan 2012.

Carl frowns slightly and waves a hand a little to the side of Dr.Franklyn's face he talks as though assessing a blue-eyed horse. The news startles his attention away from the scientist's apparent semi-blindness, however.
"How long ago?"

Damn. Damn damn damn damn. Carl breathes in, adjusts. The Devil fools with all the best-laid plans, he reminds himself. If they had to draw the Comanche a bit, so be it. He just had so much more to lose now. Who else, though? Gus should stay here, lead the killing. He was good at that. Ranger would fight like a hellcat, but she wasn't tempered - too high a price to pay in time and focus going back if she faltered a moment and was taken down alive. The quiet man seemed trustworthy, but close fighters were best off here. Keep moving.

He reaches out and tugs/shoves the scientist towards the church door by the coat. "Survive th' Comanches, you'll see Ward." Far too much talk.

John took Carls suggestion to heart, if people used the Grand Bull as a sort of sanctuary from the fight, which would likely be a wise decision, then it would need defenders. It was likely they'd also need a place to bring whatever wounded there were and while John was far from being a healer he might be able to save a life or two.

He looked to Jake who seemed to be traveling along. "Y'got military or fightin' experience?" he'd ask. "If'n so, I think it best you work on barricadin' the Bull, I'll shout a warnin' to the barkeep and go about getting people headin' over there. Sound good?" he asked, with time of the essence he wasn't keen on disputing but he wasn't about to tell a stranger what to do without listening to any input the man might have. Of course he also wouldn't slow his fairly swift clip to the Grand Bull either, the place had to be shored up and the people gathered up and best if it was happening at once.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:50, Sat 07 Jan 2012.

{{BOOM!}}

The sound of a dynamite explosion echoes throughout Blackthorn.

In the church, people huddle together and mutter prayers. The preacher looks up from his task.

Evans sighs and stands, a little wobbly. "I suppose that means duty calls. Again."

He starts heading for the door...

Out on the street, Dr. Franklin is about to reply when the sound of the explosion reaches Carl. He looks over at the plume of smoke rising into the air...

Jake, John, Gus, and Alistair have just reached the Grand Bull when the building down the street blows. Flames and smoke billow as the front wall collapses down...

Wildcat and Adrain have reached the makeshift jail and are wondering just why the place seems to empty when the sound of the explosion reaches them...

Alouette trails Evans a little way. "Why does duty go boom?"
There's a murmur of static as it gets nearer the threshold.

---

Carl studies the smoke for a second, realises he's getting no answer and flicks Dr. Franklyn's face with the back of his fingers in a light almost-slap to call the man's attention back, mentally adjusting plans for the monster-hunters presumably having torched the Oriental.

"I was part of the CSA 31st infantry regiment."
With flames bursting infront of him he takes a few steps back, away from the flames

It doesn't take Wildcat very long at all to connect strangely empty makeshift jail, Jellicles, and explosions.  Cantrell is big and loud when he's bullying people after all.

"Con sarn dag nab it!  Cantrell, you ain't fit to shoot at when ya want to unload a sixgun in a hurry!  If brains was smells, he'd be stankier 'n  a mild'w'd saddle blank't after it had done been rid on a soreback hoss three hundred mile in August!"

Wildcat scrambles toward the explosion.  Time for a cat hunt.

Adrian stood there for a minute, as usual confused by what Wildcat was saying, though before he could really get more than the barest idea she was scrambling off. He just shook his head and followed, calling after her, "Hold on a damn second, what's goin' on here?" He knew he probably wouldn't understand but half her answer, and that it might involved snakes, but he thought it worth asking anyhow.

In reply to Adrian Vega (msg #161):

And Adrian isn't wrong.  Wildcat's life has involved lots of snakes here lately, as well as other feline personalties whose literary theme she does not fit.

The hapless thing has trouble with elocution in the best of circumstances, and being so mad she was about to spit blood wasn't helping things in the slightest.  In fact angry Wildcat was far less decipherable, missing even more short vowel sounds than normal.  Worse still, she descends into her similies.

"That dad burn kingsnake of a bounty hunt'r were done s'posed to sit his dancin' ass right thar 'n mind th' pris'ners!  Sunuvabitch's half dead an' sorrier 'n a wedd'd preacher man caught wit' a whore in th' back of a saloon on Easter Sunday!  We's o'er here ta scare up th' them boomsticks, that's 'em goin' off'n that thar Theater!  Them suspects is more loco than a coon that done been run over wit' th' wagon!  That idjit done let th' coyotes inta th' chick'n coop!"

"Snakes, coyotes, coons and chickens. Got it," he said, not entirely sure that he had, but unsure that asking again was likely to yield any  kind of sensible answer. He figured he'd pick it up as they went along.

"Oh FUCK! SOMEONE GET SOME WATER!!"

He looks around ofr anyhting that could hold water

John blinks and winces away from the explosion. A deep frown settles on his face, with Jake looking around for water John shakes his head. "No. The Bull, it needs to be fortified, we just had a heap of rain so fire shouldn't spread. I'll gather up the townsfolk, send some to form a bucket brigade." He looks at Jake and nods towards the Saloon, so much chaos in this town, every distraction meant more townsfolk would die when the Comanche's attacked.

Barring any argument from Jake, John would pick up the pace, he would focus on clearing people from the buildings near the one that exploded and sending women and children to the Bull and perhaps trying to get a bucket brigade formed by the men should it appear the building that exploded might prove a fire hazard to the rest of the town.

Jake_v2 Swears but follows orders, returning to 'The Bull to help barricade it

He calls over his shoulder after John
"Someone round here needs to tell me WHAT IN SMALL HILL IS GOING ON!"

"Don't you know? The Comanche's are coming." he calls back, the tight smile on his face lacks the humor he wish he could put into the words.

" No! I just got into town bout an hour ago! All I was here fur was claimin my inheritance!"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 11:15, Thu 12 Jan 2012.

"Well, welcome to Blackthorn, home of a thousand troubles." Gus growls at Jake. "Now stop yer whinin', take this, and get to the horse trough!" He grabs a bucket and shoves it into Jake's hand.

"We can't fortify this place." Alistair says to John as they enter the Saloon. "Look at it! It's a tinderbox! No, we get everyone to City Hall, or the old Mining Offices. Those buildings are solid stone. This is a good rally point, but we can't defend here."

Inside the Grand Bull, people are already moving. It seems Carl was right, a lot of people had regrouped here. The bartender, a man with sandy brown hair and a large mustache, is organizing folk already. He looks up at the posse entering the saloon.

"What is going on? What was that noise?" He asks, running up to Gus and John.

"Some damn fool just blew up the Oriental." Gus growls. "We need to organize a bucket brigade to keep the flames down."

"Is it still raining?"

"Way this day is goin', I don't want to just count on rain to keep the fire down. The Oriental's lost, but we don't want the whole block to go with it. Besides, it'll give folk somethin' to do, keep their mind off things, get us all working together. Could be handy when we regroup to fight the injuns."



With the help of Gus, Alistair, and Roland, the townsfolk fall in line, grabbing buckets and moving into line.

This is about the time when Wildcat and Adrian arrive on the scene. A line of people have formed, with buckets full of water passing back and forth.

((OOC: Ok. So, those of you who are going to help with the bucket brigade, post your intentions in doing so here and roll Agility.

If you plan on venturing to the Oriental itself, start posting on the Blood at Sundown thread.))

"What? Oh." Dr. Franklin says. "Sorry. It's just that I've had a particularly trying week already...It just seems to be getting worse all the time! I only escaped the Comanches after performing some clever subterfuge with photographic equipment while the deputy who had been captured along with me engineered our egress. And then we had to outrun one of their warriors, who I could swear was almost as fast as our horse! We just got into town, not half an hour ago. My friend August went to check on the deputy's warning about some sort of oriental beasts, or something of that nature."

John nods to Alistair and cursed himself for not thinking of that before. It was about this time it might pay to be a local, he tried to think of the two buildings, what little he saw of them, they'd need a large one to hold the bulk of the townsfolk. After a moment he figured Town Hall would make sense, folk went there during their time of need, but after the strangeness that occurred earlier he found himself nervous putting them so near the mayor again. "The old mining offices then." he said to no one in particular, they'd be solid, albeit old, good place for the people to go. If there were too many then the overflow could go to the town hall, better the devil you kind of know right?

That thought was hardly reassuring.

In a loud voice, the speakers voice he had demonstrated earlier, he projected to the crowd about the Bull. "Those of you not helping in the defense of the bucket brigade, head towards the old Mining Offices." he'd hollar. "Spread the word." he'd add. He wouldn't depart until he was sure his instructions had been heard. Then he'd head out to try and get anyone who were still in their homes off to the relative safety of the stone building. He'd focus his initial efforts on the buildings around the Oriental, should fire spread he wanted people away from those buildings most at risk.

OOC: Basically John's playing shepherd, and not in the metaphysical sense, he's going to get any strays he can find to head to the mining offices. Trying to get them to gather as many people they can while they're on their way.

Jake_V2 will help in the bicket brigade
_{17:43, Today: Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings rolled 9,5 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (8+1)9,5. agility.}
 

Carl tries to work out how much of that is exaggeration, watching the scientist a moment, then nods and bundles Dr. Franklyn and Bill into the church, almost straight into Evans.


[[er, John? The folk will already have (conflicting) instructions from the mounted Dust Adders gathering people [points at 'preparations' thread], not that John knows that, but jus' sayin', if they start being stubborn/picking sides as to who to follow, that's why. (he'll probably find this out soon enough anyway) ...it's going to be very funny when John finds out what state the mining offices are in, though, what with kerosene everywhere, large patches of the upper floor gone and Deputy Fuller all over the ceiling...]]

OOC:Well, when that geos down I'll half to think on my toes ^_^

John, Bunyan:

Right now, with everyone confused, John seems to be the voice of reason people are following. He and Alistair work together.

"So, what brought you into all this?" The man asks him, in between shuttling women to the mining office.

Meanwhile, Jake, Gus, the barkeep, most of the patrons of the saloon, several grungy-looking cowboys, and a line of others pass buckets up the line.

Jake does exceptionally well keeping the bucket brigade moving. Not only is he able to organize the line, he ensures a minimum of water is slopped or spilled.

Of course, looking so very much like a leader to these men draws attention.

"What's happening at the theater?" A blond man with wild eyes grabs him out of the line and stares. "What's happened to the girls?"

John starts ushering people inside but likely reactions from the crowd at the state of the building cause him to take a look. He enters and walks through for about a moment before muttering "Awww shoot." It didn't take a genius to realize the place was about as safe as a power keg in a match factory. "Alright folks, seems something fierce went down here an' this place ain't quite as safe a one to hold up in as I thought it was, best we be goin' to the town hall then." He found himself cursing not insisting on more organization, he did not feel like a leader of men and with everything going on the way it was.

"The boom means trouble, which means it is my duty to investigate..." he says, and might have said more but suddenly...



The collision is narrowly avoided. Evans looks at Carl. "What's the matter? What's happened out there?"

Carl nudges Bill, since it was him saw the boom-related monsters the group headed for the Oriental are presently tackling, then indicates the roughed-up scientist.

"This'n came from th'Injuns," he explains, but leaves Evans to realise that means the 'Injuns' know the town's under alert and might get crafty unless confronted or attacked and drawn in. "Still set on parly?" The question is genuine, not mocking - it's no more sane now than before.

Meanwhile the automaton addresses the scientist. "Howdy, Un!"

Evans takes Bill and Dr. Franklin out of earshot of the recovering people in the pews and listens to the various tales they have to tell him.

Bill's tale of escaped prisoners and monsters makes Evans frown.

Bill's version of events:

"I was enterin' the jail when I came across the big feller, Cantrell, cursing up a storm. He tol' me that he was guardin' some prisoners when that filthy rapin' redskin jumped him. In the scuffle, one o' the prisoners escaped. He tol' me that we had to hunt down the escapee."

"What about the prisoners? Who was going to watch them?"

"Oh, Deputy Fuller was on that."

"You saw him?"

"Well, no...Cantrell tol' me that Fuller was on the job, that he'd make sure the other two bandits and the savage didn't go nowhere."

"*sigh.* All right. Then what happened?"

"We followed Jenny's trail out a bit past town...looked like she'd doubled back, leading us on a merry chase so she could go rescue her friends. We followed her trail to the Oriental Theater...didn't know why she'd head there--"

"Wait." Evans' face goes pale. "Did you say the Oriental?"

"Yeah. It was all empty except for Jenny and some other fella. When we tired to arrest them, Jenny turned, and..."

"...And she was some kind of monster? Perhaps with fangs and a penchant for blood?"

"...Yeah. How'd you--"

And Evans, of all people, is cursing up a streak in the middle of the church. He turns to Carl. "Hang the Indians. We suddenly have a much larger problem to deal with. Come on. We need to get to the Oriental now!"

Carl looks up from checking on Danielle and gives Evans three seconds of blank attention.

Then he turns and whistles to catch Alouette's attention. "Angel." He says it like it's a profession or description of an object, without awe. "Follow him. Any monsters still alive after bein' blowed up, deal with 'em," Carl figures this is what the machine is for, like a scythe is for cutting grass - sure it doesn't look much capable of demonslaying, but the first he heard of it was dragging some re-killed deadder around, so there was that. "Any got away, an' any witches, find 'em an' round 'em up out of town 'fore sunset. Take that with you." He nods at Danny.

The clank hesitates. "Ranger Hawkins said to stay here and be special," it objects. "Also Danny Albatross might run away and get killed again and get worse, because he is other people's problem when he is outside and bad at making friends."

Carl looks at the lenses, uneasy with the thing. "Ranger Hawkins is doin' like I say." As for Danny, he looks to the Marshal and mimes clipping a handcuff over a wrist. "?"

Evans looks at Carl and shakes his head. "No. Out of the question. I will not be taking the boy. Have you forgotten he just attacked a good portion of the town's population? A population we are trying to reassure? A panicky crowd that is already mistrustful of me and my deputies? The boy is a liability in this. Alouette will be problematic enough, but people don't actively hate him. Shackling myself to the boy and bringing our angel in tow would send the message that I'm about to repeat the fiasco that happened here earlier, and we'd lose what small support we still enjoy. No, the boy stays here, under the watchful eye of the priest."

He turns to the clank. "Let's go, Alouette. We have monsters to slay."

Carl snorts at the idea Evans thinks anyone might have reason to trust him or especially his deputies, but pays him no further heed, setting about organising the movement of the majority of the wounded and elderly down to the town hall. He does draw his knife when approaching Danny again, but it's just to cut a length off his rope and drop it in the font. The little Yank's gonna stay in one piece, he's gonna be tied to something.

Part of him wants to hyperventilate, curl up on the ground and generally panic at so many words after nearly fifteen years; he sections off a corner of his mind and lets it just get on with that while the rest of him moves with cool, calm assurance, like there is nothing to fear.

Alouette ticks a moment, decides it's probably safe to leave the wendigo with the room full of injured people if Ambrose says so, and happily patters after Evans.

"Should Deputy Chicken stay in reserve?" it asks, then abruptly reaches and grips Evans' arm as they reach the doorway, static sighing through its metal form:
"46 East Texas Street, Shreveport, Louisiana."

[[Alouette rolled 5,4 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,4. go go gadget impossible knowledge! ]]

Danny reacts to the rope like its a live snake. "No! Feck off! Get away from me!"

Evans whirls before reaching the door, storms over, and grabs Danny by the collar of his stolen shirt.

"You listen to me, you worthless, whining child!" He shouts, pinning the boy against the wall. "You had your chance to avoid this! You were given every opportunity and squandered them all, and like a gambler at the wheel you refuse to see your luck's run dry! You have gambled and lost, boy, and I will not have you sniveling because you dislike the consequences of your actions! Would you rather be dead? That can be easily arranged! Don't think for a single moment anyone here would shed a tear if Mr. Allens was to string you up from the nearest pole, gather his friends, and shoot you until you stopped twitching! And God help me, I will let him if you give any more trouble! Do you understand!?"

The room has gone quiet silent at this outburst. Evans takes a dozen deep breaths while Danny stares at him, a tear curling out of the corner of his eye. Then Evans picks up the rope and begins to tie the boy up. The marshal looks at Father O'Rourke. "He's your burden now, Father. I wash my hands of him."

Then he turns back to the door and follows. He doesn't seem to notice the question about Deputy Chicken, but the address brings him up short. "I'm sorry?" He says. "What was that?"

Carl just stands there bemused until Evans has finished: he was just going to offer the alternative of nailing the kid's feet to the floor. Since the little Yank seems to have been subdued in the wake of Evan's wrath, however, he just works swiftly to re-arrange the knots and bind Danny's wrists and, standing on the bucket, the rope-ends to the iron sconce and finally the bell-rope above it, out of reach. Danny might be surprised that the filthy Reb goes about it all with more than merely sufficient force but no deliberate cruelty.

He's tethered, and straining/grabbing/lunging on his tether might well ring the bell, but otherwise he can walk 2-3 steps, very awkwardly pick things up, stand up or just about lie down and is generally no worse off than a stalled horse.

[[Carl theorises that this reduces how close and how often anyone needs to approach the thing, and dulls the furious desire of the hogtied/tortured/entirely helpless to free themselves, since he may be leaving the lad with those who can't control him by intimidation. Also if Danny sabotages the bell rope, well, he risks having a bell fall on him.]]

Meanwhile, static hisses like surf through the clank's systems. "Remember. Strawberry blonde, hayloft, southwest of Jackson. Lip-biter, freckled breasts." The electrical murmuring fades and resurges, the voice amongst it speaking fast and urgently: "Claimed to be twenty-one, wasn't. Died in the south land, leaving your daughter with a cousin. 46 East Texas Street, Shreveport, Louisiana. The walker knew, sought to taunt you with it. The crows carry the knowledge of death. They have a secret. Beaks like spears. Survive this. Live with honour. ...her name is Amber."

...and the crackling fades; the tin-can angel steps down into the mud with a mutter of "-static error-"

As the boy is tied up, the scientist watches, squinting all the while. "Excuse me, but...having just escaped from cruel captivity, I feel compelled to ask what this man has done to deserve such ill-treatment."

Evans gives Alouette a look that would be difficult for a trained psychologist to parse, let alone a mechanical marvel still learning human interaction.

Finally he winces, and says in a pained voice, "...I really can't think about that right now. Just one more burden to worry over...if by some miracle we survive..." the rest of his words are strangled by a sob that he quickly chokes off. "No. I can't. Not now. We have work to do, Deputy Alouette. Come on."

He hurries off down the street before the machine can see the tears start streaming down his face.

Carl looks over at the half-blind Mason, considers leaving someone else to tell him, reasons the man's too close to the prisoner as it is. He straightens from checking the bonds. "Yankee rustler an' would-be murderer of women. Deserves killin'. Won't stay dead. Gits less human every time he's kilt."

By then Carl's close enough to put a hand flat on the scientist's chest and physically back him up to a safer distance with a firmness that suggests it's best to do as the cowboy says, because he is tense and clearly a hard man.

---

Alouette returns Evans' look with a look no psychologist could fathom, on account of lacking any of the necessary equipment to frown in puzzlement.

"Okay!" it chirps, and patters after him.

In reply to Carl Allans (msg #189):

The scientist bites his lip, and looks as if he might protest, but apparently decides against it. "That...sounds impossible, but the Undertaker I met heading here said much the same. Can you please explain this phenomenon to me? How are the dead rising? Is there some sort of Aetheric disturbance? Is is localized or spread among the populace? What have you noticed? I am a scientist, and I have some small experience with such matters. The more I know, the more I might be able to help. That is, after all, why I am here...your Doctor Ward sent a message to the Lodge in Austin asking for assistance on some undefined matter...I can't help but think this is what he meant."

Carl, satisfied a safe distance has been achieved and about to move past, makes sure the scientist notices his hand and points at the priest. "..."

He pauses in crossing the church with the intention set Bill helping the women, wounded and old gather ammunition components and food. Raising his head, he finds himself under the Virgin's benevolent gaze, and holds the position a few seconds. Only the small loosening of tension at his shoulders and the curl of his fingers at his sides suggest he might be praying.

Mother/Mary he's not sure if he addresses either or both, or if it matters. His heart aches for having missed her. -I can't remember my Ave, I'm sorry...if it be so willed this sorry-ass town be destroyed I guess there's little you can do aginst it, but if you could just pray for us I would sure appreciate that. Please. Please mother/Mary pray for us. Echoes whisper around his head, faint as dreaming: nunc, hora mortis nostrae, ave, amen. ...and if everything goes wrong...could you spare my horse? She don't deserve shot. None of this was an animal's fault or concern. Thank you. ...amen.

Carl knew a few things: that bones were stronger than a stob rod or willow withy; that love was stronger than bones or the kind of flesh that split at a wayward blow; that death was stronger than love, because no amount of the latter could save a life or restore a breath...but now he thought there might be something stronger than death - stronger than witchcraft, even. He hoped he was right.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:57, Mon 09 Apr 2012.

"Ouch! You got to be kidding me." Jake mutters as he brushes the thumbtacks off his side. He slowly shakes his head as he start to get up, "Lots of info but still no real way to deal with bunch of Indians coming to kill all the white people in town." After a few more minutes he steps back out into the church, hoping that everyone is still around else he's going to have to go hunt people down.

Unfortunately for Jake, no one he recognizes is in the church, save the Yankee Irishman who was the host of that lightning spirit earlier.

There's a pair of cowboys getting the wounded up and about. One of them has a deputy badge on. There's the priest, talking with an excitable fellow who is dropping ten-dollar words everywhere and pointing at the tied-up Yankee.

The marshal, the automation, and the other deputies are nowhere in sight.

Prayer completed and Bill well informed/instructed, Carl motions for the door to be propped open and picks up Charlie's woman, intending to move her to the town hall. Relative safety. She feels very light.


[[22:19, Today: Carl Allans rolled 7,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 7,2. pickin' up women. Reckon that means he'll think to hold the unconscious lady epic cover art style rather than over the shoulder, then.]]

Jake makes note of things and decides to see what the fuss is about with the priest and tied up fella. He walks slowly across the space as his legs are slightly shaky from adrenaline mostly.

Once Jake reaches the priest he inquires, "Excuse me gents but what's going on?"

Danielle is moved without incident. It seems like the process of getting folk to city hall is proceeding apace...though Carl might note that there's only half as many people here as he was expecting. And the sun has most certainly set by now.

Meanwhile, Jake approaches the priest and the dandy. The priest looks up.

"This gentleman," he says, trying to keep his cool, "wishes to poke and prod the poor boy tied up over there. I am trying to dissuade him."

"And I told you, I'm a scientist. I can help figure out the malady that causes the dead to rise, maybe even put a stop to it, but I need a specimen to examine!"

"The boy is not a specimen! he is a poor sinner who has had enough prodding for a lifetime! He needs care and the grace of god, not cold godless dissection!"

"I hardly think full vivisection is necessary in this case..."

"No! Absolutely not!"

Carl leaves Charlie's woman nested in what blankets they have so far, leaving her in the capable care of Mike's mother and her subordinates: tough Blackthorn women.

His skin prickles, exiting the building: the storm-darkened sky had thrown off his sense of time. On the other hand, the clouds hadn't broken to give riders the advantage of glaring setting sun and the enemy was clearly not in evidence, so the Injuns would wait for some moon to show...but might not come in West. Where was everyone, anyhow? Keep moving.

Carl grabs Stride, swings into the saddle and rides down the street to the Grand Bull. They were down to minutes now, sifting away like sand.

[[in that case Carl gets very twitchy. You want Evans/Alouette to appear in t'other thread? They've been ambling along a while now...]]

In reply to The Stray (msg #196):

Jake looks over the dandy and shakes his head, "Sorry there Doc, but I can't let you cut into this fella; you'll spook these folks even more than they already are."

"Padre, where's Evans?"

"I wouldn't do it right here of course." The scientist says. "I'd prefer some solitude while I work. Just me and the post-living individual. Oh, and some tools." he makes a gesture, one that looks like a man straightening glasses, though he's not wearing any. He frowns at his lack of spectacles. He continues  on to say, "I was called in to lend my assistance to the post-living individual issue by Dr. Ward himself, though I would very much like to consult with him before I get any serious examination started. I understand the situation with the renegades is pressing...the rude cowboy indicated as much. I can lend assistance with that, as well, as I recently had the misfortune of being a captive in their camp. But I fear the intrusion of supernatural forces may cause many more casualties unless I'm allowed to get to the bottom of this PLI problem. So you see, I simply must be allowed to conduct some experiments!"

"You'll do no such thing!" The priest yells, losing his temper. "That poor lad has been traumatized enough! He is under my personal protection!, and..."

"So find me another specimen!" The doctor replies curtly. "From what the undertaker we met indicated, the whole town is crawling with the things, or soon will be! Maybe if you wait, you'll have a whole post-living flock to look over rather than a single..."

He doesn't get to finish. Father O'Rourke throws a mighty punch in his face, and suddenly there's a scuffle right where Jake didn't need one...
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:26, Fri 13 Apr 2012.

Jake shakes his head as he thinks, I should've expected that. The huckster attempts to stop the priest from doing more harm to the dandy that he already has.

OOC: Fighting roll?
08:48, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 1,3 using 1d4,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,3. Fighting.

((OOC: So, a Grapple? Alrighty. Since that's an opposed roll, let's roll fighting for the priest. He on;y has a d4, so a 3 might actually work...

09:20, Today: Father William O'Rourke rolled 6,3 using d4,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (4+2)6,3. Fighting!

What.

The funny thing is, all the characters involved in this have little or no actual combat ability, so this is starting to resembles some kind of sissy slap fight...))

The priest doesn't seem to have much in the way of fighting skill, but what he does have is enhanced with holy rage. At least, enough rage to shake Jake off and go back to knocking at the dandy.

"Ah hell,"Jake mutters and pulls his gun. He pulls the hammer letting the sound do some of his work for him. "Now padre, would you be so kind as to get off the dandy before I'm forced to put a bullet in you."

OOC: Intimidation!
13:20, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 7,4 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+1)7,4. Intimidation.

((OOC: 10:11, Today: Father William O'Rourke rolled 6,10 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 6,(6+4)10. Resisting Intimidate. Impressive, but not enough to beat your roll. Still, it means no Raise.))

The father stops at the sound of the gun hammer. He turns and glares at Jake. "Would you? Would you really?"

But he doesn't test it. The dandy moves out of range. "Thank you, Mr. Bitterwaters." he says to Jake. "Perhaps now we can get to the bottom of this mess, instead of acting like children?"

In reply to Father William O'Rourke (msg #203):

"Probably not padre, but it did stop you from doing something you would probably regret later."

The huckster looks at the dandy, his eyes like daggers, "What did you call me?!"

The father sighs. "I suppose you're right. I don't appreciate you pointing weapons in this place, though. There's been too much of that already."

Dr. Franklin frowns. "Mr. Bitterwaters. That's...that's your name, isn't it?" he says. He suddenly looks unsure about that, though.

In reply to Dr. Oswald Franklin (msg #205):

Jake nods to the father O'Rourke, "My apologize." he holsters the weapon.

"I never introduced myself to you. Heck I have never introduced myself as that nor been called it by anyone who wasn't a crazy shaman."

"I'm terribly sorry, sir." The doctor says. "I must have mistaken you for someone else...Let us start fresh, then. I am Dr. Oswald Franklin, Walker in Stars and spiritualist investigator." He holds out a hand.

"Jake Lawrence, finder of lost things, solver of problems and employee of Dr Lucas Frost of New Orleans." The huckster eyes the doctor for a moment as he shakes the other man's hand firmly, "I've a feeling you're not telling me something. What exactly is a spiritualist investigator?"

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bitterwaters." The doctor says. He doesn't seem to have realized his mistake. "Well, that's something of a complicated answer. I work for the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon. Have you heard of us? Very good organization, quite philanthropic. Part of our mandate is exploring and investigating the phenomena that laymen refer to as 'supernatural.' We investigate activity, attempt to divine whether the origin is truly supernatural in origin or a manifestation of known scientific principles, and then attempt to harness the phenomena for the betterment of mankind. Or minimize harm, in the case of hostile manifestations."

"I've not hear of ya group but I'm sure my boss has." He waits for the doc to finish. "Sounds like a might noble sounding organization so what bring you here?."

OOC:
14:03, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 3,2 using 1d4,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. Knowledge Occult.
14:03, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 3,3 using 1d10,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,3. Common Knowledge.

In reply to Jake Lawrence (msg #210):

Even as he say this, though, a thought occurs to Jake...he had heard of the Society before. That very day, in fact. He still had the badge he'd taken off McCavity the assassin that afternoon in his pocket next to his cards.



Though Jake had never personally dealt with them, Dr. Frost had mentioned them as a philanthropic organization, and thought quite highly of them, mostly because they helped fund some of his non-government work.

But the assassin in the jail had a badge. Was he still a member in good standing? Or was there more going on with them than met the eye?

((OOC: Recapping the last bit of info Jake had about the Society from previous threads.))

Dr. Franklin sighs. "Well, my partner and I were sent to this wretched town at the behest of Mr. Maxwell Lyons, the Malviosin of the Houston lodge. He had received word from one Dr. Dexter Ward of troubles pertaining to Aetheric entities. Here," he says, reaching into his waistcoat and pulling forth a paper. "Here is the telegram we received."

The paper reads thus:



"I'm afraid we weren't given much more information that that. I'm still trying to settle myself after my encounter with those hostile renegades outside town."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:57, Wed 18 Apr 2012.

The moment of recognition flashes over Jake's face before subsiding. He reads over the telegraph and notes, "Looks like you need to find this Doc Dexter Ward fellow, rather than cut into this fella here. Though with all that's going on here, I've a feeling he might be part of the reason this place has gone so sideways, so to speak."

"I've been trying to." he says with a frown. "Thus far without success. He apparently lives some distance from the town proper, and with the renegades about to close in no one is willing to provide me an escort. I don't even know what's become of my partner...we were separated when the renegades attacked. I do hope he's made it to safety, but until I get to this 'Circle W' ranch I can't know for sure. So I've been endeavoring to figure out just what the problem is on my own. We met a former resident of this town, an undertaker who mentioned the 'dead were rising.' At the time it sounded like tremendous hyperbole, but now there's an actual specimen for me to examine...and this fool won't let me work!"

"That's because you want to treat this poor boy as some sort of lab rat instead of a human being!" The priest interjects. "I tell you, the Grace of God is the only thing keeping the poor boy together right now! I won't have you..."

{CRASH!}

The sound of breaking glass brings attention to the subject of the conversation, who seems to have broken the rope holding him and is currently halfway out a broken window...

The huckster says, "Figures." quietly and looks at the priest and the doc. "You two don't kill each other. I'll see about the fella getting away." Then he goes after the kid.

Some mood music

The boy is fast. He's apparently recovered from his wounds enough to give a good effort.

"I'll no go back!" he shouts at Jake. "I'll no be anyone's specimen, pet, or charity case! Just turn around and let me go!"

((OOC: Going to run this as a modified Dramatic Task.

Pull a card, then roll Agility. Your rolls will be opposed by Danny's rolls. Whoever wins the best 3 out of 5 rolls wins. If you win, you catch up with him If he wins, he escapes. Ties force additional rolls as tiebreakers.

If you draw a Club, you suffer a complication, depending on the value:

Two

Disaster: Make an Agility roll at –4. If the roll is failed, the character suffers a disaster of some sort—a car hits a solid obstacle at its top speed, a runner falls off a ledge, etc. Where this isn’t possible, the runner gives out, the vehicle stops, etc. In any event, this participant is out of the chase.

3-10

Major Obstacle: Objects of some sort get in the way. Make an Agility roll at –2 to avoid them or suffer a Fatigue level (Bumps and Bruises, see page 86).

Jack—Queen

Minor Obstacle: Objects of some sort get in the way. Make an Agility roll to avoid them or suffer a Fatigue level (Bumps and Bruises, see page 86).

King—Ace

Distraction: Something obscures the character’s vision or path. He suffers a -2 penalty to his Agility roll this round.

You get to pull and roll first.))

"And let you get killed by Apache?" Jake shouts after the kid as he gives chase.

OOC: Fun!
14:05, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 3,15 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,(6+6+3)15. Agility.

((OOC: What was your card? remember that this is a Dramatic Task/Chase, so you draw cards at the beginning of each action to see if a Complication comes up))

In reply to The Stray (msg #217):

OOC: one card!
 04:17, Today: Jake Lawrence drew the single card: 3S using a deck of 54 cards. Card.

"I'll take me chances!" the boy shouts back. "It can't possibly be worse than--"

{{WHAM!}}

He runs right into one of the barricades the Dust Adders have been setting up. He looks stunned for a minute, then shakes himself and starts hoisting himself over it.


((OOC: Danny's card: 3C

That's a complication. He has a Major Obstacle to deal with.

Agility roll (at -2) to avoid a fatigue level: 01:41, Today: Danny Boy rolled 1,3 using d6-2,d6-2. Agility. Fail. He runs in to the obstacle and suffers a level of fatigue.

Roll for the round (with -1 from Fatigue): 01:42, Today: Danny Boy rolled 4,5 using d6-1,d6-1. Agility. That in no way is enough to beat Jake's 15, so Jake wins this round of the chase.

Jake: 1; Danny: 0.

Draw and roll for next round, please.))

While Jake is off chasing down the escapee, Carl is going about checking on the various preparations being made to resist the Comanches.

He discovers the barricades coming along well and the spare metal caltrops are coming along nicely (someone found a spool of barb wire and the boys have been cutting it up).

He also discovers that there's been some sort of miscommunication as he's fetching Tim from the Red Eye. Only about half the townsfolk are being herded toward City Hall...others are being lead to the Mining Offices, and it's too late to start moving them back. This means the defenders will need to be split up between the locations. He's going to need to have a little chat with Long Tom and that John Smith fellow.

But before he can deal with that situation, he spots a frantic Bill McCoy heading his way.

"Carl! It's the Yankee bushwhacker!" he shouts. "He's gettin' away!"

Angela's report from the few stragglers who've made it from the offices to the hall, delivered on the steps of the latter, makes Carl frown. What were they playing at? Still, the upper floor'd still be defensible so long as nothing flammable was left on the lower, even if they had to conscript a grandparent or two.

Carl looks utterly bemused at Bill's appearance as he gives Tim a steadying hand down from the saddle. "..." He sighs, and reaches back for his reclaimed rope. "?"

"Was out takin' a leak when it done happened..." he says sheepishly. "And that Lawrence fella's gone to chase him down. I think they're past the northern barricade already."

Carl nods Tim up to where he's supposed to be with a brief gesture to the deputy.  - scattergun'd be easiest for the kid - and strikes heels to Stride, setting off through the rainy darkness at speed.

[[heading to cut Danny off rather than follow him.]]

Carl is forced to go out of his way due to the barricades. At this rate, he'd be lucky to catch the Yankee bastard before the Comanche ride in. Of course, that's what the barricades are for...directing horse traffic. But it's damn inconvenient.

And what's with all the chirping birds around?

((OOC: Make a Notice roll, please...))

Carl's pretty confident the barricades will make it easiest for the little Yank to run out into Main Street before trying to dive into/under something and hole up. He won't waste too long on him...but what the hell?

The Dust Adder drops Stride to a trot, but between looking for an escaped Yankee - how did he get loose without ringing the bell anyhow? - and the weird twittering noises coming from...somewhere...his attention is fractured.

[[22:37, Today: Carl Allans rolled 3,1 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,1. wtf birdies?
...rocs fall, specific person dies?]]

Carl is so distracted he misses the soft {twang! twang!} of the bowstrings. The first arrow catches Stride in the flank, send him rearing up in pain. The second goes through the horse's neck, cutting off his pained whinny, and suddenly the world tilts around Carl as the horse falls back...

((OOC: That means Carl's Surprised, then. He gets no action during this first attack.

The Comanche Raiders use the opportunity to try and take Carl out, shooting at his horse. I'm using a Group Roll for this one. Since Carl failed his roll, they have The Drop.

14:49, Today: Comanche Raiders rolled 5,11 using d6+4,d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+1)7. Shooting. Hit and Raise on Stride.

14:50, Today: Comanche Raiders rolled 13 using 3d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of 4,2,3. Damage. success an Wound on Stride. Since the horse is an Extra, that drops him.

Carl needs to make a Riding roll or fall Prone, become Shaken, and take 2d6 points of damage.

He also needs to draw a card for the next round, as he's in Combat now.))

---

Turn Order for next round:
Comanche scouts: 4H
Carl: not drawn yet

Carl automatically grabs the saddlehorn and swings down as the horse falls, ending crouched behind/beside the lump of cooling horseflesh rather than crushed under it.

[[23:06, Today: Carl Allans rolled 4,2 using d8,d6 fallin off a hoss
init. JD.]]

He's in the north end, nearly out of town. All the houses around here have been deserted in preparation for the attack...which seems to have come early. He can't see anyone about yet, but his assailants have to be hiding in the empty houses.

A thought occurs to him. These must be scouts. The attack has begun.

((OOC: Make a Notice check as a free action. You have the initiative right now, so you'll get an action before they go again))

Carl stays crouched a moment, trying to ignore the rain and his own heartbeat. Comanche in the streets. Too far to flee on foot an' rouse the town, they'd get too many shots. Fight, then.

[[7, plus blue chippit. That find one of 'em?]]

Crouching behind the stricken horse, Carl spies movement in the house on his left. The window is open...that's the Bennet's place! And there's a figure, drawing back a bowstring...

Something is wrong with the figure. It's very...pale. But there's no time to worry about that.

((OOC: The Comanche has Light Cover from the windowsill, so that would be a -1 penalty on any ranged attack Carl might make. Or he could leap through the window and try a Melee attack.))

I won't be heard from here, either. Even shots out here would probably be lost to the chaos in the centre of town. Carl swears silently to himself, draws his knife and runs suddenly and soundlessly towards the window, low to the ground and every moment expecting an arrow in the back. He vaults the sill, the blade in his right hand coming around and up on momentum as he straightens, hoping to catch the bowman's neck.

[[5 Agility (movement), drawing knife and...
00:38, Today: Carl Allans rolled 5,9 using d8-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 7,(6+5)11. fightin' ...is't a hit? Them being bulletproof and all.
init. 5S]]

There's no arrow in the back, not yet anyway...the bold move seems to have startled the sniper.

Carl's dive takes the Indian by surprise. He's only able to get an arm up in shock as the cowboy crashes in to him.

The knife nicks the savages neck, and he curses and slaps his hand over the wound. There's a pause. The raider removes the hand from his neck and looks at it, astonished.

There's no blood on his hand. There's no wound on the neck. Carl is certain his knife hit home, but...there's nothing but smooth silvery-grey skin. It's not quite warpaint, it's as if the man had climbed out of a photograph or something...

The Comanche grins evilly as that sinks in.

"Pale Moon spoke true!" he crows in broken English. "White man cannot hurt me!"

He pulls a tomahawk from his belt and swings savagely at Carl. Though the wild swing doesn't do more that slice open his shirt, the force of the blow leaves Carl a bit winded...And there's a shadow from the window. The others must be on their way.

((OOC: 5 damage from the swing. Not actually enough to break his Toughness. Though there's hints that something more is going on here...

For his turn, the Comanche pulls his balde and swings at Carl. This imposes a -2 penalty on his swing.

17:04, Today: Comanche Raiders rolled 7 using 1d8-2, rerolling max with rolls of (8+1)9. Fighting! What is it with the die roller hating on you guys? That's a hit.

17:07, Today: Comanche Raiders rolled 3,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. Damage. 5 damage total. Carl is Shaken.

Meanwhile, the other Comanche is putting his weapon away, pulling his own tomahawk, and coming to his friend's aid from the other house. He's going to reach the window this round.))

---

Next Round:
Carl: 5S
Comanches: 4H

In reply to Danny Boy (msg #219):

Jake keeps after the kid, the huckster's feet falls moving faster and faster. "Come on kid, ain't gonna let no one hurt ya!"

OOC:
15 vs 5 is a raise, would that be 2 successes?
08:16, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 11,1 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+5)11,1. Agility.

08:16, Today: Jake Lawrence drew the single card: KD using a deck of 54 cards. Card.

The boy doesn't respond at first...he's too busy tripping over the barbed wire the Dust Adders set up on this road to catch riders from this direction.

He sprawls in the dirt, tangled in the wire. It's the work of moments for Jake to reach him.

The boy lays in the mud, weeping softly. "I just wanna go home..." He cries. "I just wanna go home...I just wanna go home...everyone in this town wants to tie me up, lock me up, carve me up, shoot me up...only person here shown me any decency at all is that damn crazy clank, and she thinks she's me mother...I never did nothing wrong, but it all went wrong, ever since we got here...now everyone's dead...all of them, all me friends, and I guess me too...except we just keep gettin' up again, over and over...I just wanna go home..."

((OOC: Hmmm...well, since I want to wrap this chase up a little faster, sure. raises count as 2 successes.

Card: 4C

Another major obstacle for Danny. He's Fatigued already, so this is probably bad for him. Agility roll at -3 to avoid:

07:21, Today: Danny Boy rolled -1,3 using d6-3,d6-3. Complication. Well, that's a fail. Another Fatigue level for Danny, making him Exhausted.

Roll vs. Jake: 07:22, Today: Danny Boy rolled -1,2 using d6-2,d6-2. chase. That's another Raise Jake gets. This chase is over.

Do you want to try to do something about his bumps &  bruises?

BTW, Make a Notice check ;).))

In reply to Danny Boy (msg #234):

Looking down at Danny, Jake offers the lad a hand. "Come on now, I know a little bout what ya going though. The going home part at least, the folks coming back from the dead isn't new to me but ain't exactly something I'm overly used to either." He pulls a flask from the inside of his coat and after taking a swig offers some to Danny. "Here take a swig of this, might help with those stumbles you took back there."

OOC: Jake's go no healing ability so trying to patch someone up might not be the best but I'll give it ago!
11:21, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled -2,-2 using 1d4-4,1d6-4, rerolling max with rolls of 2,2. Healing (Untrained. -2 Fatigue).

um.. no dice there.
11:22, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 7,5 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+1)7,5. Notice.

"Thank'ee." The boy says, gulping down the contents of the flask. It doesn't seem to help him much, but at least he's calmer. He's a bit shaky on his feet. "Look. I know ye don't owe me anythin', but I just want t' leave. I know I've not been a good person--I let that thing get the better o' me. I done it and can't take it back. But I can't stay here. It'll be the death o' someone, perhaps a lot o' someones, if that thing gets loose again."

As he's talking, Jake spots something out of the corner of his eye. They're in the northeastern part of town, close to the edge of town. There's a great stone building that looks almost like a mausoleum. There's a familiar-looking crest on it...it's the symbol of the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon.

This must be their lodge...it's very still and quiet here. Much too quiet. And the door is hanging ever so slightly adjar...

some mood music

There's no response to the taunt from the cowboy, who just heaves himself back into the shadows in the corner of the tiny room, trying to get his lungs to work. A tiny drop of blood spiders down inside his shirt from the heavy graze of the tomahawk, the prickling joining that across his skin. He grabs for the counterpane of the narrow bed in hauling himself up and tries to tangle the Comanche's weapon as the silver man comes in at him again, but he's off-balance and the cloth just slips awkwardly from his fingers to pile between them.

Carl slams his shoulders back against the wall and tenses. Another Injun is climbing through the window now, just as pale. Come on, then.


[[white dropped, 3 for counterpane counterattack
init: 8S]]

The Comanche leaps over the pile and swings in again, and Carl feels the handaxe bite a second time, this time on his thigh. It hurts, but the adrenaline is keeping him moving...but the figure from the window leaps at him and bears him to the ground, pinning his arms beneath the savage's knees.

((OOC: Since tricks are Opposed rolls, It's possible for the Comanche to still fail...

09:58, Today: Comanche Raiders rolled 7 using 1d8, rerolling max with rolls of 7. Resisting trick. Well, suck.

The Comanches are going to move up and try to tag-team Carl. One will swing, the next will move in and try a grapple.

Swing with axe: 10:04, Today: Comanche Raiders rolled 7 using 1d8, rerolling max with rolls of 7. Fighting! That's a hit.

10:05, Today: Comanche Raiders rolled 1,5 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,5. Damage. total of 6 Damage. That makes Carl Shaken.

The other one tries to grab him. This is an Opposed Fighting roll. Carl has to beat the Comanche, who has a +1 gang-up bonus now.

10:06, Today: Comanche Raiders rolled 24 using 1d8+1, rerolling max with rolls of (8+8+7)23. Grapple! Somehow I think Carl will be well and truly held.

Next round: 9S))

---

Going to wait for you to roll to see if you escape the Grapple before continuing on.

In reply to Danny Boy (msg #236):

"Might be the death of more folks if you go running off without anything getting sorted first."

The monster of a building cause Jake to towards it and a chill to run down his spine. "How'd they manage that sort a building in this dinky little town?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:20, Mon 23 Apr 2012.

[[...and he rolls a mighty 3!]]

Carl bares his teeth at his tormentors, well and truly got.

In reply to Jake Lawrence (msg #239):

Danny frowns, but doesn't reply. Instead, he looks at the masonic temple thing with Jake. "It's probably that devil doctor's doing. He could afford it, what with the profits from all th' Ghost Rock he's usin' slave labor to cart up out o' that mine. It's probably full o' lavish trappings, while the town around him starves."

In reply to Carl Allans (msg #240):

The brave grabs Carl's hair, and puts his tomahawk to the man's scap...but before he does any cutting, his companion stops him. There's a quick exchange which Carl can't quite follow, since he doesn't understand the language, but his ability to read body language yields this:

"[something about an important person not wanting this action to occur]"

"[angry rebuttal of frank disbelief]"

"[assertion that the important person has other plans]"

"[shudder of disgust, then a relenting]"

The Brave holding him keeps his tomahawk poised to strike Carl down while the other tears the blanket into strips. When his task is completed, he walks over and kneels down by the fallen cowboy.

"We take you to Charging Bear now." The brave says. "He do things with you then. Come quiet, or we kill you now."

In reply to Danny Boy (msg #241):

"Yeah and they hired The Jellicle Gang to kill that lady Ranger..." Jake says quietly as he takes out the token of the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon from his pocket. "Now why did they leave the door open?" it comes out only slightly like a question. The huckster rolls his fingers over the token one more time before slipping it back into his pocket.

"Danny, time to make up for whatever crappy thing you did before... let's go and see what this enlightened bunch of yahoos have hidden within their mighty temple."

The boy grins. "That idea suits me just fine, sir. Just fine indeed."

The pair creep toward the temple. There's a nasty smell, like overcooked meat, wafting from the opened doorway.

"Something isn't right here..." the boy mutters.

Carl naturally tries to pull his head down/aside and bite his would-be scalper, snarling silently.

The news they apparently esteem his warrior skills highly enough to torture him is flattering, but doesn't change the blank fury of his pinned stance. He simply stares at the English-speaker with a gaze as pale as the silver man's skin, no longer actively fighting but promising nothing but death if he just gets the opportunity.

"..."

The Comanche raiders seem to sense this, because the first thing they tie with the torn-up bedspread is his mouth. He's bound hand and foot and dragged out of the house. Carl has no idea where they're taking him, but it can't be good.

((OOC: If you want to try and slip the bonds, it's Agility (to slip out) or Strength (to break them) at -4. If you fail, they'll get you wherever they're going.))

Carl automatically makes the attempt to untie himself, but no knots are in reach. He tries to watch where he's being taken, rage and frustration clamped down with such force in his chest it burns cold.

[[ -2, I think not... ]]

In reply to Danny Boy (msg #244):

"If it was right then they won't leave the door open." Jake says with a smile. "But just to be sure..." the huckster touches the door, pulls a trio of cards from his pocket, and lets himself be taken again to the hunting ground.

OOC: Going to use the heck out of this crazy hunch. Just looking for recent events that caused this place to smell so and appear empty.

Jake parts the mists of the Hunting Grounds and peaks in:



((OOC: Even though it doesn't cost PP right now, you still need the Arcane roll to check for success. But I'll skip that in this instance to speed things up.

A lot of this took place in "Chapter 12.1: A Fistful o' Trouble" while CB was facing off with Cantrell and the Jellicles))

"Looks like the Adders and Evans cause a bit of commotion here." Jake says to Danny Boy.

"Shall we head on in?" without waiting for an answer Jake takes a step inside.

This thread is closed. The posters will be split into new Chapter 14 threads once the bar fight has been dealt with.