You woulda tried to escape too.

"Yes, let me get the horses. I'll meet you downstairs. Thanks, doctor."

Having made her case to the... differently living (was the clank getting through her thick skull?  Let us shudder to think it.) individual who was set upon the vampires from the theater, Katrina had opted to go back to the Town Hall to touch back with the quiet Dust Adder.

It would certainly be a lot more fun to go chasing after vampires, but there would be other chances.  In a sense Alistair Milburn and even the Dust Adders were right, she was in over her head here in terms of technical ability, but how inept was Moses, and he lead the Israelites out of something a lot worse, complete with nearly as many plagues.

She was feeling a lot of sympathy for Moses right now.  Wildcat had a lot more in common with these people than any of them realized, but just as Moses was seen as the outsider despite being one of his own by blood, so was she.

Except she wasn't really Moses here.  That would be the Clank.  The clank was the messenger.  Who was she in this insane scenario?

Is not Aaron the Levite thy brother? I know that he can speak well. And also, behold, he cometh forth to meet thee: and when he seeth thee, he will be glad in his heart.

And thou shalt speak unto him, and put words in his mouth: and I will be with thy mouth, and with his mouth, and will teach you what ye shall do.

And he shall be thy spokesman unto the people: and he shall be, even he shall be to thee instead of a mouth, and thou shalt be to him instead of God.

And thou shalt take this rod in thine hand, wherewith thou shalt do signs.

Aaron.  That worked.  That made sense.  Perhaps not to an outside observer who had a more objective assessment of Miss Hawkin's elocution, but to her it made sense.

But that wasn't right either, Aaron could understand Moses, she had no cotton pickin' idea what the clank was on about, would it be too late?

Her train of thought was interrupted when she realized that Carl was not present.

That was not good.  Not good at all.

Wildcat winds her way through Town Hall, looking for someone she knows, perhaps Deputy McCoy.

As Wildcat is winding her way through the huddled, fearful masses of City Hall, she notices Bill McCoy heading her way, along with another Dust Adder she's never met.

"Miss Hawkins!" He says, waving her over. "We was wonderin' when you'd get here!"

Great. The Ranger everybody seems to like so much.

He tipps his hat to the woman. "Ranger", he says, by way of greeting, then slaps Bill on the shoulder.
"Ye comin', Billy? Christ knows I could use a little backup out there."

"Now hold on there, Irish. Ranger Hawkins can help. All them Rangers know how to track things 'n stuff."

Murphy looks at Wildcat, a genuinly friendly smile on his face.
"S' that true, Ranger? Ye know how ta track things? And stuff?"

Wildcat gives Deputy McCoy's acquaintance (as she thinks of him) the smallest of greetings.

"Ah will 'pologize fer my manners sir but considerin' th' circumstances, ah will just say ah'm obliged ta make yer acquaintance."

Wildcat listens to the exchange with interest.

"Whoa thar' now, what seems ta be th' problem?  Ah' sure it's impo'tant but ah'm not sure what ya'll are onto."

"I've been looking all around for Carl Allen, ma'am"
His 'a' in ma'am sounds like the 'a' in farm, Wildcat notices.

"Got a message fer him. Also got his horse. I hear he's gone missing going after a feller escaped from the church. And then I was fancying searching for a photograph in the indian's camp."
Murphy sounds cheerful.

Bill McCoy throws in: "That's Mad Irish Murphy, Ranger."

Patrick turns toward the deputized Dust Adder, with an annoyed look on his face.
"Name's Patrick, ma'am. Stupid nickname ye should pay no mind ta."

"Patrick? I thought it was Paddy..." Bill says again, before trailing off and looking at the Ranger again. "He's got the right of it, Ma'am. Carl went out chasin' after the Yankee, the one what started zappin' folk earlier today, on account o' him gettin' loose again, and hasn't been back since."

((OOC: GM ghosting))

"Right. Well, ah reckon we better get to findin' him, afore they start blamin' me for him gettin' vanished. Where should we start lookin'?"

"I thought we'd take ye to the place where he was last seen, then hope ye find his tracks."

"Well, when last I saw, Carl was tryin' to head off the Yankee boy, and..." Bill chatters as he leads Murphy and the Ranger gal outside.

Once he's lead them around the Chruch, Ranger Hawkins starts examining the tracks, and eventually picks up a trail. She leads them out past the barricades, up into the north end of town.

The buildings here sit unlit and empty, silent and chill in the night air. There's a silvery glow from the moon that leeches all light, fie, and hope from the surroundings.

"We're gettin' awful close to the cemetery." Bill shudders.

"Quiet!" Ranger Hawkins grumbles, motioning them to halt. "Somethin's up yonder." She points to a large dark lump laying in the middle of the road. Something even darker moves around the motionless lump...

((OOC: Roll Notice, please.))

07:52, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 4,8 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,(6+2)8. Notice roll.

Even in the moonlight, it's easy to tell that the slumped-over body is too big to be human. It's shaped wrong, too...

Then a couple of the crows that were feasting on the thing flap away, and Murphy gets a clear look at the remains. It's a horse, one of the Circle W's by the brand. The poor thing was shot...Murphy can see the arrow shafts in the horse's neck and flank.

There's some disturbance in the mud around the window of the leftmost house next to the horse's body.

"Good God." Bill mutters. "That's the horse Carl was borrowin'!"

"Arrows... bloody Comanche took him."
Murphy has a worried look on his face and he crouches down, looking for something.
"But there's no body, they probably took him alive. For questioning. That's what we'd do if we captured any of them, right? They'll want to know what's facing them just as much as we do."

He gets up again. "Means he's more likely than not at their camp. That's half-good news! We know where to search now."

OOC: Notice: Is there any grey blood around?
10:01, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 5,1 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,1. Notice.

"I'd like to see them try to get any talk out o' him." Bill chuckles. It's sort of a hollow chuckle, the kind the boys usually made in grim circumstances to keep their minds of their troubles. Given that most of the boys thought Carl was mute until a few hours ago, there is a sort of grim humor there. "He's more like to spit in their eye and give 'em the devil's own time of it. They'd prolly pay ransom just to give 'im back."

His face pales at Murphy's other suggestion, though. "Wait a minute, now...I ain't so sanguine about ridin' up into a whole mess o' them!"

((OOC: No grey blood around, and no other blood, either. There was some sort of struggle in the house...sheets have been ripped of the bed, and furniture knocked over. But no blood, either red or gray...though Carl's favorite hat has been left forlornly in the middle of the road. Looking a lot like he was snatched.))

Murphy picks up Carl's hat, dusting of the dirt.
"If ye don't want to face a whole mess of them, 's just one more reason to go there. They are all coming here, right? I'd expect two, maybe three fellers watching Carl."

The lie came easily off his lips. There was no need troubling young Billy McCoy any further.
"B'sides, ye know me. I'm not one to charge into a band of indians. That's stupid. We just go and watch. Carl's want to have his hat back, too."
He grins, but then gets mighty serious in a hurry.

"And Dust Adders watch out for each other, don't they? That's how ye all got me roped in. Just common courtesy to return the favor."

OOC: Throwing in some persuasion for good measure.
13:09, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 8,4 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+2)8,4. Persuasion.


My spider... I mean danger sense might come in handy, later, too. :-)
This message was last edited by the player at 11:13, Thu 31 May 2012.

"You're right. He'd do the same fer us." Bill nods.

The ranger lady sighs. "Well, I reckon Ah'm gonna have to come with ya'll. If'n I don't and he winds up dead, I figger it won't be long afore you all start blaming me fer it somehow."

"Obliged, marshal. I know Carl will appreciate it, too. As will us Adders."

At least some of them. Those that follow Shaw might not look too kindly on that.

((OOC: Do you want to make a Cooperation roll for Wildcat's Tracking?))

22:04, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 0,5 using d4-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 2,(6+1)7. Coop Tracking. Unskilled, too!

With some of the signs Murphy is able to spot, Wildcat is able to pick up a trail fairly quickly.

The trail leads off into the night, out of town, heading for a small hillock just at the outskirts. As Wildcat, Murphy, and Bill travel, they hear the sounds of fighting, and an occasional gunshot, from the top. The sounds die away as they ride closer, though...something happened up there.

"So how d' y'all wanna play this?" Wildcat whispers, drawing out a coach gun.

"I don't know... someone should sneak up there and take a look."
Murphy looks into the darkness, lost in thought, then turns to see the expectant faces of the other two.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, ye want me to go, don't ye? Send the small Irish lad up the bloody hill."

He shakes his head. "Alright, alright. T'was me idea, after all. When I'm not back in 10 minutes, don't let me hanging there, right? Ye'll come and look, right?"

Murphy crosses himself, then starts upwards the hill, crouching low, trying to blend in with his surroundings as much as possible.


OOC:
10:54, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 5,1 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,1. Stealth.

((OOC: Please resume posting on the "War Crimes" thread. Draw a card so I know where Murphy is in the initiative order.))

"gol dern dag nabbit," Wildcat swears under her breath. It ought to be her up there, but Milburn and maybe the quiet Adder had been right: the Comanche would want horses. Guarding them and keeping Deputy McCoy alive was important, it was just that hurry up and wait didn't sit well with her when someone, even a dirt snake, was scouting at the mercies of the enemy.

"Ten minnits, we go on after him," she tells McCoy, fighting Idjit under control. "But look alive, this here hill's prob'ly crawlin wit' injuns, might have a rip-snarlin' fight on our hands any minnit."

This doesn't exactly comfort Bill, who's having trouble rolling a cigarette. "Well I hope not, Miss Ranger Hawkins sir..." he mutters, looking about just in case.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:38, Mon 25 June 2012.