Twilight, April 11th, 1879. Between the Circle W Ranch and Blackthorn. Good Friday.

It's been a busy few hours. Getting Flora situated with the other women and children at city hall. Riding hard from Blackthorn to the ranch to raise the warning, to deliver the message Carl wanted him to give to Dr. Ward. The panic with the disheveled woman showing up, claiming her carriage was attacked by the Comanche and all her girls had been taken by the heathen savages to unwholesome fates.

Now he was heading back to town, to bring Ward's reply back to the nominal leader of the Dust Adders.

Carl had told him to tell Ward "Whateley ain't comin'" and to make sure folk at the ranch new what they were to do. But as it turned out, Whateley was already there, and mad as a hornet at Carl for some reason. Murphy didn't want to get in the middle of all that.

Ward's message for Carl was simple. He had Murphy memorize it, as Carl wasn't lettered. It was only this:



So here he was, back on the trail. He'd even managed to find Carl's prized mare, Hoss. But it was growing dark out. The Comanche could strike at any time. And he was playing the vital role of messenger between town and ranch...a prime target if the Comanche wanted to cut them off from each other.

((OOC: make a Notice check, please...and an into post so that we can get to know Murphy a little better. Oh, and have you got your gear?))

OOC: I got some gear, weapons at least... and I'm almost broke.
Since I have a house in the town, I assumed that I would have anything reasonable there, like a few shirts, pots and pans, a time travel machine, a ray gun and a supersonic-baby-rocker, stuff like that.

Murphy rode ahead, quietly humming a tune to calm his nerves, urging on his spotted horse. "Come now, Embarr, don't want to spend the night outside, boy."

11:59, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 4,4 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,4. Notice.

He kept looking around, everytime when he rode past a hill or a small copse that right behind it, the horde of comanche were already waiting for him.
"If them savages haven't gone to town yet", he said. He slapped his pony's neck. "Flora's gonna burn their hides with both barrels, if they try anything funny, hah, boy?"

He wasn't in the habit of talking to himself. Not unless there were bloodthirsty Comanche about. And, technically, he did talk to his horse, not to himself. Not his fault that the horse chose not to answer, was it?
This message was last edited by the player at 18:36, Tue 01 May 2012.

Embarr wickers nervously at the talky man on his back. Hoss, being lead along side, also seems skittish.

There's a faint breeze, blowing the clouds away. The moon is out already, thick and fat...Comanche Moon, he'd heard it called, on account of Indians raiding by moonlight.

But Murphy's nose picked up something else. Something...foul. Rot and gunpowder, it smelled like. And his ears picked the faint sound of boots on gravel...and a hair-raisingly familiar song, sung by a dead throat.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord!
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored!
He hath loosed the fateful lighting of his terrible swift sword!
His truth goes marching on!"

That song...he remembered the bugler belting it out on that fateful day in Missouri, when the 207th was pushed out in front of the line, told to soften the rebs up...cannon fodder. Bullet soakers. They were playing that song on the day Murphy saw most of the friends he'd made in the army die.

"Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah..."

Up ahead on the trail stands a figure clad in a dark army uniform. It's impossible to tell whether the coat was grey or blue originally...it's too stained with blackened blood. Murphy can't make out any facial features, but the wind carries the sickly stench of rot from him. He grins...or perhaps he has no skin left over his jawline. And he raises an old Colt pistol at Murphy, singing the chorus of his damnable song as he clicks the hammer back.

"His truth goes marching on!"

((OOC: The figure begins the encounter On Hold, waiting to see what Murphy does in response to it's challenge. Murphy, draw a card for your action this turn.))

20:23, Today: Mad Irish Murphy drew the single card: 8D using the Deadlands system. Initiative.


"Oh, bloody hell..." Murphy mutters and crosses himself, then raises his right hand and salutes.
Boy, he hated that song. But there was another one that used to be pretty popular in the 207th.. and, from what he heard, throughout the Union army.
He cleared his throat and started to sing. Quavery at first, but going stronger with every line.

Says Pat to his mother, “It looks strange to me
Brothers fighting in such a queer manner,
But I'll fight till I die if I never get killed
For America's bright starry banner.”

Far away in the East came a dashing young blade,
And the song he was singing so gayly,
'Twas honest Pat Murphy of the Irish Brigade
And the song of the splintered shillelagh.

Oh yes, how they had sung that in the camps. That, and Paddy's Lament had always been his favorites.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:37, Tue 01 May 2012.

The black-clad soldier cocks his head at the song, but eases the hammer.

"You're out of uniform, Private." It calls. "Can't you hear the bugles and drums? Get your colors and your sheet-iron crackers, boy, and get steppin'. There's a war on, you know."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:05, Wed 02 May 2012.

Them drums and bugles are celebrating! The rebs surrendered! You can throw away your gun and coat and dance with joy! For halleluja! The war is done!

He smiles, broadly and the dead soldier.
And it's corporal, not private. Not that it matters anymore, really

07:29, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 6,11 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 6,(6+5)11. Smarts Trick.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:35, Wed 02 May 2012.

Some Mood Music

The dead soldier stands still. The gun arm lowers. "Surrender? The rebs? But...my blood! My kin! My fellow soldiers, rotting away in that dank cell...for nothing? Nothing!? no...no...must make them pay...pay in inches...this war is not done...not 'till every stinkin' reb is food for the worms..."

But he's halted, and seems genuinely confused. Might be enough of a distraction to get away...

((OOC: The soldier gets a bonus to his roll because he's basically a personification of War Without End, but nicely done.

22:51, Today: Private John Brown rolled 6,10 using d6+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 4,(6+2)8. Resisting trick. ...and that's a fail. He's at least confused for a bit.))

Easy now, Paddy, he's still got a pistol in his hand...

"I hear there's a rebel company made up from Comanche that won't surrender. You want to make someone pay, you oughta search for them. Me, I gotta get back to me wife and children. Take care, private."

He salutes again, and urges Embarr on, keeping a nice distance to the dead soldier.
He makes a point of looking ahead, apparently not caring about him one bit.
But, very quietly, he prays to himself:

Hail Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with thee;
blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death...

Christ Almighty, he had known it was a bad idea having them yankees work as slaves, but they wouldn't listen... and now he was here on the godforsaken bloody road and had to hope he'd get to see his second child be born.

Embarr wickers, but he and Hoss need no read urging to get moving away from the stranger. The trouble is, he's on the most direct path between Blackthorn and the Circle W. If he rides right on past, he risks getting attacked. If he moves off the trail, he'll have to ford the creek, which has been riding high thanks to all the recent rain. What to do?

((OOC: Decision time! Riding right past will likely initiate a combat. Fording the creek will be a Dramatic Task. Which one are you up for?))

OOC: Dramatic Task! I'm not going near that thing.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:45, Wed 02 May 2012.

The stream is still high from the recent rain, and it's dark out. It's not the most ideal place to ford at the best of times, and Murphy has an extra horse in tow. But it's this or face the dead soldier. Time to head on!

((OOC: Draw a card to see if there's a Complication, and then make a Ride check at -2 (-4 if you pull a club). If you don't get 5 successes/raises in 5 attempts, you'll have to turn back. Plus, Complications will have other consequences beside just making the roll harder...))

07:39, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 3,19 using d6-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 5,(6+6+6+3)21. Riding. Would've done it in one go, too, if I didn't have that second horse! Why do I have a second horse, btw?

07:40, Today: Mad Irish Murphy drew the single card: KD using the Deadlands system. Dramatic Task.

Round2:
07:42, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled -1,2 using d6-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,4. Riding, white chip. Takes care of the critical failure. Should've left that second horse behind for the private.
07:42, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled -1,-1 using d6-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,1. Riding.
07:42, Today: Mad Irish Murphy drew the single card: JS using the Deadlands system. Dramat Task, continued.

Round 3:
07:43, Today: Mad Irish Murphy drew the single card: 8D using the Deadlands system. Dramat Task, continued.
07:44, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 1 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1. Riding, extra d6 red chip. Oh really? That's all you give me after that sweet roll of 19 you fickle dice-rolling SOB?
07:44, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 2,1 using d6-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 4,3. Riding, white chip. Why do I have that second horse again?
07:44, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 0,1 using d6-2,d6-2. Riding.

Round 4:
07:45, Today: Mad Irish Murphy drew the single card: AC using the Deadlands system. Dramatic Task. ....and a complication!
07:46, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 1,1 using d6-4,d6-4, rerolling max with rolls of 5,5. Riding.

Round 5 (seriously? Who would've thought I'd need 5 rounds to do that after that first roll?)
07:47, Today: Mad Irish Murphy drew the single card: 2S using the Deadlands system. Dramat Task, continued.
07:47, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 1,3 using d6-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 3,5. Riding. Of course, that second horse again. So I guess I spend my last chip (red) to get that 1 extra point I need. Don't need to roll that, do I?



Murphy trotts steadily into the river, pushing and cajoling his mounts on. At first it seems like easy going, but then the riverbed is treacherous and while Embarr is quite willing to go on, Hoss stalls, whinying in fear. "Easy, easy, come one you scared bastard!"
But Hoss is adamant at standing there and slowly freeze rather than drown quickly, so Murphy needs several attempts going back and forth until finally making it to the other side - soaking wet and out of breath. But at least he didn't have to pass the dead soldier within his reach.
"Wonder if he's going after the Comanches now? Wouldn't mind that one bit. Come now, boys, come. Let's get you somewhere dry."
He reassuringly strokes Hoss behind the ears. Not every horse could be as brave as Embarr, after all.
"Would've been easier if I left you at the ranch. But all is good now, come."
He clicks his tongue and trots on.

((OOC: The second horse is Carl's horse, which he asked Murphy to bring back to him if he found her on his way. And since you got a complication... }:D ))

Hoss doesn't seem to want to go. Something is scaring her, that much is obvious. And while Murphy doesn't have Carl's knack with the mare, he does have enough horse sense to realize that skittish mares are usually skittish for a reason.

But the only thing around here is the Robertson's place. There's a lantern flickering in the window...shouldn't someone have come by to collect them by now, get them to the safety of town?
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:39, Thu 03 May 2012.

"Damned fool... probably thinks he can hold the Comanche on his own... or maybe he's sick? What do you think, ha?"
He strokes Embarr's neck.

If you ever should answer, I'll know I've lost me mind...

He wraps Hoss' reigns around a low-hanging branch of a nearby bush and trots a little closer toward the Robertson's.

OOC: Is that a cabin or a full-blown-house?

"OY! Paddy Murphy here! You alright, Robertson? Ma'am?" he yells. No sense in getting mistaken for a Comanche by sneaking up to the place.

((OOC: It's in-between the two...large enough for Joel Robertson, his wife Emma, and their daughter Sally to live comfortably. It wouldn't be more than four rooms large, though.))

A figure moves past the window. The door opens a crack.

"Paddy?" shouts Joel Robertson. "Did you bring Dr. Ward with you?"

"No, Joel, Ward's still at the range. What are you doing out here, why aren't you in town?"

He trots a few steps closer so that he doesn't have to yell as much. Now that he'd established that he wasn't Comanche, he didn't want to risk announce his presence to the Savages any more.

"Didn't Carl send you? Didn't anyone send for Ward?" Joel calls plaintively. "Don't you know? Sally was attacked! She's...she's fallen ill...I can't leave her now!"

"Attacked? Oh, dear Jesus, we have to take them to town. It's closer than the ranch. What happened to her?"

Joel opens the door wider and motions him inside. He's clutching a shotgun in the other hand.

"It was horrible...it came at her while she was playing on the porch! A great big cougar swooped in, shook her..." He sobs. "Carl was by, he chased it away...it was heading into town!"

"Sally, don't worry, mama's here..." A voice from another room floats through the small house. "Joel? Is it Doctor Ward? has he come to look after Sally?"

"It's Paddy Murphy, honey! He's come to check on us!"

"Oh, please get Dr. Ward...she's thrashing about so..."

"The cougar bit her..." Joel continues. "I...I think it was foaming at the mouth...I-I don't know what to do...we can't leave her, she's too sick to travel, and there's rumors of Indians about...please! you've got to get Doctor Ward here! Or Evans, I hear he knows something about medicine...or even Underhill, though I pray we don't need a mortician...just get anyone!"

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