"Differently alive," and "Ranger Hawkins," Alouette corrects patiently.

It seems happy with the plan, though. "Yes! Then there will be only one vampire in Town, Texas, and that is almost no vampires, so they will not fight and cause destruction of scenery." There's a slight pause. "If you want to fight other vampires you have to do it outside the house of Dr. Ward," it tells William seriously.

"Why are there lots of people outside the swingy doors?" it asks generally, craning.


[[Alouette rolled 1,7 using d4-2,d6-2, Notice]]

"What ranch's that?"  Wildcat asks.  "What does ya'll mean Deputy Clank, or do ah even wants ta ask..."

There are, in fact, quite a number of people gathered around the entrance to the Grand Bull...it looks like a large collection of the Dust Adders have been drawn to the commotion.

"The one outside of town." Seven says in reply. "The one this Dr. Ward lives at. The one the fat one was talkin' 'bout."

"Who are you callin' fat, nancyboy?" Gus says, that rattling buzz starting up again.

"So I guess there ain't much use in bein' a law man 'round here," he said.

"I mean, I see your point, Marshal, but if you're just gonna let armed men walk in and shoot people and let them go, no wonder this town's gone to hell and everyone hates every law dog in the place. No disrespect, but nobody I talk to has anything good to say 'bout y'all. Now I see why." Adrian spat. He didn't actually look to be in that much pain any more, but every once in a while he gave a wince.

"See? Didn't I tell ya?" Gus crows. "Damn Yank ain't nothin' but useless."

Evans, however, is shaking in fury. He storms over, grabs Adrian by the lapel, and shakes him. "WHO STARTED THIS FIGHT!?" He screams. "Who was it, hmm? Who drew down first? Who pulled the trigger? Should I be arresting Mr. Shaw here? Mr. Milburn? The stranger? You!? Maybe I should arrest everyone in this whole blasted bar! Is that what you'd like? Everyone's under arrest! Lock them all away in the vault, throw away the key! Is that what you'd like? Hmm? Answer me! Answer me, goddamn it! What am I supposed to do!? I have ten million things going wrong at once, I've been in constant danger for the past three days, I have had nothing but scorn and ridicule heaped on my head by you ingrates, and all I have done, every last thing, has been done to Help. These. People. These people, who spit on me, scorn me, take my help for granted. So tell me, what am I to do? Deal with the bloodsucking fiends running loose in the streets? Find out why the dead are rising? Protect the town from being destroyed by renegade Indians? Fight stitched-together monstrosities pulled from the depths of Hell? Capture bandits sent to assassinate us in our beds? Or arrest some idiots in a bar who got a little drunk and angry!? What should I do, Adrian? What would you have me focus on?"
This message was last updated by the player at 00:33, Sat 28 Apr 2012.

Wildcat raps the butt of her Remington on the bar of the Grand Bull, hard, six times with one hand, and removes her Stetson with the other.  When she speaks, her voice is loud and clear.

"Forasmuch then as Christ hath suffered for us in the flesh, arm yourselves likewise with the same mind: for he that hath suffered in the flesh hath ceased from sin;  That he no longer should live the rest of his time in the flesh to the lusts of men, but to the will of God!"

She puts William Pierce's guns down (with a pile of cartridges),she unloaded during Evan's verbal tear, tacitly acknowledging he should reclaim them now but not be quick to start back up.  But for now her attention is on Gus Shaw.

"For the time past of our life may suffice us to have wrought the will of the Gentiles, when we walked in lasciviousness, lusts, excess of wine, revellings, banquetings, and abominable idolatries:  Wherein they think it strange that ye run not with them to the same excess of riot, speaking EVIL of you!

"There are such among your number, Dust Adder.  Including thou."

Wildcat lifts a bottle and glass from the bar as her feet shuffle.  Her words shift to Alister Milburne.

"Who, I say who among you, shall give account to him that is ready to judge the quick and the dead?  He that is the King of Kings, who is the Lord of All, he that is called I Am?

"Or will you continue to hold true to this Mayor of yours, this monster in the form of a man?"

Her gaze isn't staying place as her voice lowers, and then builds to a crescendo.  Her eye lands square on Adrian Vega.

"For this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead, that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit."

She adds no comment.  Mercifully her eyes drift to William Pierce, then to the assemblage.

"But the end of all things is at hand: be ye therefore sober, and watch unto prayer."

Wildcat's gestures and voice somehow seem to point to Evans, even as she pours the shot.

"And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.  Use hospitality one to another without grudging as every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God."

She keeps pacing, next standing behind the tin angel, stopping to take the shot of whiskey.

"If any man speak, let him speak as the oracle of God; if any man minister, let him do it as of the ability which God giveth: that God in all things may be glorified through Jesus Christ, to whom be praise and dominion for ever and ever. Amen!

Wildcat takes a long pull on her cigar before resuming quietly.

"Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you:  But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.  If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye; for the spirit of glory and of God resteth upon you: on their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he is glorified."

Wildcat's gaze goes back to Gus Shaw, The Seven of Spades, and well honestly most of the room at one point or another.

"But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or as a thief, or as an evildoer, or as a busybody in other men's matters.  Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf."

Wildcat returns her bottle and glass to the bar.

"For the time is come that judgment must begin at the house of God: and if it first begin at us, what shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God?  And if the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?

"Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator."

Wildcat stands where she started originally, having made a great twisted circuit of the Grand Bull, her feet spaced, her head down, her hat in her hand.

"Thar's more sand, more Rebel fight, 'n more grit in that damn Yankee's dainty little lily white finger than there is ingratitude in this waterin' hole."

Wildcat walks slowly toward the exit as Blackthorn calls.

"Amen."

William retrieves his single- and his double-action peacemakers, reloads them and slowly follows the ranger outside.

"Might take more than a minute", he says to Seven as he leaves, "she's a talker."

The wounded Huckster grimaced in pain as the Marshal took him by the lapels and began to shake him. After the man's rant, he slowly removed the Marshal's hands from him, and leaned back against the bar counter. Any immediate response Adrian might have had to the Marshal was largely forestalled by the Ranger's lengthy religious discourse.

"Shit, alls I was gonna do was suggest we set us up a bail for 'em 'fore lettin' 'em just walk, that's all," he said.

"But you're the Marshal, and it's your call."

Truth be told, he could start to see why it was useful to have a gang around here like the Dust Adders. You couldn't trust the law to see to justice in Blackthorn. It was all just the way of the gun.

"Well, I suppose I can help." August says as the two shake hands. "If'n you want, I can lead ya'll back to the camp where they held me. I ain't keen to face a whole army o' angry Comanches, mind, but I can at least point him out."

Cantrell nods. "Sounds good. Let's load up on ammo, get some horses, and get goin'. If we come across them on the way here, we can turn tail and lead 'em into the trap them Dust Adders been settin' up."

It sounds like a plan.

In reply to Adrian Vega (msg #344):

Evans sighs, and releases Adrian. He seems chagrined in the wake of the ranger's speech. "I suppose we've all been horses' asses here. That's...that's a good idea. Thank you Adrain. And sorry." He turns to Seven. "Bail is set at $100. Pay it, and you and your friend can walk out of here, wait out the troubles, and come back for trial."

"Fine." The fancy gunman says, pulling out a wallet. He pulls five $20 bills and lays them on the counter. "May I go now? I'd like to get in some pleasurable company afore I leave."

Evans takes the money. "Yes. Be aware, though," and then he raises his voice, so that all the Dust Adders milling about the front of the Grand Bull can hear, "If you don't return tomorrow at noon, this hundred dollars will fund the bounty for your capture. Do you understand? One hundred dollars for your capture if you or your friend fail to reappear by tomorrow noon."

The gunslinger goes pale.

Gus grins. "Why, Evens, you deviously sly dog. Ya'll can bet I'll pass that along." He says, looking at Seven like a wolf eyes a slab of beef.

The gunslinger gulps. "Billy! Billy, wait up, wont'cha?" he says, hurrying out of the bar.

Evans turns to Adrian. "Will that do?"
This message was last updated by the player at 01:41, Mon 30 Apr 2012.

"That's as much as I could ask for Marshal, at a time like this," he said, dipping his head in a nod to the lawman.

"I reckon I'll pass on a trip to the ranch, since those folks seem to be headin' that way. This ain't the first time I've been shot, and while I ain't no doctor, I figure as long as we can get a bandage strapped on here, I'll make it alright. Maybe I can sit up top of one o' them roofs and shoot at the Comanches when the shit goes down. If that's necessary."

"Well, I can take a look at it." Evans says. "They don't call me Doctor Evans for nothing. Though technically I'm not a medical doctor, I do know a few things about sutures, and the past few days have given me a greatly accelerated course in emergency aid." He excuses himself, retreats to the upstairs, and returns with two things.

One of them is a small black bag. The other is a strange device that looks like a large metal milk pail attached to a hose with a pistol grip.



Evans says nothing about the strange device strapped to his back as he directs Adrian to sit down and remove his shirt. The dandy examines the wound, frowns, pulls a flask out of the bag, some gauze, and a lump of black metal. He waves the black metal over Adrian's wound, and something inside him shifts. "Ah. There it is," he murmurs, pulling some tweezers out of his bag. "Drink this. It will help with the pain." he says, and offers Adrian the flask. This done, he begins to fiddle around in Adrian's wound with the forceps. It's exactly as painful as it sounds. But he pulls the bullet free after what feels like an eternity. "There we are. Care for a souvenir?" He places the bullet to the side, stitches up the wound, then bandages it.

Evans studies the bullet for a moment, frowning heavily. Then he looks Adrian eye to eye. "I'm afraid I have some news to impart to you. Shall we retire somewhere more private? I'm afraid it's quite grave."

((OOC: 21:40, Today: The Amazing Evans rolled 0,4 using d4-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 1,5. healing. That's good enough to remove Adrian's remaining wound. Of course, it's also enough to tell him something is amiss...))

Alouette, meanwhile, patters into the kitchen to explore (since no-one told it off for going in there before) pokes at the tubs of boiling water then hastily moves away in case they are a Bath, and sets about "eating" all the labels off the cans, because they don't all look the same, so although sardines come in cans and sardines are good for injured differently alive people, maybe not all the cans have sardines in.

[[...unattended clank...]]

He did as he was bid, drinking from the flask. Then he clenched his teeth while Evans did his work, but more because he expected intense pain than because he actually felt it. Oh, it certainly hurt like the devil, but for some reason he thought it should have been far worse. It was disquieting in a way; nothing hurt like it seemed it should. He picked up the bullet and looked at it, then up to Evans.

"Sure thing, doc. I mean, Marshal. Lead the way." He stood up, testing his shoulder a bit to see how bad the pain in his chest. Out of habit, he slid free a pack of cards from one of his pockets and absently started to shuffle them. Whenever a doctor said something like that, it was never good news.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:22, Mon 30 Apr 2012.

Evans leads him to a room and sits him down. "Now, before I begin, could you tell me everything you remember about your encounter with the fancy gentleman you claim shot and robbed you?"

"Well, it's a little fuzzy. I met a fella while I was on my way into town, the one that shot me in there. He was dressed all fancy like then too, and he wore that monocle. Anyway, he asked if he might travel with me for a spell, and I thought there was safety in numbers, so what the heck, right? He didn't seem like no bandito."

He paused to think. Gradually details from the encounter had come back to him over time. He hadn't really remembered it all at first. "Then he shot me in the knee, and started askin' me about the Bible. I went to church as a kid, but I don't remember no verses. Somethin' from Ezekiel, I think. He had the verse engraved on his gun - I just remembered that."

He shook his head in apology. "That's all I got, though. There was a lotta pain. Gettin' shot in the knee ain't no picnic. I figured I musta passed out from blood loss. Anyway, after that the sick sonuvabitch buried me alive, if you can believe it. I dug my way out, and I found my horse riddled full of bullets. All my things were gone, 'cept some bills I had tucked away in my boot." That was my horse, wasn't it? It musta been.

"When he came in, I drew down on him and told him he was under arrest. I woulda put him under arrest too, but then his partner in crime opened the door and shot at me first thing. Didn't ask questions or say nothin'. Just pulled the trigger on me. Gus was there for the whole thing and maybe Milburn too - and you may not have much love or trust for 'em, but they seen it. I'd wager Roland did too."

Evans nods. "Hmm...What's the current date?" He asks. It's an odd thing to ask, really.

Alouette does not find any sardines. It does helpfully put like with like according to its own patterns, though.

It certainly learns a lot about tomato soup, canned ham, and shrimp in the meantime.

Adrian felt a little silly, not remembering what date it was. It was one of those things he lost track of. However, he did have something of an idea. "Heck, I dunno, Marshal. Last time I checked it was...March 21st. I don't remember when that was, so maybe today's March 22nd. What's that gotta do with anything?"

"It answers a lot of questions, I'm afraid, because it's April 11th. Good Friday." Evans says with a sigh. "You've been in the ground, buried 'alive,' for three weeks. The showy gentleman called you a 'zombie,' not because he thought he killed you...but because he actually succeeded and you came back."

He pulls out a strange device, one that looks like small red box filled with dials and knobs, with some sort of indicator on the top. He turns it on, and an arc of electricity sparks along the metal ring at the top. Adrian feels his hair start standing on end from the ambient static.



Evans studies the readings, pursing his lips in thought. "As I suspected. The same readings as the other ones. You, sir, are one of three Post-Living Revenants I've encountered today, all of whom died within walking distance of Blackthorn." He sighs and turns off the device. "This is added to the vampire infestation we had at the Oriental, the post-living reanimated catamount Mr. Allans destroyed, the sighting of the ghosts of Robert Micklethwait and Nathanial Frost, and the reanimates that attacked town three days ago. It's starting again."

He stands and begins to pace.

"Let me explain. Six months ago, my traveling companion and I stopped to spend the night here. We operated a small pharmaceutical business together, selling tinctures and elixirs to those whom desperately needed such panaceas. While operating in town, we were involved in a most singular adventure. The dead within the local cemetery arose and began attacking the citizens. I lent aid to the struggle, using my inventions to quell the reanimate menace. I also faced down an extremely disagreeable Aetheric Entity, which proved to be the source of the reanimation, for when it was banished the dead ceased their assault. After this incident, I decided I wanted to delve further in to the mystery that was Blackthorn. My companion disagreed, as his constitution had been quite shaken by the whole ordeal. We dissolved our partnership and went our separate ways. I stayed in town, and when the populace decided to hold elections for a new marshal, I put my name up for consideration. I thought it would give me the resources and authority I needed to pursue my investigation."

He sighs. "It did not. My election to the position went unratified by the circuit judge, who never showed his face in all the time I spent here. And yet I had to carry out the duties of a marshal, keep order, keep the Dust Adders from bullying everyone in sight, and generally kept me so busy that I gained precious little ground in my investigation. I suspect that my election to marshal may have been a ploy to keep me 'kicked upstairs' and out of trouble, as it were, but I digress. As it was, no more reanimates arose until quite recently."

"Four nights ago, a reanimate began troubling the streets. It lurched down Main Street, yelling at everyone within earshot that the end was nigh and plague and pestilence and doom would fall on us all. Very melodramatic. What was odd was that the corpse was not a resident...it was a United States soldier. Furthermore, several people remarked that there had been more of these reanimated federal troops on the trails outside Blackthorn attacking travelers. Sensing a problem, I hired on these strangers to help me investigate the matter."

He sits down and sighs. "And that's when the troubles began. The Dust Adders took my hiring on of deputies as a sign that I wanted to clean up the town. They attacked us, attempting to drive us away. They took several casualties in the attack. Miss Hawkins, the Ranger, arrived during the struggle. She was here to investigate the missing circuit judge, but jumped into our struggle against the Dust Adders. Some of them apparently had personal history with her, complicating things further. Ever since then, I've been trying to find out where the dead federals are coming from, find out what other dead are rising, determine why they're rising, and fend off assaults from assassins, Dust Adders, vampires, giant stitched-together corpses, and other Revenants like you for the last few days. And now I learn that the Comanche are on the warpath. It's enough to drive a man to drink, so I am sorry that I snapped at you earlier, but I hope you can understand why a random gunslinger passing through town is low on my list of priorities."

He sighs. "So, now that you know more about the situation...is there anything more you can remember? Anything at all that might be useful to know?"

Adrian sat quietly and listened to the explanation. Had he not been a student of Hoyle's works, at this point he probably would have told the Marshal that the man was full of it. But he had seen things strange and unsettling and had heard these happenings. And though he had been living for a time in a state of denial, he had begun to have suspicions that something wasn't entirely right with him. His memories of being killed he had been pretending were something else entirely, and none of his stories about that particular day had made sense.

Still, he was left with something of a sullen and forlorn expression on his face. He opened his mouth to say something and worked silently for a moment before simply saying, "Well, shit."

"Marshal, as you observed keenly soon after meeting me, I'm a student of Hoyle, after a fashion. And so while others might not be so ready to believe the kinds of things you just told me, I have witnessed some of the weirdness that's out there and I just well...it just makes sense after a fashion. I think maybe it explains why I keep losing control of myself. It's like I'm blacking out and somethin's goin' on inside of me, and I just have to fight myself to get a grip...." He trailed off. Unable to fill the silence with words, he took out a cigarillo and a pack of matches, and lit it up, offering one to the Marshal. After a few puffs and some contemplation, he continued talking.

"The only other thing that I can remember is that the man that shot me, the one in the bar just now, he said that if I mess around in a rattler's den, that I was gonna get bit. I think that mighta had somethin' to do with me being a member of the Lady Luck Society. Have you heard o' them?"

"I suspected you might be more amenable to the truth than most folks." Evans said. "It's why I'm telling you all this now. It's why I haven't been able to fully explain my actions to the populace at large...they'd never believe it. But it's very important that you understand the full nature of what faces us. Too many people have already died because I wasn't able to explain the stakes they were facing."

He takes the cigarillo, lights it, takes a puff, and coughs a bit. "Very nice. Stronger than I'm used to, but very nice." He listens sympathetically to Adrian and nods. "Sounds much like what I've heard from the other Revenants. From what I understand of your condition, a Revenant is created when a sufficiently powerful Aetheric entity binds itself to the Aetheric resonance, the 'soul' if you will, of a recently deceased human. They differ from a simple reanimate in that the person's original personality and will remains intact, but the entity can attempt to override it's host's will and assume control. We saw the results of this at the riot today when the Irish boy lost control of his spirit. I don't know what purpose these entities have for choosing hosts, nor what criteria they use to pick them, though I suspect it to be nothing good. Struggle against it. Hold fast to your humanity, or else you may cause great harm unintentionally."

A rare smile graces his lips at the mention of the Society. "Ah, yes. I've met Clyde Paxton personally, in fact. A splendid gentleman. Done many good works around New Orleans. I'm a society member myself, though my gambling skills are not up to highly competitive levels." He frowns a little. "Though I was also approached by a man named Enoch Shaw, who mentioned that some of the society members have...rarefied interests, as it were. He mistook me for a Student of Hoyle, in fact, until I showed him my devices. He gave me a book that rated towns in terms of hospitality to gamblers, and asked me to keep notes of anything unusual I might encounter in my travels. I wired him about the goings on in Blackthorn months ago." He sighs. "Did he send you?"

((OOC: 22:21, Today: The Amazing Evans rolled 11,11 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (8+3)11,(6+5)11. Common Knowledge. That's a Success and Raise. Nice going, Evans.

So that means he's a member and knows a little bit about some of the Society's ultimate goals, but as he's a Mad Scientist and not a Huckster he's not fully aware of the Inner Circle, just that some of the hucksters in the society like to keep tabs on monsters in the Weird West.))

He didn't seem surprised to know that Evans had heard of the Lady Luck Society, but surprised that he seemed to know things about the Inner Circle that Adrian wouldn't otherwise have been allowed to talk about, and the name Enoch Shaw. Well, it made sense if Shaw tried to recruit him, though he still didn't yet feel the level of comfort at which he would discuss secret matters. Though there were things he could say.

"Well, I'm one of a group of members with the...rarified interests, as you call 'em. We try to keep tabs on the unnatural. Not just keep tabs of, but put down, and sorta protect folks. Shit, I guess like on shit like myself. But to answer your question, Shaw didn't send me personal, though I've met the man when he recruited me into the society and we have a trust of sorts between us." He certainly wasn't a close friend of Enoch Shaw, but it seemed the best way to describe the Inner Circle without divulging anything excessive.

"Still, I think this does fall within the interests of some of my colleagues back in New Orleans, and I might wire them if I can find five minutes when there isn't any lead flyin' about." He leaned forward as he continued, his voice a little lower now.

"Marshal, have you by chance heard of an organization called the Royal Court?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:03, Tue 01 May 2012.

This thread is closed. Please resume posting on the "Chapter 14.2: Bad Moon Rising" thread.