some mood music

Twilight, April 11th, 1879. The Lodge of the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon. Good Friday.

Jake Lawrence:

The interior of the Lodge is even darker and spookier than the outside. The smell of roasted flesh and lamp oil is almost overpowering. But there isn't a single lamp glowing inside. It's totally dark.

"This place gives me the heebie-jeebies, and no mistake." Danny whispers. "It's worse'n the feelin' at the Ranch. I don't suppose you'd care to lend me a pistol or a knife or something, out o' the kindness of your heart?"

((OOC: To explore further, you'll need a light source. All Notice Checks to explore the place will be at -2 until you get one.))

---

Twilight, April 11th, 1879. Blackthorn's church. Good Friday.

Some mood music

Charging Bear:

"Reckon I ain't got no cause to blame you for that..." Cantrell says. He stands, wincing in pain as his wounds protest, and walks after CB. "Though to be fair, you done just as much to me as I done to you. You cost me my commission, you tried to attack me while my back was turned, you let the Jellicles free to become worse monster than they already was. So don't get all self-righteous with me. We gonna have to settle things between us." He matches Charging Bear's gaze. "But I want to bring down that bastard down as much as you. The shit between us can wait until we take him down. So I propose a truce between us until that's done."

He holds out a hand. "Together?"

A counter to each of Cantrell's accusations comes to Charging Bear's mind as freely as light from the sun. You lost your commission cause you were going to murder women and children, the Jellicles are free cause you tried to kill me. but he remains quiet and listens to the other man's offer.

The native son nods, "A truce." Charging Bear takes the offered hand and shakes it to 'seal the deal'.

"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.

((OOC: CB, what do you need to get ready for your mission out to Comanche territory?))

Looking about the church Charging Bear felt a bit sad, he'd come so far and done so much but this town was pulling back towards the bad things he'd done. His grandfather had warned him that the world was a difficult place but had forgotten to tell him that it was even more difficult when you were trying to do good things.

He shifts his gaze to Cantrell as the bounty hunter mentions supplies, "I think most of what I need is on my horse. If the stables are still in one piece Swift Wind should be there. Also want to go by my room, if its still there and change - seems I've managed to ruin this bit of clothing. Where did you put my blades, Cantrell?"

OOC: Mainly just swap clothing and getting his tomahawks

"Yeah, here," the huckster mutters and hands Danny his knife. "Not much but it's sharp." he gazes inside and shakes his head.

"We'll need a torch or a lantern, I can't see much in there." Jake glances around for something he could use to make a fire or a light.

OOC:
13:55, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 1,15 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+6+3)15. Notice.
I love exploding dice

"In the saddlebags of the horse I was usin' to chase Jenny down." Cantrell grunts. "Don't know where that horse is now..."

"Outside." August says. "If'n it's one o' the ones from near the Oriental. I had to cut their reigns to keep 'em from breakin' their necks to get away from the fire, then chase 'em down after you was safe. "

The group heads outside. Cantrell heads to one of the horses with cut reigns, reaches in the saddlebags, and pulls CB's weapons forth. "I reckon you oughta stick with me. Until we catch Itza-chu, folk'll not be liable to trust you. If you're in my company, folk'll presume I've got you on my leash. Can you handle that?"

He holds the tomahawks out to CB.

In reply to Jake Lawrence (msg #3):

Jake's in luck. There's a lamp right next to the door, though it's not lit.

Danny takes the knife and sniffs. "Somethin' smells delicious. Someone be cookin' a roast somewhere?"

Picking up the lamp, Jake gives it a once over before looking at Danny. He eyes the boy for a moment then says, "Wouldn't suggest eating anything in there. Remember these folks do want to slice you up and see what makes you work. You got any matches?" Jake checks his own pockets for matches.

"These clothes ain't even me own." Danny says. "Where would I get matches?"

Luckily, Jake has a few.

In reply to Jericho Cantrell (msg #4):

A smile creeps upon Charging Bear's face, "I can play along." His hands grasp his familial weapons. The native son takes a moment to test their weight and make sure they're as he 'left' He slips the weapons into their resting places.

"Guess we'd best get going."

In reply to Danny Boy (msg #7):

"Just check your pockets kid, might be something of use in 'em," Jake says draws his Dragoon, taking a moment to make sure its alright. He then lights the lamp and looks back to Danny, "Ready?" Before Danny can say yes or no, Jake steps inside.

The trip to the Grand Bull is fairly uneventful, though they have to detour around the killing grounds the Dust Adders are busy setting up. There's a couple of challenges, but Cantrell waves them away, saying things like, "Don't worry 'bout the Injun...he's gonna get what he deserves."

They make it to the Grand Bull, and Cantrell allows CB a bit of privacy to change. As they're coming down, Charging Bear sees the clank exit the kitchen. It wanders up to him and asks:

Charging Bear arches an eyebrow at the angel, "Why do you ask,Alouette? The word has more than one meaning."

OOC: Trying to recall when CB saw Alouette last... been a while

Alouette turns round and abruptly patters off.

...but before Charging Bear can decide it's run away it's back again with a small collection of newly de-labelled tin cans. It gives these to Charging Bear in the manner of a small child presenting captured bug specimens to daddy.

"These and these had the word of 'shrimp'; high probability contents equal shrimp, like contents of tin with word of 'sardines' contains small fishes...but self does not know the nature of shrimp, and there are no sardines to help fix Deputy Vega - he needs fixing because a Number Man with another eye on a little chain thought he was undead and shot him. Self told him Deputy Vega is not undead, just differently alive, but he didn't listen much and everyone was shooting then Ranger Hawkins was Shiny and they stopped fighting and no mortals were harmed. That was a Good Thing."

"Ranger Hawkins is going to teach self how to effect whooping the ass of a man," it adds, then after a little thought and the handing over of another de-labelled tin: "This shrimps-tin had the word shrimps but also 'Fotherington-Worth's' not Acme, it is different shrimps. If you arrest people, do they stop fighting?"



[[when Cantrell was "sleeping" in the middle of the road...CB was groggy and Alouette wandered off to hunt vampires. Don't worry, it's filled you in now.]]

Cantrell, who is watching the bizarre machine, looks at Charging Bear. "What? Does this thing ever make a lick o' sense?"

At the question about arrest, though, he laughs. "God, I wish! Would certainly make my job a hell of a lot easier."

Accepting Alouette's "gift" of canned shrimp, Charging Bear nods and says, "These shrimp are a sea creatures that are edible."

The native son looks at the bounty hunter and shakes his head, "You ever have a younger sibling or a kid Cantrell?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:17, Wed 02 May 2012.

Cantrell's face falls. "I don't know. Could be, but they sold me down the river as soon as I could walk." He says. "And I ain't had time for any long-term relationships since then. What does that have to do with anything?"

Alouette looks at the cans. "Are they alive, in the cans?"

It looks at Cantrell, but doesn't seem to grasp much of what he's saying. "Hell is often easier, Cantrell, but it is a Bad Place. You would not like it there."

In reply to Jericho Cantrell (msg #15):
"Children view the world differently than we do, everything is new and amazing. Think about that for a moment." is Charging Bear's responce to Cantrell's inquiry.

In reply to Alouette (msg #16):
"No, they're dead." Charging Bear says and waits a moment or three for the angel's reaction.

"Gafas, pelotas, billetero, reloj," Alouette mutters from some half-remembered fragment, solemnly crossing itself. It clearly has no idea whatsoever what the words mean.

"Deputy Vega can eat them, then...it would be bad for him to eat alive things, and self has told him not to eat people because eating people is wrong. Do y'all know where Deputy Vega went?"

Taking in Alouette's rambling thought process, at last Charging Bear says, "I do not, where did you see him last?"

"Ambrose wanted to talk to him in a different place and they went up the stairs," it points at the same. "There are many rooms there."

It perks a moment, apparently with an idea. "If we put the shrimps on the stairs, Deputy Vega would find them when he came down the stairs, because people come down!" There's a slight ticking pause. "...unless they climbed out the windows, with a sheet." It looks to Charging Bear for prioritising advice as it continues to witter.

"...but self is out of the church now, and if the Pure Blooded Comanches are here self should find the Owl Comanche who is sometimes a lion and very heathen and tell him to shoo like John John Smith said. John John Smith was there when self told the Pure Blooded Comanches to shoo before, when Dr.Ward was having a legal dispute about a Chinese, and when the Owl Comanche went away they all done went too. Self does not think they impaled, raped, or flensed us from posterior to apex, but nobody wants to tell self what those words mean."

Another pause. " ! If Called Charging Bear comes too, there will be two Duly Appointed Representives of the Elected Marshal!"

"Alright..." Cantrell says in reply to Charging Bear. "I ain't convinced it's anything more than a big metal parrot, though. It don't sound like it understands anythin' it's sayin'..."

The bounty hunter listens to the clank and the Indian chat, then frowns as he tries to parse it out. "Now that's the dumbest thing I ever heard. What makes you think this Vega fella's gonna know what's in the can? What makes you think he'll even know it's for him? You set it on the stairs, someone'll likely trip an' break their fool neck." He listens for a bit more. "Owl Comanche? Lion? Legal dispute about a Chinese? You wanna tell the Comanches to shoo?" He seems completely befuddled, but the last line seems to sink in. "Oh. Oh hell no. That thing is NOT comin' with us. The only thing we got over them Comanche is that they don't know where comin'. That thing tags along, we gonna have every injun within a hundred miles hearin' it chatterin' away! They'd fill us full o' arrows before we got within half a mile o' their camp!"

"Angel," Alouette corrects.

"Because self knows: many people know more than self," it responds, with impeccable logic and no form of common sense.

"He was an owl but sometimes he was a lion and sometimes he looked like an old Comanche, and they all did what he said.  Dr.Ward dug up a Chinese John John Smith wanted, but the Comanche had claimed the land, so they tried to explode Dr. Ward and self and Gangatsu and AUG-US-TUS and My Man Abraham and Gus Shaw and John John Smith, but self told them to shoo and they went away instead."

"Angel," the clank corrects patiently.

The interior resembles a cross between a temple and a throne room. Tapestries and portraits line the walls, and velvet-lined benches surround the altar at the center. Against the far wall are some throne-like high-backed wooden chairs. In the corner is a knocked-over chair and desk with some disturbed papers scattered about. And in the center of the room lies a humongous, charred corpse. That seems to be where the smell is coming from.

The light from the lantern doesn't illuminate much, and the whole place looks rather cavernous. There might be some doors concealed behind the tapestries, but there are no obvious exits aside from the main doors.

In reply to Alouette (msg #22):

"I'm not sure a bunch of Comanche on a war path are going to care much for what you have to say Alouette. They don't really believe in Angels afterall. Why do you want to come with us rather than defend the people in town?"

In reply to The Stray (msg #23):

"Not exactly a friendly looking place." Jake notes as he looks about.


"Danny, stay with me here no telling what's lurking about." The huckster takes a moment to carefully sweep the room with his lamp, though the dim light does little to fight back the darkness, and notes the rather large dead person in the room.  "If you see a lantern or candle, point it out to me."

He steps closer to the corpse mostly to see if he can determine what happened here.

That occasions some ticking. "If they do not listen to angels but Called Charging Bear has also come to find the Owl Comanche, then we can tell them a Writ of Restraint is occasioned and they will go away like Nathanial Frost."

It doesn't seem to have realised they are going anywhere on their own account. "Where are y'all going? If the Pure Blooded Comanches go away, the folks will not need defending," it points out.

Jericho laughs. "A restrainin' order!? Against Comanche? You got some screws loose up in your brainpan." He looks at Charging Bear. "Come on, let's stop playin' with the tin can and get movin'. We're losin' time. If Itza-chu is with the Comanche, they'll be sending him out scoutin', maybe even leadin' a small radin' party to stir up trouble. If we catch up with 'em we might get the bastard and his whole team afore the main body arrives, leavin' 'em without reconnaissance. It'd make it easier to lead 'em into them traps the townsfolk are settin' up."

Charging Bear nods to the bounty hunter before turning back to the angel "Alouette, you should find Evans or Ranger Hawkins and help defend the town." He doesn't sound overly confident about the choice despite knowing its probably the best one.

In reply to Jake Lawrence (msg #25):

"The whole godforsaken town ain't friendly." Danny mutters. "What makes this place so special?"

Still, he does stick by Jake as he examines the corpse.

It's big, over seven feet tall if it were standing...and there's a lot of severe burns all over it. It looks like someone smashed a lamp on it and set it alight. And there's something else about it, too...

((OOC: Make a Notice check for me, please.))

"This place is foreboding; the town is like any other little town you'd come across anywhere in the country."

OOC: One notice roll
13:18, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 4,5 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,5. Notice.

"What is brainpan?" the clank asks, probably wondering what Cantrell's laughing for.

It stands and looks up at Charging Bear a little while, but seems to decide that since Called Charging Bear is good at decisions, that's probably what it should do. "Okay," it says.

Being unsure where to find Evans upstairs and knowing Ranger Hawkins was Busy last it looked, it just stands there a bit trying to work out where to go.

Adrian wandered back downstairs, one hand casually resting on his holstered weapon. One thing that he had learned about his hometown was that in Blackthorn now, he could practically always expect someone to be shooting at him.

He walked right up to the clank, and gave something of an awkward grin. "Howdy, uh, Alouette. Marshal Evans says you think I should be on a seafood diet." No matter what the Marshal said, he still felt a little awkward talking to it. To him.

Evans is, as a mater of fact, on his way downstairs, with Deputy Vega in tow. he looks around the bar, empty save for Cantrell, Alouette, and Charging Bear.

"Oh, joy." He says at the sight of Cantrell. "Should I be trying to stop another lynching?"

"We've got a truce goin', Marshal. Seems that Charging Bear here isn't the only injun around with that name."

"Oh really? What was your first clue about that, hmm? Perhaps you should have listened to Miss Hawkins when she told you that. There's a handbill right over there...right over the one you pasted to get the mob after my deputy. Completely different person, Mr. Cantrell. Of course, I expect you've been too busy letting bandits escape and blowing up theaters to notice."

Cantrell bristles. "I don't need your commentary. We're goin' after the other one right now anyhow. And them Jellicles wouldn't have escaped if someone hadn't tried to shoot me in the back while I was watchin' 'em." he glares at Charging Bear. "But be that as it may, we ain't stayin'. We goin' to the Comanches, wherever they may be."

"Well, don't let the door hit you on the way out. And for God's sake, please try not to make the situation any worse than it already is."

"Howdy!" Alouette chirps at Adrian, and proffers an unlabelled can at him. "This is shrimps - you can eat them; they are dead inside."

The gambler accepted the profferred can with a chuckle. "Well, when I got time to cook later, maybe I'll fix somethin' up. I reckon' we don't got much time for that now, no how. You comin' with us?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:44, Thu 03 May 2012.

"Yes, they will help fix you up plus fast." It tilts its weird, birdlike head at the question. "Where are y'all going?"

"Into the lion's den," he said. "To dance with death." He cringed a little bit after he said that on the inside, thinking back to his conversation with Evans.

"And by that, I mean we're gonna deal with them Comanche. Make sure they don't kill folk."

"Is Ambrose going dancing? Self was going to find the Owl Comanche - who is sometimes a lion - to tell him to shoo and make the other Pure Blooded Comanches go away but Called Charging Bear said to help Ambrose and Ranger Hawkins in this place, and Called Charging Bear is clever like Ambrose but you can understand him when he talks; he always knows what to do."

There's a short pause. "Deputy Vega does not have to go outside Town, Texas, if you do done stop being a witch and repent. Witchcraft is bad for you, also folks around you, and makes it plus hard for you to hear God, or even the goodness of your own spirit."

The clank leans in a touch, its posture reminiscent of when Wildcat is imparting Serious Information to it. "You should always let your conscience be your guide, not the demons in your mind."

He leaned back away from Alouette as it...he...leaned forward, looking somewhat out of countenance for a minute. "I don't know what in the hell you're talkin' about. Who the hell is Ambrose, and why is he dancing? And what's an Owl Comanche?"

Attempting to engage in conversation with Alouette left him a little bit distressed, but moreso confused.

"Self is talking in Texas, not Hell," Alouette corrects mildly, copying the leaning away.

"He is Ambrose," it points at Evans. "You said y'all were going dancing, with death and possibly Comanches, and the Owl Comanche is a Comanche who is also an owl. He is also sometimes a lion. When he is an owl, he is plus plus soft. When he is not an owl or a lion he is approximately as high as you and has lots of eyebrow-" it points at the frown area on Adrian to help him understand, "-and black hands and feels of angry. The other Pure Blooded Comanches do what Owl Comanche tells them to." Another slight pause. "When he is not an owl. Or a lion. He can't talk then."

"Oh, Ambrose. Sorry, I'd just gotten used to thinkin' about him as the Marshal. Or just Evans. But I guess he does have a first name too."

"We ain't really goin' dancing. It's just a phrase. Means we're gonna be in a risky situation. So when you say he's an owl, do you mean he turns into a bird?"

OOC:  Wildcat was actually going out to check on the progress of defenses to see if things are going okay despite the distractions of the vampires, the fire, the fight, etc.

Streetwise roll?  Maybe figure out Carl is missing with a success/raise?

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #42):

OOC: William followed you outside to do that "talk" you wanted to have with him, so you can resolve that too. Make a Streetwise check for checking on things. And yes, a raise will net you some extra info.

"Technically, it's Ambrosius." Evans says, watching the conversation with some amusement. "Though I prefer Ambrose among friends, as I've mentioned to Alouette. It sounds like the leader of the Comanche has the ability to shapeshift. That could prove problematic. And what do the black hands represent, I wonder?" He turns to Charging Bear. "Do you have any idea what black hands represent among the Comanche? I know that is not your tribe, but any insight you have would be helpful."

"Black hands?" Cantrell pipes in. "Itza-chu has black hands. He done said it were some kind o' warrior thing. Never pressed him about it, though."

((OOC: CB, if you want you can make a Common Knowledge check, +2 because there's info you'd be in a position to know.))

07:05, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 5,3 using 1d6+2,1d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 3,1. Wisdom of Streets.

I know better than to ask if the Ranger Badge gives any bonuses to this roll in Blackthorn.  XD

In reply to The Amazing Evans (msg #44):

Thinking back Charging Bear tries to recall the meaning of Itza-chu's blackened hands.

OOC:
13:01, Today: Charging Bear rolled 4,6 using 1d6+2,1d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 2,4. Common Knowledge.

Charging Bear remembers Itza-chu bragging about his black hands, claiming it was a mark of "Raven's Favor." Among the Cherokee, though, black hands are considered an ill-omen, because a person with black hands is said to have murdered the spirit of an ancestor. It's feared almost as much as the Raven tattoo, and anyone who bears either is put to death if discovered. There's whispered rumors of a group known as The Last Sons who all bear stained black hands and unleashed an unspeakable evil on the world, but Util CB met itza-chu he'd always thought they were rumors.

The native son's shoulders set slightly as though a heavy weight just landed on them. "He told me once... that it was mark of Raven's Favor. My people take it as a sign of wickedness, an ill-omen. It is said a person with black hands has murdered the spirit of an ancestor. He took it as a sign of greatness.

When I was a child I had heard whispers of a group, calling themselves The Last Sons that bore the mark and the Raven tattoo, and this group it was said would bring great evil into the world. Until I saw Itza-chu, when I joined the Army, I thought it was all just a scary story to make us children behave."

"Ambrose has lots of name," Alouette informs Adrian. "An owl is a kind of a bird that is mostly made of soft, but has plus plus pointy bits also, and big eyes."

"The Owl Comanche might want to burn the world down," the clank adds in to the mystical discussion, as helpfully as possible. "That would be bad. What is Itza-Chu?"

"Itza-Chu is not a what but a who." he pauses to see if Alouette understand, he notes the angel doesn't seem to then says, "Itza-Chu is man, an Apache."

Alouette tilts its head, clearly doing its best to grasp the difference between a word that signifies a who and a word that signifies a what. There's an intense 5-second pause before it queries:

"...who is 'Apache'?"

"An Apache is a race of people." its obvious Charging Bear is probably great with kids.

OOC:  and at parties
This message was last edited by the player at 19:13, Fri 04 May 2012.

"Like Irishes and Pure Blooded Comanches? If Itza-Chu AnApache Man also wants to burn the world down, y'all should probably arrest him, but then not let him go out again until he's sorry."

It seems to think this idea is a bit revoloutionary.


[[Charging Bear is an awesome clank daddy, and wins against the English language.]]
This message was last edited by the player at 19:06, Fri 04 May 2012.

"We weren't plannin' on takin' him alive." Cantrell grunts.

"High probability he will do plus many bad things if y'all wait for him to die," the clank points out.

Pretty much everything Alouette said seemed to cause him a mixture of confusion and amusement, leaning towards the latter, but he started to follow what had become a brand new conversation about the Apache. There was some kind of situation here developing.

"I don't know everything 'bout Injuns, but I thought Apaches and Comanches didn't get along." From what he had heard, 'didn't get along' was an understatement.

Jericho pats his holsters at the clank's comment. "Oh, weren't plannin' waitin', either. Got a little somethin' here to speed his demise along."

He shrugs at Adrian's comment. "Guess killin' white folk is more important to 'em than whatever bad blood exists between their tribes. He's a scout and he's tetched in the head. I reckon them two things is very useful to the renegades. You didn't know Itza-chu like I done. There's a mighty big leak in his brainpan somewhere, 'cause he finds pain funny. Causin' it, takin' it...he's a regular Marquis de Sade. The Army had him because he seemed willin' to take on his kinfolk...then we found out he wanted to take on anyone, in the most horrific ways he could manage. I can't tell you how many times I had to reprimand him for takin' scalps after a fight, and you didn't put him near prisoners unless you wanted him to..." he shudders. "Never mind. There's a reason he got the boot. Oughta gotten locked up as well, but by his court martial came I was facin' my own, so I didn't have no say in that."

The clank peers to see what Cantrell's got. "Logic error, Cantrell: high probability Itza-Chu would injure people if given guns, not demise faster."

"I don't think he's planning on giving the man the gun, Alouette. He's gonna shoot him, which would speed the Apache's demise." He gave a little chuckle at the idea of Cantrell handing this fella a gun.

In reply to Danny Boy (msg #29):

"Big man went down in an inferno I bet... explains the cooked smell." Jake says as looks over the dead.

"He's a rotten man if ever there was one." Charging Bear says solemnly. "Now he's taken to call himself by my name and causing all sort of havoc while doing so."

"Won't be anything left to lock up if he did to Rose what you said Cantrell."

"If y'all make holes in Itza-Chu he will have anger," the clank advises people in general.

"Plants grow," it informs Charging Bear. "Like, similar to, skin of mortals when God fixes people...if Itza-Chu hurt a rose the rose will be the same, even if it grows a different way to previous flower growing."

"This particular Rose is a woman, not a flower." Charging Bear says with obvious difficulty.

The clank tilts its head at him, perhaps picking up that the tone has changed but not grasping the significance. What combination of woman and flower it imagines or how the injury and healing play out in its brass head is anyone's guess.
"Is that different?"

"The bounty states dead or alive. I reckon as long as there's enough left to identify, I don't much care what you do to him." Cantrell says. He frowns at the flower confusion. "Sure is. You can't try to rape a flower."

((OOC: Cantrell is a bad clank daddy.))
This message was last updated by the player at 22:07, Mon 07 May 2012.

[[you summoned Itza-Chu! Quick, kill 'im!]]

"What is 'rape'?" Alouette tries gamely, big lenses looking up to the bounty hunter. "Is it like witchcraft? Self does not know another thing that makes people broken forever minus neglecting to repent...why can't Rose get better, like flowers?"


[[He'll have to deal with it, then. And his own attitudes to women and sexual assault, apparently.]]

Adrian didn't have kids, and he didn't reckon he'd be much good with them. He scratched his head a bit at Alouette's question and looked helplessly between the others. "Somethin' real bad, Alouette. Worse'n killin', I think, or leastaways just as bad."

He cleared his throat, clearly not interested in answering further questions on the subject from the clank that was sure to follow. He'd leave that duty to Deputy Bear and the other fella. "I'm gonna get somethin' to drink." He moved over to the bar, and searched for another bottle of whiskey and a glass, taking his time about it.

((OOC: >_< That'll teach me to post while I'm half awake. Fixed now.))

"Some things, once they get broke, can't be fixed no more." Cantrell says. "It's like in humpty-Dumpty. You ever hear of Humpty-Dumpty?" He goes off into the kitchen, and comes back with an egg.

"Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall." He sets the egg on the countertop.

"Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall." He knocks the egg off the counter, sending it to the floor, cracking it and spilling egg everywhere. Jericho reaches down, picks up a large piece of the shell, and puts it in Alouette's hand.

"All the king's horses and all the king's men can't ever put Humpty-Dumpty back together again. See? That's what rape is. It cracks a person up like an eggshell, only on the inside. Maybe they'll heal. Maybe they won't. But they won't ever be the same after."

He walks toward the door. "We've wasted enough time here, Charging Bear. Let's get this shin-dig started."

Alouette stands and holds the shell a very long time, quiet and still enough that those who still believe it's simple clockwork might think it's run down. It's not clear how much of Cantrell's lecture it managed to grasp, but it certainly seems bewildered he took his metaphor out on an innocent egg. It looks up.

"Why did he do that?"

The question doesn't seem to be addressed to anyone specifically. The clank spends a while longer looking after Cantrell, then crouches and, with infinite care all the more striking for the clumsy metal fingers which could probably crush bone as easily as chook eggs, starts picking up eggshell.

It certainly appears that way. In fact, it looks like someone covered him in lamp oil before lighting him up...or perhaps broke a lamp over him, to judge by the bits of glass around where he fell.

There's something else, too. He looks all stitched up, like he had a lot of surgery recently...

And then the corpse twitches. Danny yelps in shock as a voice rumbles from the not-quite-dead man.

"Huuuuuurrrrrrt." He complains as he begins to rise. "Neeeeeeeed. Frrrrrrreeeeeeesh. Paaaaaaaaarts."

((OOC: Make a Fear check, + Grit, -4 for the local Fear Level, and draw initiative cards. If you want to use Danny as an ally in this, let me know and I'll post up his stats.))
This message was last edited by the player at 23:26, Mon 07 May 2012.

In reply to Mr. Lurch (msg #70):
Jake take a halfstep back and lines up his pistol on the not so dead, dead man. "You'd best look else where fella, ain't parts here for you."

OOC:
09:54, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 13,10 using 1d8-1,1d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of (8+6)14,(6+5)11. Spirit (-4 Fear +3 Grit).

09:55, Today: Jake Lawrence drew the single card: 10H using a deck of 54 cards. Initiative.

"Jayses Christ!" Danny yelps as the giant starts getting up. He already has the knife Jake gave him at the ready, though it seems tiny and useless.

But as the pair turn toward the massive monster, Jake spies something scuttling into the lamplight...something that looks like a flesh-colored spider...

((OOC: Danny attempts a Fear Check. His Grit is equal to the Fear Level.

09:30, Today: Danny Boy rolled 5,5 using d8,d6. Fear!

While he's trying to beat down his terror, the Manitou inside attempts to seize control. I roll this in secret. Danny passes, and draws his card: RJ!

I draw cards for all the other NPCs...There' another monster in here, it just had good stealth rolls until now.

Jake, did you want to control Danny during this fight?))

---

Turn order:
Danny Boy: RJ!
Mr. Lurch: AC
The Thing: KC
Jake Lawrence: 10H

In reply to Alouette (msg #69):

"I think he was trying to prove his point." Charging Bear tells the Angel as he shakes his head slightly at how Cantrell handles things. Brute force as always he muses in his mind as he watches Alouette  for a moment or two longer before following after the bounty hunter.

In reply to Danny Boy (msg #72):

OOC: Sure I can run ole Danny Boy. Do you want to shift this to fight to a separate thread?

Oddly, the clank doesn't respond to Charging Bear's voice, crouching with intense small-child focus on picking up bits of broken egg. What it intends to do with a handful of eggshell and goop is anyone's guess, but its application is almost preternatural, a soft hiss of steam or static sifting from the automaton's general direction.

He looked from the Marshal, to Alouette, back to the Marshal, and back to Alouette again. "Ah....you comin' Alouette? Or you gonna sit there pickin' up broken egg mess all day? Anybody can mop up egg, but not everybody can run around talkin' crazy and tellin' folks not to get into witchcraft."

Evans sighs an shakes his head. "Alouette doesn't just preach about the dangers of Witchcraft, my good sir...Alouette has the singularly useful ability to detect witchcraft. This may prove handy, if we are to uncover this shapeshifting Comanche he mentioned. As it is, we should probably get to City Hall and see to the defenses."

He kneels by Alouette. "Alouette? There's nothing you can do for the egg, I'm sorry. We need to get going...we need to find the Owl Comanche. Can you help us do that?"

Alouette looks up only briefly, then resumes its task. "Self is not mortal, Ambrose; self will fix it, make it better." Pathetically, it's trying to get the goop back in the egg. It's done a remarkably good job of scooping it up, though

"It had going-to-be life, not mortal life when Cantrell tried to destroy it, so it is not dead...it still has not-yet energies, self can make it better, make it right."
It gently takes Evans' hands and dumps its approximately-reconstituted egg in them before he realises what it's doing, folding its own long fingers around his and the mess within.

"We beg of Thee, Lord,
to let the grace of Thy blessing
come upon this egg which Thou hast made.
God has granted us healing, and He doth fulfill His promises,
through the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ,
who liveth for ever and ever." It pronounces.

Evans is probably on the point of saying something in disgust by now, as the tepid goop starts to ooze...only his nerves are about to inform him that doesn't feel like viscous liquid moving. It feels like something alive.

Adrian just shook his head in disbelief as he watched the clank pour the remains of a broken egg into the Marshal's hand. He put back the glass of whiskey he had poured for himself, even knowing it wouldn't do him any good. He just liked the way it felt going down.

Evans looks down at the goop in his hands, and yelps as something does, indeed, start to move...

He opens his hands, and a small black bird flutters out into the bar.

No, not a bird, though it does have crow-like wings. But the body is too long and sinuous, with scales in patches along its rattlesnake tail. It looks like some ungainly cross between a chicken, a crow, and a snake. It perches right on Adrian's glass and stares at him with glowing red eyes and hisses at him from it's fanged beak...

((OOC: Yay random Cockatrice!

Adrian, make a Fear check, please (+ grit, - 4 Fear Level). Then make a Vigor roll or suffer an automatic Wound from the thing's stare.))

The clank looks up at the awkward flight of the tiny fuzzy cockatrice.

"Hmm. Probability error," it observes.

OOC:

Fear check: 6...is that a pass?

((OOC: Unless the roll an attack against Parry, a 4 is always a success, so yes, 6 passes.))

"Now, what in tarnation are you?" asked Adrian to the strange creature that had perched on his glass, not in a shocked or mean voice but in a curious voice. He was truly surprised to see it, but he didn't shake easy, at least unless he had a bullet in him. Accustomed to seeing the strange and the weird of the world, he pulled out a saucer from nearby and poured a little whiskey in it.

"Drink up lil' feller, you're gonna need it. We gots us some Comanches to fight."

((OOC: You still need to make a Vigor roll to avoid damage from the gaze. But make a Persuasion roll as well...I want to see if you can actually make this thing into a pet...))

OOC:
Vigor 7
Persuade 8 (spent a white and a red)

This message was last edited by the player at 19:30, Wed 09 May 2012.

The peedie bird-like horror looks at Adrian, looks at the saucer, looks at Adrain again, then hops over to the saucer and dips it's beak into the whiskey. It seems to enjoy the drink, the snake tail shaking as it sips. It looks up again.

"Turn back!" It chirps, the voice sounding almost, but not quite, like a little girl. "Turn back!"

Then it continues sipping the whiskey.

Evans, for his part, is staring goggle-eyed at the tiny abomination, his hand reaching for the hose attached to the tank on his back...
This message was last edited by the player at 02:23, Thu 10 May 2012.

He grinned admiringly as the bird drank the whiskey. "Take it easy, Marshal, it's just thirsty. Alouette, that was a neat trick. How'd you do that? And what do you call one o' these?"

"Self fixed it," Alouette responds, pattering up and getting in Evans' way. "...but there is plus plus witchcraft around Town, Texas, creating tangles like, similar to, vampire tumbleweed, so the almost-bird was minus probability."

As to what to call it, the angel leans down to the itty bitty eldritch abomination and asks: "Do you have a name?"

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall!" The little demon bird chirps. "Humpty Dumpty had a great fall!"

That occasions a bit of pause. "You're a real thing now, Snake Fuzz Bird, you need a real name," it looks to the others. "How are real names made?"

He didn't understand but fragments of what the clank said. It seemed to him that Alouette was almost speaking another language entirely. Or at least a really strange version of English. But he'd learned to understand strange after moving to New Orleans, so he'd eventually figure out whatever Alouette was tryin' to get at. "Just pick somethin' that sounds good to you," he said, shrugging.

There's some concentrated ticking. "Exodus?"

"Sounds a good a name as any to me. Want some more whiskey, Exodus? Maybe it'll bring a plague on the Comanches that are tryin' to attack this town." He poured a little more whiskey into the saucer, and then poured himself a bit too.

"A name?" Evans asks incredulously, the nozzle of his device still at the ready. "Why are we even talking about giving that...that unholy thing a name? It's a spawn of the troubles here, a symptom of the evil that has saturated this place!" He lights a match and lights something at the tip of the nozzle. A blue flame glows as he takes aim. "It should burn!"

Alouette turns and tries to look into the nozzle, then at Evans, still in the way.
"Logic error, Ambrose: it has not caused harm to any mortals."

[[at 5 persuasion, if you like. Would it recognise the blue glow as fire, or is it more of a glowy glow?]]

"Now there's no need for that, Marshal," he said, moving his hand protectively between Exodus and the flame.

"It's just a bird...snake thingy. And Alouette made it, and you said he was a walkin' miracle. What harm could it possibly do?"

---

OOC:
Persuasion...3
This message was last edited by the player at 17:04, Thu 10 May 2012.

The littlist horror hops up on Adrian's shoulder. "Murder!" it chirps.

Evans looks at the bird, and then at the two beings trying to protect it. He sighs, and lowers his device, more out of a wish to avoid harming them in the process of destroying the thing than out of anything else.

"Fine." he says. "But if it turns all of you to stone or eats your brains out while you sleep, don't come crying back to me about it." he wanders over to the bar, pulls a bottle, picks up a glass, then, thinking better of it, tosses the glass away and starts taking long pulls from the bottle.

((OOC: Alouette would recognize the tiny flame as fire, yes.))
This message was last updated by the player at 00:43, Fri 11 May 2012.

Alouette hastily patters off, then returns at a trot from the kitchen with a wet and steaming dishcloth. It throws this on the hose nozzle.

Adrian laughs uncontrollably at the wet dishcloth being thrown on the flame, but something came to his mind.

"Alouette, I got to ask you a favor. Could you not go around telling people that I'm differently alive or whatever? They might try to do somethin' bad to me."

The machine tilts its head at him a little.
"Self can tell them not to...people should be kind to the differently alive so that they have lots of positive energies, not negative ones which can fill them up and go all corrupted because spirit creature friends only eat aetheric energies, and when someone differently alive has a spirit creature friend in what it gets fed goes into that person's self, too," it 'explains'.

"Well, that would work if they'd listen to me. But if they decide not to listen to me, it's gonna be too late and then who knows how many negative energies will be around. If you just don't talk about it, though, that would be easier still - to have more positive energies..." He hoped he was getting through to it...him.

"Not your self, this self."
It points to itself with a slight *tok* of finger on casing. "Folks always listen to angels, unless they are done very heathen, or unbelievers, or Gus Shaw - he is a Bad Man - or busy," it informs him.

"If folk know you are differently alive, they will also not think you are undead, example: zombie, and you can be nice to them so they won't be frightened of differently alive people any more and make anyone else who is differently alive plus worse..." there's a bit more ticking, then to Evans:

"Are there laws for differently alive people?"

He sighed in resignation. "You're gonna get me killed again, Alouette. Double dead. Angels don't want people to get killed violently. Are you an angel o' death?"

"Dead!" Exodus chips cheerfully. "Killed! Death! Zombie!"

"It doesn't quite work like that, Alouette." Evans says, taking another swig from his bottle. "People fear things they don't understand. Coming back from death, no matter what the process, is a terrifying thing for people to face. And revenants can be dangerous, whether or not they've been fed fish. It's best if you don't draw attention to the fact that Adrian is differently alive in the first place. It's safer for him. You might not be present to talk people down if they are feeling disagreeable in the matter. It's a sad fact of life that people do not, in fact, always listen to angels. If you want to keep him safe, keep his status a secret."

"No..." static murmurs "..it doesn't help."

"So we should make everyone understand first?" the automaton asks, probably as near as it can get to deviously concealing something. It wanders up and deprives Evans of bottle. "If you drink too much forgetting you will not remember the Pure Blooded Comanches, Ambrose," it reminds him gently.

"I see this discussion on discretion may be an exercise in futility, Marshal. If we're going to go help those folks with the Comanches, maybe we best go now before it's too late. If Alouette wants everyone in town to try and kill me, well, we'll sort that out later," he said.

"What is 'discretion'?" The clank asks, then does the Wildcat Hero Stance as it thoroughly informs the huckster:

"Self cannot lie...but no-one has killed anyone differently alive in Town, Texas, therefore aliveness does not equal murder probability."

OOC: We did move Sally back to the house before riding off, though. Don't want to leave her lying there...

Murphy leads the way, guiding Sally's grieving father and her unconscious mother back to the town.
Patrick looks back a few times, mostly to make sure that Joel is still behind him. He's at a loss for what he could say to ease the pain.

Maybe Flora or Father O'Rourke will know what to say...

Once they're in Blackthorn he searches for the Marshal.


OOC: 19:43, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 4,2 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,2. Notice.

In The Grand Bull:

Evans sighs. "Discretion is the better part of valor, I'm told. It's the quality of behaving in such a way as to avoid causing offense or revealing information best kept private. Such as the status of one being differently alive in the company of those, like Gus Shaw, whom might take offense to that status simply because the status exists." he takes another swig from the bottle. "Believe me, Alouette, when I say that while no one has yet succeeded at killing a revenant in Blackthorn, there have been numerous attempts to do such. Remember your friend the Irish boy! Remember how often he's almost been killed, even in spite of your warnings. Keep that in mind...unless someone has a good reason to know about Deputy Vega's condition, you should keep it to yourself. It's safer for him that way."

---

Heading into Town:

Murphy can't seem to find Evans just by looking.

((OOC: That would be a Streetwise check to find his current location))

But he does see a knot of Dust Adders, lead by Gus, chatting near the Grand Bull and looking about worriedly. Frank spots Murphy and his charges and waves him over.

"You look like Hell!" he says. "What happened? Comanche?"

08:14, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 1,3 using d4-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 3,5. Streetwise.

"Aye, mate. Comanche ... and other things. Ye seen the Marshall somewhere? Emma Robertson was bit. The Doc's out on the ranch, won't come, so Evans the only thing we got right now. And where's Carl?"

"Feh." Frank spits.

"You'd be better off takin' her to the preacher man." Dishonest Abe opines. "Evans ain't good for nothin'."

"He'll be a good pincushion for Injun arrowheads." Big Tom says. Some of the others guffaw, but Gus isn't having it.

"Enough o' that," the huge roughneck growls at the others, and strides up to Murphy. "Carl's gone missin'. Bill was the last one who seen 'em...said he was going after that mick Yankee what got loose again. That was much too long ago...shoulda been back by now. I was about to organize a small searchin' party. Jeb's missin', too. Carl sent him out after the Sutlers...they ain't come in. You say the Comanche were pokin' about at the Robertsons? How many?"

I'm a mick yankee, too, ye dirtbellied snake.

Murphy didn't like Shaw. And he hoped that, eventually, Carl would turn out to be the new leader of the Adders, and not Gus.

"Evans' a bloody yank, sure, but he's got some talent at mendin' people. We'll need Father O'Rourke to do the proper burial of Sally. The little girl didn't make it."

There was bad blood between Evans and the Adders, and perhaps even rightfully so. But there was no reason to have the Robertsons suffer for it.

To Gus:
"Just one, but there was something weird about him. He's all grey, like he'd stepped out of a picture. Not a painting, a photograph. Shot him right here", he tips between his eyes, "with me pistol, but the bugger just got up and ran away. Them indians play with dirty tricks."
He turns around for a quick glance at the Robertsons.
"If yer searchin' for Carl, I'll be comin with ye. Got his horse and all."

"Gus Shaw is not mortal either, also he tries to hurt many people, because he is a Bad Man...and Danny Albatross is bad at making friends: when he repents and is more clever at being a human then folks will stop trying to kill him, which will be a Good Thing because if the baby thunderbird that lives in his chest is fed plus plus negative energies that could help the forces of darkness commence early apocalypse from Town, Texas...but if it gets plus plus good energies his spirit bird friend might save all the things, so that people won't die..." there's a ticking pause.

"...should self not inform y'all about things like, similar to, Danny Albatross? Are y'all frightened of him?" It looks from Evans to Adrian.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:45, Sat 12 May 2012.

Given Gus knew that, it's likely his comment intentional, possibly aimed at reminding the rest of the boys assembled about the fight they'd gotten in over taking the Bushwhackers prisoner to begin with.

"Talent. Right." Gus snorted. "Look, you wanna go bother him, he was in the Grand Bull last I saw." he hikes a thumb over to the Saloon.

At the mention of Sally, several of the boys doff their hats.

"Damn shame." Frank mutters.

"Them redskins gonna pay for that." Big Tom says.

"How?" asks Abe. "What're we gonna do against that black magic they got?"

"Reckon knives'll work just fine." Gus says, patting the scalps tied to his belt. Murphy noticed there were three new ones he hadn't seen before. "They attacked me an' Mike earlier. I saw a bullet bounce of'a one o' them fancy shirts the brave wore...but one o' the fancy dans we was escortin' to Ward done shot 'em again, and that time the bullet worked. And when I closed in, the knife sliced his locks just fine. Maybe it ain't reliable, what they got goin'. Or maybe we done get that new preacher to bless some bullets, see if'n that make a difference. Hell, if they're sneakin' 'round town, maybe we can catch one and throw things at it until we find out what works." he frowns. "Though that bit about bein' all gray's new. Last ones we fought were all normal-colored. I don't reckon the Circle W's heard that one yet...we gotta get a message back there. Mike knows about the shirts, I think, as well as the dandy, but I'd like to make sure."

"Bill said somethin' about some fella bein' rescued from the Comanche camp." Felix says. "Maybe he knows somethin' we don't."

"Where's he?"

"Think he was at the church arguin' with the preacher man."

Gus frowns again, thinking, then looks at Murphy. "Right. You, Abe, and Tom go to the church. Meet up with Bill...he's the last one who seen Carl. One o' you's gonna need to talk to the preacher man about blessin' bullets...think Carl had some idea about that, he had some o' the boys pullin' lead from the church eaves. If that fella who done escaped the Comanche's there, send 'em this way so we can know what the fuck we're up against. Felix, you take Mrs. Robertson to Evans, stand by to punch his teeth out if'n he can't help none. Any questions?"

Patrick nods, then turns around to Joel. "Emma's going ta be fine, Joel. I'll find ye later, talk this whole thing over, alright?"

Then he clicks his tongue and rides slowly towards the church.

He thought for a second about setting the record straight about Sally, but the more fire they had in their hearts, the easier it would be to fight off the Comanche.

In reply to Alouette (msg #114):

"No, I don't suppose he is, is he?" Evans says. "But there's a large difference between Mr. Shaw and Danny...Danny lost control of the...the 'baby thunderbird' while Mr. Shaw seems quite in control of whatever powers he's developed. Danny is what military men might term a loose cannon--dangerous to himself and others simple because of his existence. You seem certain he will repent of his actions. What do you base this assertion on? What proof has he demonstrated that he intends any such thing? You talk of repentance, as if that is a state desired by all beings. It isn't. You can lead a horse to water, Alouette...you can't make them drink."

So saying, he takes another deep drink from his bottle.

"Frightened? Hell yes I'm frightened. I'm terrified. I've been living in a state of near constant horror punctuated by brief storms of absolute panic since this whole mess started. Not a single thing I've done has had any positive effect on me, on you, on the deputies I've hired, on the people of this town, on the Dust Adders...on anyone. I've been a complete abject failure, Alouette."

"failure!" chirp the little demon bird.

Evans glares at it, then continues. "Everyone's been coming to me, looking to me as a force for good. And in the beginning, I thought I was. like an egotistical idiot, I thought I could be the marshal this town needs, the force for law and order required to clean it up. But I have failed at everything I've tried to do for this town, and the more I learn about it, the worse everything gets. Every! Last! Thing!" he takes another long, long pull from the bottle.

"Everything's a total, utter, complete mess. There's no hope left. None. Even if we all survive the night, the morning won't bring any release. You talk about the coming apocalypse. This is it. It's here. Blackthorn is Hell, Alouette, and we're all damned and doomed to burn."

"burn! burn!"

The automaton tilts its head, listening. "Logic error, Ambrose: if something is not loud and flying, like, similar to, a human baby thrown far up in the air, it does not mean it is not controlling, destructive. Gus Shaw has done many wicked things and his snake friend does not stop him, though it gives him powers."

The headtilt goes the other way. "Horses desire water sometimes: creatures and plants need to drink, otherwise they die. Souls want to go up, not down, like creatures grow...they just forget sometimes - if you drank less forgetting, high probability you would also strive upwards, and feel better nearer the Light. Horses may also be asked to drink."

"Ambrose should stop failing," it tells him. "God will help you. Y'all have two angels to help you be minus fear, also." Short pause. "...would you like a hug?"

It listens to the rest of the drunken ramblings with all seriousness, (as far as may be discerned) watching the broken Marshal with that strange glow deep in its lenses. "Not so, Ambrose," it informs him with absoloute authority.
"Hell is much worse. You should probably pray."

In reply to Mad Irish Murphy (msg #116):

"So how you wanna play this?" Big Tom asks as the group nears the church. "Should we just start jawin' with the new preacher man, or just hook up with Bill?"

"I hope Carl's alright," Dishonest Abe mutters. "Bulletproof Comanche...I don't like to think on it. I hope he's alright."

"Carl's alright. He's a tough sonovabitch, takes after his pa. Them Comanche's try to scalp him, they'll have a fight on their hands, bulletproof or not. Which I ain't so sure on, myself. I think Gus just missed, don't want to admit it."

"Did you really hit that one you saw, Paddy? Did you?"

"Irish, hit somethin'?" Tom snorts. "Ha. That'll be the day. I bet ya'll tried to talk 'm to death. 'Oh, no, Mr. Savage, don't go tryin' to rape an' murder an' such! We's decent folk here, so won't you go and move on somewhere else, thank you kindly?' Why, I bet he just got bored and wandered off while you was jawin'."

In reply to The Dust Adders (msg #119):

"That was a horrible Irish accent ye did there, Tommyboy. But then again, ye are pretty stupid.
He grins at Tom to soften the insult.
I saw it with me own eyes, I hit him, as Christ is me witness.
Speakin' of the Lord, I'll have a quick talk with Father O'Rourke. Won't be but a minute, then we meet up with Bill."

He didn't get the first part about Gus, but he figured he would get a chance to catch up on that later. There seemed to be a lot more going on here than he had ever imagined.

"Don't sound so despondent, Marshal. Can't nobody succeed without failin' a few times first. From what you've told me, you're new at this Marshal business anyway, so you gotta expect at least some failure at the outset even in an ordinary town. And this ain't no ordinary town, or so it seems. I’m sure if we keep at it, we can improve things."

He cleared his throat as he spoke more. "The more time I spend here, the more I get the sense that we seem to have a cascading series of related and unrelated problems, some dealing with the supernatural, mixed up with a web of petty but deadly serious personal grievances. I can barely even keep it all straight in my head, but I do know that we can’t really do it on our own. We need local engagement. I know these people, and I think I can maybe bring some of them around to at least helpin’ deal with the shitstorm we got goin’ on here. Some people here will respect you for what you do, but others will mistrust you for bein’ different. I can talk to both of these types of people. And I can’t promise that I’ll be able to bring them around, but I can try.”

In reply to Mad Irish Murphy (msg #120):

"Right." Tom says. "We'll meet up at City Hall." The two Dust Adders stop at the crossroads, leaving Murphy to travel on.

Blackthorn's church is a simple affair, just a large box with a belltower as a steeple.

Inside the church is mostly empty. There's signs of the makeshift hospital it became a few hours ago, when the riot happened. Murphy wasn't there, but he'd heard that the Mayor had tried to turn the townsfolk against the Ranger girl. He'd been too busy riding back and forth to the ranch delivering messages to really process it all.

Now, though, only the preacher remained...Father O'Rourke.

Murphy had known him before he'd joined the cloth, though. They'd grown up together, though he'd moved to America when he was but a lad. They'd met again at that battle in Missouri. On opposite sides. Which was why O'Rourke had gotten the small bayonet scar just under his eye. But they'd both seen enough of War at that point...he was the one who'd helped the remnants of Murphy's company escape after they'd been captured, and traveled with them a bit before heading South again.

They hadn't seen each other until he wandered back into town earlier this week and set up shop in the church, which had been vacant ever since that night Gus, Nate, Bill, Dave, and Tex had gone to "speak" with Reverend Kaspar about his comments about Gus and his monstrous brother during a sermon.

Now Father O'Rourke sits in a pew before the altar, looking up at the crucified form of Jesus on the cross. he doesn't seem to be praying, just...resting.

"Don't touch me. And don't talk to me about prayer. I cannot see how Hell could possibly be any worse than this." he says. He takes another deep, deep pull.



"Yes, but most failures don't leave so many dead, nor so many people angry and hateful. I thought that, too, but I can't do this anymore. I'm not cut out for this position, Adrian. I can't make things better. I've tried. Tired as hard a I could. And it's not better. It's worse, so much worse." he looks up at Adrain. "You'd be a better Marshal than I." he pulls the star off his chest and presses it into Adrian's hands. "You. You take this, maybe do some good here."

((OOC: That's a rather apt description of things, Adrian! Take a white chip for that.))

Just then the saloon doors swing open, and one of the Dust Adders enters, with a curly-haired man propping up a swooning woman.



"Marshal! need some help here!" The Dust Adder shouts. "Got some wounded for you to look at!"

"Whyever for?" Evans says, perplexed. He's obviously quite drunk by the way he's slurring his speech. "I'm no help...all my best patients are dead."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:07, Tue 15 May 2012.

Finding the Marshal's badge in his hands made Adrian feel sadder than he had felt in a long time. He was still somewhat in shock dealing with his own death that he hadn't really been feeling much of anything other than his own stubborn willingness to ignore any feelings and press on. But the sight of Evans drunk and hopeless made him feel that perhaps they really had no hope left. While the Marshal's tenure hadn't been the most successful, he could hardly be blamed for attacking Comanches, the dead rising, and vampires, if he had heard right. And the man seemed to hold up fairly well to the criticism, barring his earlier outburst at Adrian, and had showed a strength of spirit in even going out of his way to help the town. He could have just packed up and left like the Undertaker. Ambrose Evans was the kinda man that Blackthorn needed, and Adrian wasn't going to let him just give up like that. He was about to say something, but when the door opened and people he knew came in asking for help, other thoughts fled from his mind.

"Frank, Joel, Emma, come on in. The Marshal here can help y'all. He fixed me up right good earlier. What seems to be the matter?"

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the Marshal's last statement. He had been about to protest that Evans had fixed him up, and that he wasn't dead - and then he remembered that he was. A great joke.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:42, Mon 14 May 2012.

Hat in hand, Murphy walks forward. "Dia duit, Father", he greets him in Gaelic.
He stops and waits for O'Rourke to turn around and looks around.
"Jesus, so many injured..." he mutters, then smiles apologetically at taking the Lord's name in vain.
"I was out on the road, father, and bad things are out." He lowers his voice.
"I know it sounds crazy, but I did see it with me own eyes. There was a dead man, a Union soldier, on the road from the town to the Circle W. He was up and about waving his pistol in me face, asking me to get into uniform. I'm not sure if it was a good Christian thing ta do, but I told him about the Comanche. Said it was a rebel unit what wouldn't surrender. And then I ran into one of the indians. He was all grey, as he'd stepped out of a photograph. I hit him, right here", he tips between his eyes again, "but the bugger got up as if I just spat in his face. Bad times, father, bad times."
Then he swallows and lowers his eyes. "And Sally Robertson was bit by a cougar or somethin'. She died and came back from the dead, father. I had to put her down. Her parents will need yer comfort."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:16, Mon 14 May 2012.

The automaton hesitates at these commands very much against its nature, but doesn't think to disobey.
"Feeling like Hell isn't like being there, Ambrose," it tells him. It would tell him that prayer would help, but, well, it was told not to.

About to head to find the Owl Comanche, since Ambrose has probably forgotten by now since he has forgotten how to do speaking properly, the clank perks at the sight of new people. "Howdy!" it chirps, then inclines its weird head upward a little, tilting it just a fraction as static sighs gently through its systems.

"Sorrow." The voice speaks out of the static, not over it, pale light flared in the thing's lenses. It walks with a strange and terrifying grace to the group near the door and very, very gently reaches to touch the semiconscious woman's face.

In reply to Mad Irish Murphy (msg #125):

"Go mbeannaí Dia dhuit, son." O'Rourke replies, turning. "And may he bless us all, for we sorely need it." he looks around the church. There's no-one else here at the time, but his eyes linger on the blood-stained pews.

"You haven't heard the half of it, I understand. It would take a pretty fair story to sound crazy to me, after what I've heard and witnessed in the three days I've been here. The metal angel buried another such undead at the crossroads outside the Grand Bull, and a couple more were killed around town by Marshal Evans' deputies. Then there was Danny boy...he was dead too, but still had his mind. He escaped, and one of the deputies left to track him down. I've been waiting here for their return before I head to City Hall and tend the wounded for the bloody battle that will surely be upon us soon."

He frowns. "Gray as a photograph, you say? There was a man here recently, brought in today, said he escaped from the Comanches and had to leave his photography equipment behind in their camp. We...had words. He said he was another member of the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon, and that he'd been called in to help solve a problem. he wanted to cut in to the undead boy, but I wouldn't let him...that's when he escaped. I knew he was up to no good! I knew it!"

He frowns again. "She was bit by the cougar?" he shivers. "Then I'm very glad they brought the others to me in time. She wasn't the only one attacked. Where are they now?"

In reply to Alouette:

"Hey!" Franks says, pointing a huge pistol with a bowie knife blade as a bayonet at Alouette. "You get away from her, you hear?"

"Alouette won't harm her, sir." Evans says, pulling himself up. He's unsteady, but at least he's not moping into his bottle. "He may be strange, might even be supernatural, but he will not bring harm to the innocent. Put it away."

The Dust Adder frowns, but the curly-haired man next to him lays a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Mr. Miller. We came here to get help, remember? Lord knows she could use a bit of comfort right now."

"...can't think of anything being comforted by a damn clanky machine..." Frank growls, but he lowers the hand cannon.

"...my baby..." Emma whimpers as the angel machine touches her. "...you have to help my baby..."

"Can you do anything for her, marshal?" the curly-hared man asks.

Evans frowns. "It's just Doctor now. Doctor Evans." He's silent a moment, then heads back to the bar and grabs his medicine bag. "I suppose it's time I lived up to the title."

He and Joel and Frank lay Emma on one of the tables, and Evans begins examining the wound. "Hmm...this wasn't caused by a knife or arrow...you said Comanche attacked her?"

Joel shakes his head. "There was an Indian, yes...but that wasn't what happened at all. There was a cougar..."

"I know about the cougar. It's dead now." Evans says. "But this doesn't look like an animal bite--it's too small, almost looks like human tee..." He stops suddenly. "I recollect you have a daughter, Mr. Robertson. Where is she?"

"She...she was bit by the cougar...she fell very ill..." Joel chokes up.

"Rabies!" the little demon bird chips as it takes a perch on Adrian's head.

Evans goes pale. "I see. Did...did she bite your wife, Mr. Robertson?"

Joel nods.

Evans' lips draw into a tight line. Then, without saying a word, he runs into the kitchen.

When he returns, he's carrying a spice rack, a box of baking powder, a ladle and a large pot. He sets these on the counter, looks over the array of liquors, and selects some from the top shelf. He begins mixing the spices, the powder, and the liquor together.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Frank asks, bewildered.

"Too long to explain. Have to concentrate now." Evans replies curtly. A puff of foul green smoke rises from the mixture. "Let this foment just a few minutes...wish I had some laudanum or formaldehyde, damn the luck, but you do what you can with what you have..." he watches it a few more minutes, then ladles the concoction into a glass. He rushes back over to Emma, pulls some bandages from his medicine bag, and begins cleaning the wound with the stuff. He also tips some of it into her mouth. She coughs a little, but he holds her mouth closed until she's forced to swallow out of reflex.

"Were you bitten, as well?" he asks Joel. The curly-haired man shakes his head. Evans frowns. "Better drink some of this yourself, just to be on the safe side."

"What is it?" Joel asks, looking nervously at the fizzing concoction.

"Something to kill the infection. The less you know of it's contents, the more at ease your mind will be."

Joel looks at the stuff, a few errant drops of which are causing the wood to blister and smoke. But eventually he resolves to screw his eyes closed and knock it back. then he grabs his mouth as his body is wracked with coughs, as he tries to swallow the stuff and not gag it back up again.

But once he's choked it down, the room goes silent.

Evans sits in a chair, waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

But eventually, Emma stirs. Evans hands her a glass of water, which she takes silently and sips.

"Well...I don't know for sure if that killed the infection...we'd need more time to determine that." Evans says. "But that should do it for now. If there is a God out there, perhaps he saw fit to grace us just this once with some good news." he looks at Adrian. "Maybe I'm good for something after all."

"She is safe," the clank tells Emma, softly but with infinite assurance, completely ignoring the pistol being waved at it.

It remains nearby whilst all the concocting is going on, and consults the ceiling at Evans' latest pronouncement.
"Yes," it affirms.


[[The concept of "normal for Blackthorn" really sinks in when the locals don't even notice a guy with a tiny talking crowcatrice on his head. *so amused* ]]

In reply to Father William O'Rourke (msg #127):

"Sally bit her mother, Emma. She's with the Marshal. So's Joel, he got hit with an arrow. I hear the Yankee has some talent when it comes to healing.
Is the Weeping Moon feller still here? Might be he knows something..."

Then he sighs. "Father, I should go and look after Flora. But if something happens to Carl...", he looks over his shoulder, then continues whispering "Gus Shaw will end up being in charge for good. Between him and the Yankee Marshal, the whole town's like a powder keg with the match closing in. We don't need the Comanche to do the killing, there'll be plenty of that."
Another look around. "Well, more than we already had. You know where Carl is?"

"A little. Not much. I should head over, see what I can do to help. Where are they?" The Father asks, then shakes his head. "No, he's with the other townsfolk at City Hall. Most of the town has been directed there. Carl is the quiet one, yes? We had a long talk earlier...a rarity, from what I understand. He went out around town to organize a defense, I believe. I haven't seen him in some time."

He frowns. "Who is this Gus Shaw? I'm afraid I haven't been in town long enough to get acquainted with more than a few people."

"Fat snake-eyed feller, you know him when you see him. It's a toss-up between him and Carl on who's gonna lead the Dust Adders now. And I believe he wouldn't be one to get rid of Carl to make sure he's the new boss. Has little love for the Irish, too. Snaky little saxon bastard."
Murphy has an impulse to spit on the floor, but catches himself.
"You'd do well to stay clear of him, Father."

He looks around again. "I'm looking for a man named Bill, he was supposed to be here with you? With a man that escaped the Comanche camp?"
Murphy offers a quick description.

O'Rourke frowns. "Yes..come to think of it, I have heard the name before." he looks like he would say more, but then stops. "I'll keep your warning in mind."

"Yes...I know Bill McCoy quite well." O'Rourke says. "He was escorting the last of the wounded to City Hall. The scientist, Dr. Franklin, went with him. He's probably still there."

"Take it easy with that, Frank, we're all just here to help, ol' buddy," he said at the appearance of the gun.

Adrian frowned up at the bird that perched on his head, but otherwise paid it little heed. Well, at least as little heed as one could pay to a fancy lookin chicken lizard crow that sat on top of one's head.

He reached into his duster for a deck of cards, and started shuffling them and drawing cards from them idly. He peered down at them from time to time, and put them away after some time, and looked at Marshal Evans, concentrating on the man while he worked.

"Don't you worry, Joel, Emma. Marshal Evans will do his best to help." And so will I, he thought.

---

OOC:
Dealin' with the Devil to Boost Marshal Evans's Mad Science as he attempts to cook up something to help the Evans couple. Going for the 2 power points I need to make it happen.

Hand: Flush! (6D, QD, 5D, 3D, 8D)
Spellcasting: 6

Having a little manitou sitting on his head seems to make the magic work just the slightest bit better.

((OOC: The spell goes off with a Raise thanks to the Flush, so Evans gets his Weird Science maxed out at d12. That's good, because he blew all his chips concocting the stuff in the first place thanks to his drunkenness.

10:12, Today: The Amazing Evans rolled 4,1 using d12-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 5,2. Heal! Not spectacular, but it means he successfully heals her Wound (he'd already healed her Incapacitation earlier). That means that his power flushes the infection out of her system. She might rise from the grave if she dies, but she won't get sick and die from the bite.))

In reply to Father William O'Rourke (msg #133):

"Thanks, padre, I'll be going to look for him, then." He turns around, hesitates, then turns back and kneels down.
"Will you bless me, Father?"

OOC: Assuming he does...

Patrick crosses himself, "Amen!", and gets up. After thanking O'Rourke, he leaves the church.

"Bill's at City Hall. Let's go."

"Of course, my son." O'Rourke says.

"May God grant you
For every storm, a rainbow,
For every tear, a smile,
For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer."

After the blessing, Father O'Rourke follows along as Murphy heads down the street.

City Hall has been turned into something of a fortress, with makeshift barricades all around, barb wire lining the walls. One of the Dust Adders (it looks like Slim from this distance) is walking along the roof, a Winchester at the ready.

"Hold there!" he shouts, aiming the weapon down. "State yer business!"

Adrian walked up to the Marshal and clapped him on the back, handing him back his Marshal's badge. "I think you mislaid this, Marshal. I know it's been a rough day, but I'm grateful for what you did here for Emma, who I have known since way back when."

"I'm pretty sure I ain't the only one, either." He looked at Frank and Joel in turn, turning a flat and expectant stare on them.

Evans takes a long, hard look at the badge.

"From the bottom of my heart, Dr. Evans, thank you." Joel says, tears shimmering in his eyes.

Emma, for her part, is quietly looking at the automaton. Though she, too, is crying.

Frank shrugs. "Yeah. You did alright, I guess."

Evans takes the star and pins it back on his jacket. "Well. Thank you for finding this, Deputy Vega. Let's get you folks to safety, then prepare for our unpleasant guests."

"Just a moment." Frank says. He's looking at the little bird on Adrian's head. "What the fuck is that thing?"

"Demon!" Exodus chirps brightly.

Adrian started fiddling with his deck of cards again as he was asked the question, hoping to make himself seem more charming than he was. He had been told in the past that at most times he was about as convincing as a sack of potatoes.

---

OOC:
Spellcasting roll was a bust. Backlash time!

In reply to Father William O'Rourke (msg #137):

"Patrick Murphy, Slim. You need ta have yer eyes checked, mate! Looking for Bill, is he around here?"

"Do you need a hug?" the clank asks Emma. "You feel of sad..." static murmurs as it reaches a gentle brass hand to her.

It looks over at the 'thing', since that exclaimation usually refers to itself. "Exodus," it informs him, then chides: "Not that. That is a Bad Word and should not be used in polite company."

Emma doesn't resist as the metal machine reaches out to embrace her. "Sad...so sad..." she murmurs. She looks up at Alouette. "You lost someone, too, didn't you?"

But while this touching scene is going on, Adrian Vega is pulling his mind into the Hunting Grounds...


Power wells up in Adrian, and he opens his mouth to speak...


...but something crawls out his mouth, flaps its wings, and lands in front of the astonished gathering instead.

"Brethren!" the little demon bird on Adrian's head chips. "Come forth! Come forth!"

Adrian's body spasms as more snake-tailed crows crawl from the channel he'd opened to the Hunting Grounds, and he finds himself vomiting birds that flap and screech around the rafters of the Grand Bull...

((OOC: Adrian, you'll be Shaken for 1d6 rounds before you can roll to recover, and your Spellcasting die will drop to d6 for 24 hours thanks to the Backlash.

Also, Manitou swarm. Alouette and Adrian, make a Fear check (+ Grit, -4 fear level, -2 situational bonus. I'll roll for the NPCs))

In reply to Mad Irish Murphy (msg #141):

"I gots a job to do, Irish!" Slim calls back. "Can't make no exceptions! He's inside with the others!"

Murphy nods. "Aye, and good job you're doin'." He dismounts and tethers Embar to the corral, pulling a sugarcube from his pocket.
Then he enters the fortress that was City Hall.

Adrian began with something in between a strangled cry and a gasp as the birds began to inexplicably emerge from his mouth. His eyes were wide with panic, though he strangely didn't seem to be frightened by it. All he could do was back up away from them, but then he fell to his knees and to the ground, laying on his back as the last of the birds came from within him. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that this wasn't happening to him.

Maybe if I close my eyes, when I wake up it won't be happening.

Maybe if I close my eyes, I can die for real and be at peace.

---

OOC:
Shaken for 5 rounds.
Got a 9 on my Guts roll...I guess that's a success and a raise, for whatever that's worth.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:42, Wed 16 May 2012.

Emma gets a sincere metal hug, fortunately not as cold as it might be since the clank's been inside for a bit.
"...all of them," the static murmurs, but no more, since Adrian finds that a great time to start throwing up crowcatrices.

"Witchcraft!" it exclaims, but something shorts with a brief spark as the light flares abruptly in its lenses.


[[ 3 with my red thrown in - 'twas not meant to be! ecksdee ]]

As the crow-snakes take wing, Emma shrieks and tears herself from Aloutte's grasp. She runs for the door, but she's not the only one...Joel and Frank make a beeline for the swinging doors as well.

Evens, shrieking in a manner less than gentlemanly, also runs away shrieking...though his path leads upstairs.

This leaves Alouette and Adrian alone to face the cloud of shrieking, whirling manitou.

"Murder! Death! Kill! Kill! Kill!" the demon crows screech...it's a sure bet that if they escape the Grand Bull, that's exactly what they'll do to the townsfolk!

A thin trail of lighning arcs from the damaged point at the clank's neck to somewhere behind the bar. The lenses glow. There's a pale shimmer in the air as it steps to the middle of the swarm and calls out, an afterimage of...feathers?

"Tiny Ones! Pretty pretty Tiny Ones...how would you like to find a man who feels forever pain but cannot die? ...who...fears the rending beak but ground-crawler, cannot escape it? Whose blood is coiled as the snake is and...with the Snake...with power? I will show him to you, if you, the Gathered...the voices of Apocalypse...will return to me without troubling the mortals of this place - or the fledgeling - that I might show you sweeter pickings of the eyes and souls of sons...else you fight me, and I hunger."




[[6 all-Hawk persuasion, with added Evil Deeds! ]]

The cloud of crows start screeching. It sound rather like laughter.

"Father Mirror Serpent! We serve! We feast! Only one? On our side! No! No! The many will feed us! Feed and feed and feed! Murder! Death! Fear!"

And so saying, the whirling cloud of crow-snakes dives at Alouette. Sharpened beaks peck and scratch at the clank's brass finish. None of them damage anything vital, but the intent is clear.

((OOC: one round passes. The swarm does damage automatically: 01:19, Today: Exodus rolled 2 using 2d4, rerolling max with rolls of 1,1. Damage. just a scratch. They aren't diving after Adrian at the moment, so he takes no damage.))

The automaton looks up.

"Others after. I said...did I? So drunk. You have forgotten...pity...some of you...once were crows." the ungainly brass thing pronounces, standing with the grace of a tall woman. It spreads its arms. Threads of lightning twine and dart across its carapace. "Come, then."


[[Alouette rolled 1,3 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,3. go go gadget thunderstorm. Nah...
Alouette rolled 3,5 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,5. white chippit.  ]]
This message was last edited by the player at 09:33, Thu 17 May 2012.

As the lightning sparks and twines, spears of electricity snap at the closest of the manitou...

((OOC: Since you are technically adjacent to the swarm (in as much as the swarm is all around you), you can roll 2d6 damage immediately, as well as once each time they "attack" you. In addition, on your turn you can attempt a Fighting attack for Str+2d6 damage, or a touch attack (Fighting +2) to deal just the base 2d6 damage. You might just fry them with the activation.))

[[12:06, Today: Alouette rolled 5 using 2d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,4. damage can has? That...makes them sort of fluffier?]]

It doesn't do much but enrage the crow-snakes, who dive in more determined than ever to cause harm. Several beaks start puncturing wires and causing heavy dents in Alouette's casing. The electricity sparks against them, but hasn't reached lethal levels yet.

((OOC: Second Round.

The swarm deals damage to Alouette: 10:23, Today: Exodus rolled 14 using 2d4, rerolling max with rolls of (4+4+1)9,(4+1)5. swarm damage.

That would be a Shaken and 1 Wound for Alouette unless you soak.

Damage dealt by Aloutte's field for the attack: 10:23, Today: Exodus rolled 3 using 2d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. Damage dealt in return.))

[[ *looks at last chip* Eh.
18:35, Today: Alouette rolled 4,5 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,5. soak attempt. Am I unshaken?]]
This message was last edited by the player at 17:37, Thu 17 May 2012.

((OOC: Yes. Soaking all the wounds dealt by an attack also removes the Shaken Condition.))

[[next question: does 5 hit? Apologies for sudden attack of stupidity, it's one of Those days.]]

((OOC: It hits if you're making a Touch attack (and thus getting the +2 to fighting). The swarm has a Parry of 7.))

The clank shakes crowcatrices from its 'beak' in a startlingly lifelike fashion and shifts its pose within the swarm, static murmuring, building.


[[That was with the bonus - the clank's deliberately built to be the wrong shape for the Hawk to weaponise. Also I'm rolling badly...right. C'mon, clank.]]

The crows bob around the clank. There's a few snaps of electricity as they dive in, enough to drive them away but not quite enough to destroy any of them.

"Feast! Feast! Rend! Tear! Eat!" The swarm cries, and then, as if acting on some unified signal, half the little beasts break off their attack against the angel clank and dive out of the Grand Bull's swinging doors...

((OOC: Third round.

11:31, Today: Exodus rolled 3 using 2d4, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. swarm damage.

11:31, Today: Exodus rolled 4 using 2d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,2. Damage dealt in return. not enough to hurt the swarm in it's current configuration.

The swarm splits, with half remaining to vex Alouette and Adrian, while the other half flying out of the saloon and into Blackthorn proper. This lowers their Toughness by 2, to 4 (from 6). It'll be easier for Alouette to deal with now...but now a number of the crows are out of sight.))

The spirit seems to be struggling to hold control. Still surrounded, it sweeps its arms high and begins to dance.


[[20:06, Today: Alouette rolled 3,7 using d4+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,5. go go gadget murder dance! I think that hits...
20:07, Today: Alouette rolled 5 using 2d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. damage can has?]]

As the clank dances, sparks fly among the crows Several drop, and the rest seem more and more disoriented. Some of the birds seem to recover, and dive in for another assault, but Alouette's brass casing turns them aside and the static sparks discourage more from the assault.

The hair on Adrian's arms begins to rise.

((OOC: That will make the manitou swarm Shaken.

Now it is turn 4. One more round, and Adrian can start rolling to recover.

The swarm attempts to Recover from Shaken...12:16, Today: Exodus rolled 4 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4. Recover from Shaken.

That's a success. since they don't have to roll to attack, they deal auto-damage.

12:17, Today: Exodus rolled 4 using 2d4, rerolling max with rolls of 3,1. Damage. Not enough to scratch Alouette.

12:17, Today: Exodus rolled 3 using 2d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. Damage taken.

You need to start spending pp to maintain the field now. It's 2 pp per round.))

The swarm's reeling takes it out of range of harm, like starlings breaking ranks around a hawk.

[[Noted. More o' the same, then. 21:28, Today: Alouette rolled 3,4 using d4+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. ditto dancing. Nope.
do starlings even exist in Texas? ]]

But not fast enough. The sparks finally begin to overwhelm the crows, and they fall to the ground, twitching.

((OOC: I think so...they're an invasive species in the US, but they're here. Anyhoo, on to damage...

21:04, Today: Exodus rolled 3 using 2d4, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. swarm damage.

21:04, Today: Exodus rolled 8 using 2d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,3. Damage taken. That's a Wound, which is enough to break the swarm up.

Adrian, you get to recover now. no need to roll...combat is over.))

The thing in the machine dances, trailing bright lines and blooms of death, until it simply walks among tiny, charred crow-things. The lightning fades, becomes a mere crackle of static. It bends to gather them, golden fingers tapping over its casing until a hatch is found and pressed. It holds up a limp and spasming little abomination to observe, almost tenderly. "Pity."

Then it starts to feed them into the hole in its casing, and presumably the works and the boiler beyond. By the time Adrian's up there'll only be one twitchy little body, on the bar.

Adrian finally stood up. He had opened his eyes sporadically during the...encounter, and had seen all kinds of sparks flying, and all the little demonic birds were dead. He coughed and spat out a feather-ball.

"I gotta say, Alouette, I'm pretty impressed."

The automaton doesn't respond at once, and there's something odd about it, moreso than usual: the posture is unusually lifelike, the movements as fluid and graceful as a flamenco dancer's as it reaches a brass hand and plucks up the single remaining crowcatrice and approaches, static soughing somewhere within.
"A reminder. Repent."
It picks up Adrian's hand by the sleeve and dumps the shuddering, singed little body into it with a mutter of some native language.
The side of its little finger brushes Adrian's knuckles as the hand withdraws.
"Hmm...critical static error," the clank chirps, and shakes itself, then looks at Adrian and folds its arms like an annoyed Roland. "Minus witchraft, Deputy Vega! It is bad for you, also folks around. No more witching."



[[Alouette rolled 7,1 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 7,1. go go gadget angel touch! ]]

Adrian took a nearly stumbling step back, his eyes wide for a moment, though they drew down a moment later. Though he had just been told to repent, he couldn't help but thinking what some Vodouisants he knew back in New Orleans might like to do with the remains of whatever these things were. He was pretty sure they could do something pretty powerful.

"I guess Evans was right. We shoulda killed that thing. Alright so...about them Comanches?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:55, Fri 18 May 2012.

"Killing is not kind, Deputy Vega," the clank tells him, then patters halfway to the door with none of its earlier grace.

"The other witch-bird-snakes went away..." It abruptly turns and comes back again, just about not running into Adrian in the process. It practices its pointing skills at him.

"No more witchcraft. Promise."

"I don't know all this about witchcraft, Alouette," he said, straightening its shirt.

"I'm just a gambler that knows a few tricks, that's all. Come on, those Comanches aren't gonna chase themselves away." He moved past Alouette and towards the door, hoping he could find Marshal Evans and the others. There had to be some way to explain that all away. He just couldn't think of it right then.

"To deal with familiar spirits is witchcraft; to effect magics by means of gambling with souls is witchcraft...Deputy Vega!" The tin-can angel hastens to keep up.

Outside, the street is quiet, though several of the Dust Adders are heading for the Grand Bull in obvious haste, weapons at the ready.

There seems to be no sign of the crowcatrices. They seem to have vanished into thin air.

"You do it," he said nonchalantly, not making any effort to slow down, but not trying to lose Alouette either.

"You made that bird in the first place. That's...plus witchcraft, right?"

"Self did not call upon familiar spirits or gamble with souls, Deputy Vega," the automaton chides, clumsily falling into step after skidding in the mud a bit. It looks at the running men with faint curiousity before rambling on:

"Self cannot do such wickedness: self is angel. Exodus came from contamination of fixing power by ambient witchcraft in Blackthorn, Town, Texas, not from the powers of angels. It is like, similar to, the traces of witchcraft in food supply of Blackthorn, Texas, which make it plus plus probable high concentrations will cause dead clay to rise, possessed by demons, even if the clay belonged to a good person. Witchcraft is bad, Deputy Vega."

"Cursed crows, hiding in the darkness I know it" Jake mutters as his eyes wildly scan the sky as though searching for something. The look on his face as he turns his attention back affairs on terra-ferma says he's worried about something.

Then he see Alouette and he calls out,"Clank! I am in need of your aid, as is Danny."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:39, Fri 18 May 2012.

In reply to Alouette (msg #174):

PM

"Fear not! Self is present!" the 'angel' declares, and lopes over. "Howdy!"

Jake nods. The huckster is in ROUGH shape, as though he went toe to toe with 15 ton of bricks that could punch.

"Howdy." Danny replies. "We could use some help, I think. Tangled with an eight-foot tall burned corpse thing, got a little beat up. Tryin' to figure out what the Enlightened Society is hidin' in it's lodge there."

He looks a bit beat himself, though not to the extent that Jake is.

"The cans by the stairs in the saloon contain dead shrimps," Alouette informs Danny, pointing at the Grand Bull, now full of angry and bewildered armed men. It looks at Jake. "Do you wish self to attempt fixing of Bitter Waters? Also, tell Deputy Vega not to be a witch, it is plus bad for him because he is differently alive - but y'all have to be dis-creet about that - and can corrupt. He did witching and had many snake birds in - self was chasing them - high probability if he continues to do witching a thing of unknown badness will occur and make everything worse."

"Where is the eight foot tall burned corpse thing?" Alouette asks Danny, then as to finding out what's in the lodge: "Why?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:59, Fri 18 May 2012.

While they were still walking towards the scene, Adrian responded to Alouette. "Word are wind, clankety. You turned a broken egg into a demon bird that just wanted to kill stuff. I ain't heard o' no angel doin' things like that. I guess all you need to do is call yourself an angel and everything you do is fine, right? Well, I'm an angel too, Alouette." He chuckled just a bit at that.

Seeing a call for aid, he decided to quit responding to the clank's sanctimonious prattling and try to see what could be done.

---

Little did he know, the sanctimonious prattling would continue on into the attempt to help the others that had requested aid.

"Well, I ain't no doctor, but maybe if we can find the Marshal he can patch you up. Unless this hunk o' junk can do it," he said, pointing to Alouette.

"Angel," Alouette corrects.

"I do think the marshal would rather strangle me than help me out." Danny remarks to Adrian. "I'm rather on his bad side."

"Angel." He says in unison with Alouette.

"In the Lodge, up the street. We don't have the firepower to face the thing, though...it just keeps comin', no matter how many bloody pieces get blown off." He says to Alouette. "Well, the Lodge is up to, er, plus plus witchery, so we're tryin' to figure out exactly what they're up to so we can put a stop to it." He looks at Jake. "Right? That is what we were doin' there, yes?"

"Which one? We're all angels in Blackthorn," he said dryly, pausing to listen to Danny.

He wasn't sure he should be helping someone on the Marshal's bad side, but then again, it seemed that at present the good and the bad were all in the same boat. They just needed to join up and deal with the ugly, and then get back to shooting each other up.

"Maybe we could get that dynamite the Ranger wanted to use to blow up the church, and blow up the Lodge instead."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:48, Fri 18 May 2012.

This message was deleted by the player at 20:11, Fri 18 May 2012.

"Lying is a sin, Deputy Vega," the clank tells him, then of dynamite, which of course the other angel didn't want to use on a church, no: "Where is it? If there were no mortals inside, dynamite would explode witched clay minus smoke, which would be a good thing."


[[question: would Lurch react at all to Alouette inside the lodge, seeing as it has no parts to use and is a metal thing rather than a human intruder?]]

"Maybe it's near the church. I tried to tell 'er that blowin' up the church was bad business, but she thought she could lure the Comanches in there and then blow it up then the problem would be solved. Anyway...we were talkin' about it when a buncha shit went down. I think that's when the mayor started doin' all that witchin' plus plus. If the Ranger were here, she'd probably know where it was."

The clank uses its angelic powers of observation.

"Ranger Hawkins is not here," it declares.

[[or is she? *expectant pause* *crickets* ]]

"Oh I knew that. One of my fellow angels told me. What they didn't tell me is where the Ranger is. Any of y'all happen to know that?"

Danny looks at the Grand Bull and the armed men gathering there.

"I...I think I'd rather ye used that zappy power, thank ye kindly. Maybe I 'll go for shrimp after we're done breakin' and enterin'."

He shrugs at Vega's question. "Don't know. Don't particularly care, either."

"Okay!" Alouette chirps, but there's a burst of dangerous-looking sparks from the damaged wiring near its neck when it tries...

[[17:23, Today: Alouette rolled 1,2 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. zzzap? Er...boom?]]

Sparks fly and little rivulets of electricity flare all over the brass frame of the clank as something goes horribly, horribly wrong...

It looks a bit like this

((OOC: I like using the Random Malfunction table from the SWD book rather than the "it explodes all the time" version, so here's what happens: I draw a card and see what the suit is, then see what malfunction happens from there.

I drew JH:

• Hearts—Major Malfunction: The device breaks down. The gadgeteer may not use it again until it’s repaired, which requires a Repair roll and 2d6 hours of work. ))

The clank almost vibrates on the spot with mechanical convulsions for a moment, then the lightning vanishes sharply. Static builds to an ominous roar somewhere within. It straightens, a grace about it that makes its movements seem too smooth, too intense to be truly in the world, as though its outline never touched motral air. It looks at its raised hand and flexes the fingers.

"My apologies, Little Fierce One. The yellow iron is buckled, dams the current that would aid the meshing of your flesh," it says, the voice from the static stronger this time, perhaps stronger than any present have heard it.

There's even tone now, an edge of grief and fury as it strides forwards and flashes out an arm with speed it shouldn't have to grab Jake by the shirt and bring him worryingly close to that metal head of its.

"As for you-" there's a strong hiss of static as the 'beak' passes close to Jake's face and the automaton settles for looking at him with one lens, head angled like a bird's. "-if you did not reek of the desert dog...I might tear the heart from your breast to the loss of your Nahuatl master."

[[for added Ambiguous Cop special effects, touch the automaton's casing or the Hunting Grounds whilst in this position!]]

"Three drops - blood falling to the dark - heed me. Learn the courage that is silent...Take a white man's spoon to the eyes of the Shrike's Son. Know the nature of crows." It lets go with an air of disgust.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:09, Sat 19 May 2012.

Adrian put a few steps distance between him and the clank. "What in the hell? And that thing's s'posed to be an angel?"

The clank wheels with a thin whine of grinding brass, static hissing like the constant wind across the sea or the exhalation of God. The voice is a rapid, flat whisper. " 'The angel of the Lord went out, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians one hundred fourscore and five thousand: and when the Israelites arose early in the morning, behold, all were corpses.'"

It takes a step towards Adrian, moving like something half-blinded, though the grace still envelops it like an invisible halo, the light flared in its expressionless lenses. "...but it does not help. The killing does not help." There's a stronger snarl of static, like a pained breath. The automaton raises its 'beak' skyward a moment, then takes another step and stops equidistant from Adrian, Danny and Jake, standing still, silvery and alien in the moonlight.

"Do you not hear it?"

"Hear what?" Danny asks, staring at the completely changed machine.

There's a disjointed not-quite-physical sensation, as though massive wings just shifted in the clank's vicinity; feathers moving, fluffed restlessly in some second air. The automaton stands immobile, but extends an arm and offers a hand palm upward to Danny, casting an expectant gaze to Adrian as well. Then to Jake.


[[Magical adventures!]]

Danny hesitates, clearly nervous around the oddly, acting clank, but he steps forward and rests his hands in the angel's grip.

"As if my day could get any worse, now I'm stuck with this clank actin' all crazy," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and spoke in a stern voice, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't have any kids, at least none that he knew about, but if he did this woulda been his 'don't cross daddy' voice. "Now we ain't got time for all this nonsense, Alouette. There's Comanches about to hit the town and then...whatever's goin' on at the Weeping Moon place. Whatever it is you need to do, just hurry up and get it over with. There's plus plus lives at stake here."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:46, Mon 21 May 2012.

Alouette's hold of Danny's hand is typically gentle, very loose. It looks to Adrian, then inclines its weird metal head to the peculiar handshake it's got going.

"Take."

With a heavy sigh, he uncrossed his arms and extended one to take hold of whatever spare part of the clank's 'hand' was available. "Alright, now what?" he asked with mild impatience.

Taking the clank’s hand, the night seems hushed, darker.

"Listen."

For a moment, the men might think they hear their own breathing, but no, it’s too rough, too ragged even for Danny’s nervousness. Someone is sobbing, far off. A woman, trying to cry after some exertion that's left her retching and gulping in breath. This is agony and helpless fear, not grief. Straining to catch the sound's direction, more becomes clear: there are others. A clamouring of hurt, of terror.

The night seems darker still, the clank's fingers faintly warm - any attempts to pull away now and it'll grip - the sounds of hurt are distant but clearly in the physical world, though after some seconds - or merely sinking deeper into this shared sense - they run together. The men remember the word at the same time, or the angel, the entitiy, whatever it is, says it without speaking:

Listen.

...and the torture has a rhythmic swell and fall to it, like the surge of static, a sound within a sound. A great, slow beat not quite dreamt, not quite in the world, but now touching it. If it's a heartbeat, the beast must be unfathomably big, or sleeping unfathomably deep, or both.

Thud.....thud....

Once realised, the sound cannot be unheard...and in the trailing vibration of the latter beat, as yet unheard but easily imagined, dreamt, and felt, the rattle of an eager, vengeful snake.

"He has sent the Shrike's Son to do murder. He stirs."



[[Oh, and Jake, you can assume yourself in on this if not scared off by 'erself being spiky at you earlier]]
This message was last edited by the player at 22:59, Mon 21 May 2012.

Normally Jake would probably have issue with how the clank is acting but presently he doesn't overly care cause he's pretty sure he won't be seeing the sun rise on the morrow. He puts his hand in just to see what the heck is going to happen.

Danny is the first to react to the vision brought on by the clank's touch. He opens his mouth ans screams.

It is not a human scream. It's the screech of a young hawk with a twisted wing, crying pain to the night.

The clank breaks contact with the others at Danny's terrible cry. Almost at once it is at his side, one arm held awkwardly across the young man's body in a pose that brings to mind scientific drawings of bones as they exist in the living animal.

[[Jake got much the same from the contact as the other two - a glimpse of someone using horrendous pain like a knife against the substance of the world, paring it thin, and the snake god pressed up against the weak patch, half-dream/ing, near enough for y'all to hear his heartbeat like a wardrum in the deep.]]

The automaton starts speaking very softly to the youth in what sounds like Cherokee, gently brushing his cheek and temple with its 'beak' in a manner unmistakably protective, even...maternal?

Jake's reaction to the vision is simple. He mutters, "Son of ah..." then the huckster's eyes grow large, then roll back in his head, and he falls to the floor.

Adrian found the melange of sensations and experience that Alouette somehow transmitted to them to be deeply disturbing, and he withdrew his hand from that contact. However disturbing he found them though, he was still somewhat absorbed mentally in the fact that he had only recently clawed his way out of a shallow grave and returned to a state of unlife. It would take a great deal more to set him out of countenance, but it nonetheless occupied a portion of his mind.

He was about to ask what the hell was going on, yet again. It seemed like the question of the day. Then, the other man who looked like someone Adrian had seen around a cards table in New Orleans, passed out. "Oh Jesus," he said in exasperation. He knelt down to check on the other man.

A quick inspection shows the cause of Jake's collapse...he looks like he went a couple rounds with John L. Sullivan before diving under a runaway cart. He needs medical attention.

Danny snaps out of his apparent depression, and extricates himself from the clank's embrace with an embarrassed look. "Er...right." he says, then turns his attention to Jake. "Do ye know where we can find a doctor who isn't a bloody slaver or a corpse washer?"

"Marshal Evans might could help, if we could find him. Other than that...I don't think there's much for a doc around these parts that's still here. I heard somethin' earlier about there bein' a doctor up at some ranch." He shrugged helplessly.

"No!" Danny says. "Never again! I'll not set foot on that cursed ranch unless all the powers o' hell drag me there."

"Calm down, cowboy. Ain't nobody gonna force you to go to the ranch if'n you don't wanna. We'll just have to find the Marshal. Alouette, since you're an angel, help us find the Marshal real quick. Talk to God or somethin'."

Indeed, Alouette did ask Danny whether it was hug time now as the static quieted.

"Critical level static error," it complains, "self and/or local aetheric activity outside optimum functioning parameters..." it does take Adrian's words to heart, though, and consults the sky.

"Ambrose is in the bar with the confused men..." it points back at the Grand Bull. "-but if Bitter Waters is sleeping in the street because he needs fixing he should go to Father O'Rourke - he fixes people so they walk again even if they've leaked lots and you can see the pink bits. Also Ambrose has plus plus forgetting in now; he might not remember how to fix Bitter Waters properly."

"I just came from the church." Danny complains petulantly. "I really don't feel like goin' back. And if I go near the saloon, the Dust Adders will likely shoot me as soon as look at me."

"It is a safe place, Danny Albatross," Alouette points out. "Also Father O'Rourke will not shoot you or shout at you: his positive energies are good for y'all and high probability he would like to be your friend. If Bitter Waters is also your friend, that is three friends; many times better than everyone trying to kill you. When less people try to kill you, you can go to more places until Ambrose helps you go to Missouri."

It toes Jake a bit, then awkwardly picks him up. Clearly the man needs to eat more potatoes, since he's hefted almost as easily as Danny.

[[Strength 9]]

"Right, we'll just tell the Dust Adders not to shoot him, and they'll listen to Alouette, because he's an angel. So we gonna take Bitter Waters over to the good Father so he can work some plus plus miracles on him?" He surveyed their surroundings, keeping an eye out for trouble.

"Maybe I can go talk to the Dust Adders. I know most o' them boys, and maybe if they're distracted y'all can get by - or I can tell them not to shoot at you. Why were they shootin' at you in the first place? Did they shoot Bitter Waters too?" he asked the Yank.

"She." Danny says. "Alouette is a she. Trust me on this." He sighs. "I suppose we dinna have much choice, do we? I...wait."

And then he grabs Adrian by the lapel. "You mean you're friends with those murderin' cocksuckers!?" He pulls his knife. The blade glitters in the moonlight as he brings it level with Adrian's eyes. "Those slaving bastards!? You're friends with them, are ye?"

Adrian's newest rule for living, or unliving, in Blackthorn was to never put his gun down for a minute. He blinked as a knife was raised to his face. Maybe I can die for real this time, he thought, but he pushed the thought away as soon as it came. He didn't know where it had come from. Instead, he maintained his steady gaze at the other man as best as he could trying not to look at the knife.

"Are you deaf, or just an idiot? I said I knew 'em, not that I was friends with 'em. I was born and raised here in Blackthorn. You think I ain't gonna know people around here? Now get your hands off me 'fore I pull this trigger, boy."

Alouette has moved away a bit with the unconscious man, but it looks back at the altercation and says, very sternly: "Deputy Vega, do not kill Danny Albatross again: if he becomes minus humanity due to uncontrollable hunger resulting from need to fix himself, he will not be stoppable, and devour men, women, children and pets, even those still alive."

It turns to chide Danny. "Danny Albatross, cease attempting to remove the eyeballs of Deputy Vega: you will make him angry, and he has not harmed a mortal, therefore self is required to protect him. Besides," the clank adds in a flare of static, "the walls of the world...are weak enough and your rage may cross...the borders of the soul. Come, Little Fierce One; save your strength for your enemy." Again, the sense of feathers moved in the aether.

The clank looks straight at Adrian, static hissing. "Tell the people the tale of the cat's falling: hope...grows stronger on scorched earth."

It turns to wander up Main in a vaguely churchwards direction with a twitch and a mutter about static errors as it receeds.

Danny looks at the gun barrel poked at his belly and frowns. He takes a few steps back, and lowers the knife a bit. But only a bit. "To do what them bastards did to me and me mates takes a whole special kind o' evil. The kind o' evil that one doesn't just learn...it's baked in from birth. You say ye grew up 'round them, know that they're like? I say you're missin' the forest for the fuckin' trees." He spits at Adrian's feet. "That's the sort of bastardy I'd expect from Reb trash like ye. Get the fuck away from me." He begins to follow after Alouette.

"That's what I thought," said Adrian with a grim smile as the other man pulled away. He heard what the other fella said, but he didn't really pay it no mind.

"But it sounds like you're only half deaf and twice over an idjut. Well, I never had it in me to harm someone who ain't right in the head, so you can keep walkin'. You threaten me or any other lawman or woman in town again though, and it won't go so well for you, boy."

Alouette will shepherd Danny on just a bit with Jake's feet if he looks set to turn and snarl, heading away at a striding pace to get the mortal to the priest as soon as possible.

Danny's fist clenches, but he doesn't rise to the bait. He keeps on walking, leaving Adrian alone.

((OOC: So who is going to find the preacher and who is doing stuff with the Dust Adders?))
This message was last edited by the player at 19:33, Thu 24 May 2012.

((OOC: Adrian's going to go find the Dust Adders and see what they're up to))

[[Alouette and Danny are finding the priest, and Jake's coming too 'cause he doesn't have a choice.]]

Adrian nears the Grand Bull. He can see Frank there, speaking with Gus, Felix, and a couple of folk he can't recognize off the top of his head speaking with Evans.

"...to the crows?" Gus asks the Marshal.

"As far as I know, they didn't linger...probably flew out into the street. They could be anywhere." Evans replied.

Frank suddenly points at Adrian. Points with his pistol. "Why not ask him!? He's the one what called them devil crows up!"

All four of the Dust Adders and Marshal Evans turn and look at Adrian.

Gus narrows his eyes at Adrian. "Somethin' you wanna tell me, friendo?"

"I wanted to thank you for savin' my life earlier, Gus - I owe you one," he said cautiously, hearing only the last bit of the conversation.

"Frank, I never knew you to be an idiot before I left. Don't tell me you've gone all stupid on us now. I didn't call up no devil crows. I don't know what you seen, and I sure as hell don't even know what happened back there. But whatever happened to me probably never woulda if'n I never came back to Blackthorn. You all know as well as I do that some weird shit's been goin' down over in these parts. You don't need me to tell you that. Well, at least I know most of you don't. Maybe Frank does." He glared at Frank, who seemed to have been badmouthing him.

((OOC: roll Persuasion, please.))

((OOC: LOL...The dice roller hates me. Persuasion: 1,1))

Frank narrows his eyes. "Them's fightin' words, asshole."

"Now hold on, Frank." Gus says. "We don't know what all's been goin' on..."

"Fuck you, Gus! It was witchcraft! I seen it! Witchcraft, plain as day! He had one o' them damn things sittin' on his fucking head when we come in!"

"This is not productive..." Evans begins, but Felix pulls his gun and sticks it in the marshal's face.

"Stay out of this, Marshal. I wanna here what he has to say."

"If you don't holster that gun, I'll have you arrested for threatening an officer of the law." Evans replies coolly.

"You and what army, Marshal?" one of the Adders Adrian doesn't recognize says, his hand hovering near his holster.

"Now hold on a minute!" Gus shouts. He glares at Adrian. "Now, before ya'll start makin' asses of yourself, I reckon Adrian here has a right good and truthsome explanation for all this." His snake-eyes narrow, and a rattling fills the air. "Right?"

((OOC: wow. Second Bust in a row. You got some luck there. That shifts him from uncooperative to hostile...and turns the situation rather ugly...better think quick!))

"Everybody calm down a sec. Let's take this slow. I grew up with most o' y'all. Y'all ever seen me do anything like that, ever?" He asked the simple question. He obviously couldn't persuade him through the strength of his words, but perhaps he could gradually lead them to the conclusion he wanted them to take away, assuming any of them had the sense of a goat. Not really the safest assumption, but it was all he had right then.

"Yes. I have." Gus says. "Not an hour ago in this very saloon, in fact. Ya'll've learned some interesting tricks since you left town five, six years ago. Such as shootin' lightnin' from that gun o' yours. And I heard the clank yellin' it's head off 'bout witchcraft right after...I know a thing or two 'bout witchcraft my own self. So why don't you start again? The truth this time."

He glares at Adrian. His gaze is hard, cold, and inhuman. His green eyes aren't just snake-like...they're actually slitted like a snake's. And that rattling buzz...it's coming from him!

"And if you try to lie, so help me I will slit open your belly, pull out your gizzards, and skip rope with them. I will splash about in your blood like a little child in a muddy puddle."

((OOC: Gus goes for an Intimidate Test of Wills against Adrian:

09:13, Today: Gus Shaw rolled 5,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,2. intimidate.

Roll smarts to resist, please.))
This message was last edited by the player at 16:22, Sat 26 May 2012.

Adrian's dark eyes smoldered as he stared down Gus for a long silent moment, barely containing the heat within. Not a trickle of perspiration found its way onto his forehead forehead, and not a single shake of nervousness took him. He was calm and steady, the way a gunslinger should be, and he didn't even have to draw this time, with his weapon already out. But he wasn't making threats with it.

He waited till they were quiet and lowered his voice to a cold and chilling level, speaking softly but his voice taking up the silence around him just as well as if it was loud. His words came infused with meaning, though he kept the anger from his frosty words.

"You think you scare me, Gus, you and all your boys here? Think again. Since you saved my life back there, I'll call it even and forget about what you just said. I don't scare easy." From there, he made to ignore Gus's threats, and address Frank.

"Frank, if you hadn't run from those bird things you'd have seen 'em put down real proper like. Now, I understand you may be scared, but if one o' yall has a pair on you go back into the Grand Bull and you'll see all them dead bird things."

OOC:
Smarts:
You rolled 10,5 using d8,d6, rerolling max (((8+2)10,5)).

"I think you're playin' with fire you don't understand and can't control, boy." Gus says, matching Adrian's cold glare with his inhuman one. "I'm also beginnin' to think your time out chasin' the wind has got you belivin' you're somehow better than us rubes that didn't travel to no fancy cities with ya."

"Mr. Shaw." Evans says evenly, still covered by the pistol in Felix's hand. "We're trying to ascertain where the crows happened to vanish off to, not assign blame for how they came about."

"Like Hell!" Frank spits. "I know what I seen! And there ain't nothin' there now. No bodies like you say! Some charred marks on the floor and that's it!"

"So what about it, Adrian?" Gus says. He steps right up to Adrian. "What'cha been messin' with out in New Orleans, huh? You been doin' some kind o' voodoo shit? Gettin' rode by them loa things like some tenpenny whore? The drunk called you a zombie...why'd he call you that, eh?"

While all this is going on, Alouette, Danny, and an unconscious Jake walk up the street, oblivious to the goings-on at the grand bull. In fact, they've just about reached the church again. Alouette can hear some voices from inside...it sounds like Father O'Rourke talking to someone who's out of sorts and weeping.

If the door's closed, Alouette'll go right up and knock at it with its 'beak'. If not, it'll amble straight in and greet folk in its usual chirpy fashion, reassuring them/Danny to "Fear not!" if necessary.

Adrian did his best to look totally unconcerned. If Gus was this much in his face, apparently Gus wasn't concerned about the gun that was pressed up against him."Fuck if I know. What's your problem, Gus? We just had us a few drinks in there, and now you're threatenin' me like I did you somethin' wrong. I ever hurt any o' y'all?"

"My problem?" Gus snorts. He leans in until he is eye to eye with Adrian. "My problem is you vomited up a mess o' demon crows that tried to pick Frank, Joel, and Emma apart. You try to call Frank a liar when he calls you on it, then say somethin' about them bein' taken care of, implyin' you know somethin' you ain't sayin'. You got a skinned smokewagon to my guts. You won't answer a single goddamn question you been asked straight on. That's my problem, Adrian."

His snake eyes bore into Adrian's.

"Now, I'm gonna give you one more chance to make nice. You said you wanna be on good terms with the folk o' this town, calm shit down? You ever wanna make that a possibility, you can answer my goddamned questions without tryin' to slither out like a fuckin' weasel. Or, if you like, we can do this thing good and proper. You wanna throw down? Or do you wanna actually help us fight the evil that's done set on us? What. The fuck. Happened. Here?"

Adrian barked a rough, humorless laugh. "Look, I came down to find y'all to see what we could do about these Comanches, but it's clear y'all have other priorities. I know by now that no matter what I say, it ain't gonna matter with y'all. So how about you tell me what you want me to say, and I'll say it?"

"ENOUGH!" Evans barks before Gus can reply. "Enough of this! Isn't it obvious what's happened? It was the Comanche! One of their heathen shaman must have called up the demonic crows and sent them to attack poor Adrian, as well as Mr. Miller here and the Robertsons! It's all an Indian trick to turn us against each other! Don't you see!? Poor Deputy Vega's been the victim of cruel, curl witchery, designed to make you turn on him in this, our most desperate hour! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir! Simply ashamed!"

"But the crows...they came from him..." Frank mutters.

"Ha! That's what the Shaman wants you to think!" he squeezes through the crowd of Dust Adders and thows an arm around Adrian. He gestures wildly as he speaks, milking that invisible cow for all it's worth. "His heathen devil magic opened up an aether portal in poor Adrian's stomach, filling it with stuff from beyond the realm of space, until he had no choice but to expel it! I was there, frank! I saw what you saw! But I have studied Aetheric theory more deeply than you've dreamed! You can ask Dr. Ward...he would know the sorts of things that mishaps with Aetheric energies can produce!"

"...I suppose so..." Gus says, clearly puzzled.

"Look, I've got them distracted." Evans whispers in Adrian's ear. "Do you have any clever bits to add to push them over the top? Gus' best friend was a Student of Hoyle...he might believe more than most."

((OOC: Evans uses his Snakeoil Salesman edge to attempt to diffuse the situation...

17:41, Today: The Amazing Evans rolled 17,6 using d8+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of (8+7)15,4. Snakeoil salesman.

17:41, Today: Gus Shaw rolled 5,5 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,5. Resisting Test of Wills.

...it's super-effective! Gus is Shaken. Furthermore, he's managed to shift the blame.))

"That's the only thing that makes sense, Marshal. I never tried to do no wrong by none o' my Blackthorn people, and I definitely wouldn't do nothin' like that even if I knew how," he said.

Leaning close into Gus, he said, "Look here Gus, I know what you saw in the saloon back there. It's a trick I learned from a Hoyle's book, that's true - I hear tell you have a friend that maybe knew some tricks from that book. But I don't know no tricks like...like that thing with the birds. That's not me."

Gus frowns. "Yeah...yeah, I suppose that makes sense." He rubs his bristly jaw. "Been a lot of Comanche witchery about. I reckon that we oughta go check around, see if them crows got anywhere else."

The other Dust Adders grumble, and Frank gives Adrian a venomous look, but they nod and start heading up the street, eyes scanning the rooftops.

"When we get beck, you and I are gonna have a chat." Gus says quietly. "That's the sorta shit I'd have liked to know before it gets out o' control. I seen the kinda things that can happen when the cards go wrong, if you'll take my meanin'. It ain't always pretty."

"Fine by me, Gus," he said, and then picked up and started walking along with the others, though given the way things had gone he tried to make sure that he wasn't surrounded by them on all sides. He noticed that the others didn't seem so happy about the way things shook out. Likely they'd have preferred him dead, and their reputation for gangin' up on folks and killin' them didn't sit too well with him. Well, more dead if they even knew about the first part - which it seems Gus might have figured on. Between Alouette and the Seven of Spades, most of his secrets had been flung out into the open today. One secret that he didn't even know he had.

He made note of the Marshal's intervention on his behalf. That was twice now the Marshal had pulled his bacon outta the fire. He didn't think it was now the time to express his gratitude, but he planned on doing so at a later point in time, by word and by action if he could.

Father O'rourke is sitting with a couple of parishoners, speaking to them about grief, when Alouette comes in. At the sight of Alouette carrying a body, though, he rushes over and pulls Jake on to one of his pews. Then he begins to work. he offers several prayers to the Lord while he tends to the bruised and battered man. Danny sits in a corner, watching, chewing on some Sardines Alouette finds for him. The two parishoners, the Robertsons, watch the machine in shock. Emma begins crying at the sight of the "tin man" her daughter's lost kitten brought to her door.

((OOC: Skipping about 20 minutes. Father O' Rourke makes some Healing (and Faith) rolls and heals Jake back to full health.))

Adrian, Gus, and the other Dust Adders make a quick search of Main Street, but the crows seem to have vanished for good. After that, they make a quick check of the fortifications they've erected.

While doing this, a trio f horsemen ride up. Adrian only recognizes one of them...The Seven of Spades!

The large black man next to him looks at Gus.

"You runnin' this show?"

"I am as much as anyone, bounty hunter." Gus says back.

"Good. You oughta know this...we had a bit of a fight with some Comanche up on that hill over yonder." He points toward a small rise about a mile or so distant.

"Tryin' to get some scalps for bounty, huh?" Gus says.

The bounty hunter shakes his head. "Never you mind what for. Looks like they were makin' a stagin' camp. We tangled with half a dozen of 'em, then run back here. We lost two of our number."

"Three." The young man on the other side of the riders says. "Don't forget Charging Bear."

"We don't know he's dead. Only that he didn't come back."

"We don't know that Billy or the limey're dead, either." Seven says, but Gus cuts him off.

"So you done riled up their nest, huh? They comin' this way?"

"Like as not." The bounty hunter nods. "Oh, and there's one more thing you oughta know...they're immune to bullets."

Alouette offers to fetch Things, then finding none are required at present sees that Danny has fishes and is not feeling threatened by doors, talks to and collects Deputy Chicken from where she was sleeping beside the remains of the pie, and wanders over to the couple bent together in grief. Perhaps surprisingly (or perhaps not, since it has no reason to know it should) the clank doesn't ask what the source of the sad is, merely reacting to it by instructing Deputy Chicken to help and handing the warm little body to Emma and offering the standing Joel a hug.

Joel eyes the clank suspiciously, "You want to what?"

Emma, meanwhile, is looking at the chicken, bewildered.

The clank tilts its head at him. "Help," it tells him, the pale lenses giving away nothing. "Teritary active command: catch sparrows."

"bok?" is Deputy Chicken's response to the scrutiny, then seeing Emma is not made of food or about to produce any, shuffles about a bit, fluffs and sits contentedly in her lap.

Jumper was tense, apparently reluctant to follow after the corpse and it took two equal measures of coercing and cursing to get him to move.. but slowly William made his way back into town, making sure to circle around a little. He wasn't particulary looking forward to running into someone he knew.

He had gotten so close, he felt. In truth, he didn't even know if Marina had been there. Now the trail would be cold. And he wasn't much of a tracker to begin with.

He was itching. Itching for blood and itching for a fight, just to be able to release his frustration.
Now where was that stable? And then, maybe, after his thirst was slaked, he'd see about Shotgun and if he'd have the courage to face him in a fair fight, too.

The town seems dead. Because of all the preparations for the Comanche attack, the buildings at the outskirts of town sit empty and lifeless...most of the roads into the center of town have been barricaded, too.

The Stables were inside the barricades. There were armed guards posted on rooftops. Getting out wasn't much trouble...but getting back in to the center of town was going to be tricky, especially since he was covered in that grey not-blood the Comanches had running through their veins. How to explain that?

"But you don't need to go to all that trouble..." a voice tickles in the back of his head. "Why, there's a fine, healthy beast to bleed right next to you..."

In reply to Alouette (msg #247):

"Sparrows?" Joel asks. "Like those things in the saloon?" He doesn't move close for an Alouette hug.

Emma, meanwhile, begins petting Deputy Chicken absently while she watches Alouette move about.

In reply to The Stray (msg #249):

"No." William's reply is harsh and cold. He pats Jumper affectionatly on the neck, grimacing as his mount pulls back its head from his dead fingers.
"We've been through a lot together, old boy", his voice warmer now, as he stops and keeps stroking Jumper's neck until the horse calms down again. "I know you're scared enough of me as it is. I won't give you any more reason for it."

There's got to be a fucking butcher in this town, too, right? Maybe they won't watch their pigstys as closely.

He thought a little about that. Pigs stank, horrendously so. They usually were at the outskirts of town... He might have to deal with a chained dog, but he was pretty sure his bullets would bark harder than the dog might bite.

OOC: Also known as: Never take the easy way out. :-)

In reply to William Pierce (msg #251):

((OOC: Make a Notice check (+2...butcher shops stink, and this check would be right up your ally anyway).))

OOC: 13:05, Today: William Pierce rolled 5,7 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,(6+1)7. William Pierce, Notice.
-4 Wounds, +2 stink, +2 alertness


William sniffed the air. Yes, there it was... a faint stink that he subconsciously had ignored, like everybody tried to. But in his situation, it felt like manna falling from the sky.

"Anything they're not immune to?" he asked the negro in a matter-of-fact tone. His own gun was in hand, though not fully raised. His original killer was back, though not the man who had most recently attempted the deed. He might have been speaking to the Cantrell, but he had an eye out on Seven. He was surrounded by a group of men who moments ago looked to have been inclined to finish the job for him. There was nothing easy about this situation. He didn't feel too inclined to call upon his special abilities for some reason - the thought made him dizzy after those devil crows had crawled out of his mouth. But he was ready to use his gun if he needed to, though he'd rather do that after the Comanches were dealt with and the town was safe.

Sooner or later, though, he knew there would come a reckoning.

"No: those were crow-snake-birds made of witchcraft. Self told Deputy Vega to repent and not do any more witching, but he started saying lots of not true things with many logic errors...he may need to consult with an alienist," the clank tells Joel earnestly. "The sparrows of command: catch sparrows are a parable, this means self does not attend only to souls of sparrows, bird, but any mortal soul God sees which...goes lower, like, similar to, a bird falling, away from Him."

It watches him a bit. "God knows," it tells him, setting a brass hand so gently on his.

Deputy Chicken meanwhile preens among her chestfeathers and exudes contentedness, eyes half-closed.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:45, Fri 01 June 2012.

The butcher shop is closed, but there's no one around to hear the breaking of window glass. Shanks of smoked beef hang in the chilly tin ice-house in the back, and there are buckets of cow's blood for the taking. Half a dozen cow heads watch William with empty eyes.

((OOC: You can make a natural healing roll with a +2 bonus here. you also won't suffer the Fatigue penalty once you wash away the nasty gunk you swallowed.))

In reply to Adrian Vega (msg #254):

"Ain't got no idea." Cantrell says. "You can ask 'em yourself all if you like...they're on their way. I reckon we didn't get more than a few minutes head start on 'em."

"Shit!" Gus curses. "We ain't got time to warn everyone yet...not about them being bulletproof." He looks at Adrian. "Well, I reckon it's time to level. You know some fancy tricks...know anythin' that might help?"

"I did learn a unique brand o' trick shootin' up in N'awlins, somethin' like you saw me do in the saloon, Gus. I can't say for sure that it'll work, as I never done put my skills to the test against Comanche witchery, but I sure as hell can try my best." He looked around the town, for a minute and shook his head.

"We gotta try whatever else we can think of though, just to make sure. Maybe settin' 'em on fire." Or buryin' 'em. He didn't voice the thought aloud, though, given his own recent experience of having been buried.

"If it's fire you crave," says a voice from behind, "then I have a solution for you!"

Evans walks up to the barricades, one hand on the nozzle grip of the hose attached to the milk canister on his back. "I've been working on this prototype for several days now, ever since that ugly little riot you caused." He glares at Cantrell a little, then continues. "The question was, what would I do if I had to disperse another such mob? I thought at first that a modification on the paste spread I used to end that affair, but then I considered...what would be the most effective weapon against a crowd of, say, walking dead?"

He pointed the nozzle straight up into the air, and again lights a pilot light at the business end of the hose. "I warn you to stand back, good sirs."

Every Dust Adder takes fifteen good steps back, and even the people on horseback rear away. Which is good, because when Evens pulls the trigger on the device, a spray of some foul-smelling chemical jets out into the air, igniting on contact with the tiny match at the front. The plume of flame spews at least fifty feet high.

"Voilà." Evans says. There's a distressingly manic gleam in his eyes. "I believe this will serve as an effective deterrent henceforth."

"Good God." Seven mutters.

Gus stares at Evans, aghast. "You mean to tell me you were actually planning to use that hell-thing? On people? In Blackthorn?"

Evans gives him a disconcertingly manic grin. "I had hoped that mere knowledge of this device's existence would be deterrent enough to keep folks from such abominable displays of barbarity in the future. But in truth, I hadn't planned on using this thing on people at all." The distressing grin grows wider. "Unless I had to."

"Looks like you might need to use it after all, Marshal. If bullets don't harm 'em, we're gonna need something like this to do the trick. If fire don't harm 'em neither, we'll see if we can't manage somethin' else."

With a start, Jake shoots up and looks around like a rabbit in a field after a gun shot. The huckster's eyes are wide open and blood shot. "Cursed crows go back to your snake master!" he cries rather loudly and dives under the next pew over.

Alouette looks over, distracted. "The crows are not here, Bitter Waters," it responds to his outcry. Deputy Chicken gives no sign she's noticed.

"There are many crows outside this place, but dead-people-eating birds don't come inside unless a mortal lets them, or is pierced by witchcraft...also crows do not belong to a snake...they don't belong to anybody."

William rummages around for a ladle or a cup, then dips it into the blood and drinks it. Carefully, slowly, first, but quickly his thirst takes over and he gulps down as much as he can, then takes another cup, then another.
He finally staggers back, as if drunk. He had felt the wounds in his back close, but the gash on his head remained open.
As he carefully prodded the gash with his fingers and felt the slightly cracked bones of his skulls, a shiver ran down his spine. He should be howling mad with pain, but here he was just feeling a dull sensation as if he'd bumped his head on a doorframe.

He swallowed the last drops from his cup, licking the blood from the rim.
In the dim light he had trouble seeing the blood on his shirt and clothes, both from the blood he just spilled and the greyish sludge from the indian.

I cut him up with his own knife. He sayd into the silent butcher's shop, practicing his explanation.
And what about the blood on your face? The silent question gave him pause. The he started searching the shop again, this time for a piece of cloth and some water to wash his face.

Once he'd cleaned himself up, he did one last thing: Search for small tin bottle to take a souvenir with him: as much blood as he could fill into it. Always good to have a little snack.

He carefully whiped any blood from the bottle as well, then pocketed it.

Now what? Go back toward the hill and hope that Vincent wasn't done killing the fanged bitch? Go back and look, just to make sure? Or leave this fucking town, catch up with the vampires later?

Well, what do you think? Killing the fanged bitch wasn't good enough for you, so what the fuck do you suggest now? he asked the empty-eyed cow heads in the empty room, not really expecting an answer.

He carefully left the butcher's shop. Time to get going. Wouldn't serve to be caught in here, after deeds hard to explain.



10:29, Today: William Pierce rolled 4,12 using d6+1,d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of 3,(6+5)11. Notice Alertness, wound.
I'm taking a little liberty here with the tin bottle, but I don't think it's unreasonable to find one here.

Took me two chips, but I'm almost back at full health. One wound's basically a scratch.
10:17, Today: William Pierce rolled 4 (total 11) using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4. Heal, blue chip on top.
10:16, Today: William Pierce rolled 3,7 using d10-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 4,(6+2)8. Heal! Damnit, White Chip.
10:16, Today: William Pierce rolled 3,2 using d10-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 4,3. Heal!

In reply to Alouette (msg #262):

His eyes narrow on the clank for a moment then he begins looking about the room as though in search of something hidden, "How do you know!? You spoke to them didn't you!? You're in league with them! The whole angel bit just an act to get us to trust you!"

"Logic error, Bitter Waters - angels cannot lie," the 'angel' chides, apparently seeing nothing wrong with this argument. "Self cannot hear the voices of the aether, only the Voice and the echoes along the world."

There's a short, ticking pause, then since Jake's still near floor level: "Can you see Spider Friend from there?"

Jake smiles in a slightly manic sort of way, "Everything lie, lies of omission are still lies friend angel."

"No spiders here, just avoiding the crows."

"Logic error, Bitter Waters," the clank repeats patiently. "If there was a lie in God to tell, nothing would be really real: that's what the Devil is for. What is 'lie of omission'?"

"God lied a lot, Leviticus 11:7-8 And the pig, because it parts the hoof and is cloven-footed but does not chew the cud, is unclean to you. You shall not eat any of their flesh, and you shall not touch their carcasses; they are unclean to you. We eat pig alot these days and nothing happens to us. Deer have cloven hoofs and natives have been eating them for centuries.

As for a what is a lie of omission, well little angel... those are a bit more complicated that simple lies. It is leaving out a detail on purpose which drastically changes the meaning of what was said."

The clank ticks a bit, as though trying to place the scripture. Its memories on this point, however, whilst earnestly given, appear to be hopelessly jumbled:

"The people lived in a different place then, and when they didn't an angel told an Italian with a sheet to fetch Jesus' Rock who was His friend and they did and then Rock knew what was washed wasn't common any more and didn't despise the Italian, who feared God. If you ate pigs in a different place you would die," it informs him. "The natives of this place do not live there, either. You should listen to what God says, Bitter Waters, not what Mister Leviticus wrote down. Mortals forget."

The latter statement gets a headtilt. "Why?"



[[It rolled 2 on its Biblical knowledge/memory roll...the fact Alouette always fails those cracks me up. That's an utterly mangled summary of Acts 10:1-26, if you were curious. I considered it'd miss Jesus' most blatant throwing-out of the Neolithic hygene rules.]]

Jake lets out a laugh that is borderline a cackle, and its not a pleasant sound. "Sorry angel I don't have a direct line to the god."

"But I do know that everybody lies."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:36, Wed 13 June 2012.

Alouette points at the ceiling. "Speak. He done can always hear you. Then listen...with your soul ears."

The headtilt just goes the other way. "Why?"

"Fascinating as all this mad gobbledygook is," The Yankee soldier mutters, stepping up to the pew Jake's sitting on, "we have other things to be doin' with our time, don't we? We have a Lodge to explore, now that we aren't banged all to Hell."

As William putters around the shop, searching around for tin cups and things to wash up with, he gets the distinct impression of being watched.

Moreso than usual.

And out of the corner of his eye he could swear he saw movement in the glassy eyes of the severed cattle heads.

When he directs a question to them, he does, indeed, receive an answer! The cow heads begin to low softly, and a soft green flame flickers out of their mouths as the lowing turned into recognizable words.

"I̸ wa̶t̵c͜héd̨ as͜ t̴he͠ Lamb ̢open̕e͠d ͘t̀h̴e ͡first͏ of̨ th̸e seven̡ s̛e̵als.͡ ̕Th̷e̡n ͠I he̢ard͢ the͝ ́vo͜ic͞e of ̛t̸h̢un̛d̸er̵,̛ o͝ne͜ o̢f t͠h͏ę f̷our béa͝st҉s ҉sa͟yin̢g̢,̴ ͘"C͞o̵m͠e and s̀ee!" a̶nd ̵I ͝sa̛w̵, ąnd̛ bèhel͘d͢ ̕a̢ w̡hi̷te͢ ̛h͜o̴rse͠!͟ I҉t̨s̷ ŕi̕d̴er̨ h́ęl͝d͡ ͘a͡ bo͘w,̧ ̡and he ͟wa͞ś ģiv͏en a ̴c̢row̡n, a̢nd he ͜r͘od͟e oùt́ a͝s a̶ c̨o̶nqùero͏r͜ ͢b̶ent o̴n̶ c҉ǫnquest!"

((OOC: Make a Fear check for me, please. + Grit, -4 for the local fear level.))