"See, brothers?" comes an ethereal voice from behind the wall of rock. "This is why we're dead...they just didn't care to put the effort in...it was too hard for them to clear the tunnel, so they just left us to rot..."

Carl jerks his hands away from the rock they're working on, drawing his knife and indicating that Murphy should beware of grabby deadder-hands, ready to cut at any that appear as he resumues shifting stone. The only indication that the phantom accusation really did hit like a Comanche war lance to the chest is a slight tightening of the jaw.

You ran out of air. It was nice to have warning, though. Every rock so far he'd been expecting a sudden bloom of undead arms and teeth.

"We ran out of food." The ghostly voice says, in answer to Carl's unvoiced justification. "There was plenty of air. Weeks worth of air. But only the dead and the dying for food."

The voice's reply to his thoughts makes the hairs stand up straight on the back of Carl's neck, but he neither stops shifting rock nor drops his guard. He snorts at the accusation. A kid can survive a couple weeks on less'n that. He was pretty sure Irish was well-aquainted with that fact, too.

Still, there couldn't be much moisture back there, and it was only so long you could live, licking at the rock. According to Dog Charlie a man who ate corpses could get 'all kinds a sick', too. Y'all must've died like rabid dogs, he thinks with sincere pity, swallowing down on the horror. But Blackthorn did its back-breaking, bloody-fingered best day and night without Company help; you just died before we reached you.

Carl takes a moment to rub his face wearily, then scratches at the line of his jaw, mentally adding 'shave' to his to-do list after 'kill Comanches' and 'sleep'. No point getting riled by ghosts, if that was even what they were. Want us to post your bones to Wendell? he wonders, a mean smile just catching in the corner of his mouth. "Prob'ly jes' the Snake foolin' with us," he tells Murphy.

"Don't know about that, Carl..." Murphy answers, seemingly lost in thought.
"Oy! We're sorry what happened to you, we truly are. We're stuck here ourselves, traped by an evil Comanche shaman. Maybe he's the same who did this to you... any idea, where we could find him? To take revenge? And then we'll get a priest, give you a proper burial and all."


<smal>sigh. did i ever not roll 1 on a red chip?
09:17, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 1 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1. red chip adding.
09:17, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 5,5 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,5. persuasion! or smarts trick. same dice.
</small>

"Are you?" The voice whispers. "Are you really? No, you don't know what it is to be trapped down here, slowly losing everything that made you a man. Lost to hunger, lost to fear, lost to the madness of never knowing the sun. We know why we're dead, Patrick Murphy. We know who killed us. We know you came from the outside, and still remember what it is to have a sky full of clouds for a roof. And we know the Indian wizard with a pouch full of souls stands before the dark heart and sings. We can hear his song from here."

There's a faint rattle, like bone being dragged across stone.

"If you want him, come and get him. We'll have a party. A feast with you and Saul's boy as the guests of honor."

((OOC: 00:41, Today: Dead Miners rolled 11,4 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (8+3)11,4. Resisting trick. Sorry, Murphy. That's not going to fool them.))

"You let him be," Carl growls softly, trying to ignore Murphy's doubt. The ghost's words make him strongly aware of his own thirst, the cooled sweat and blood on his skin, the lack of- no.

I knew you. I knew all of you. Do you even remember your own names? I know there was somethin' bad down there...Pa always claimed they over-packed the charges, threw y'all to it. But it's an Injun thing, an' that was Wendell. Y'all can set blame on me for bein a mortal man, not fast or strong enough to reach you, but Paddy's nothin to do with it. You let him be..

"They sound nice enough, though." Murphy whispers.
At Carl's incredulous look he shrugs and adds: "Called me Patrick Murphy. Well, maybe not nice, but, you know, respectful."

Somewhat louder, to the ghosts: "Alright, I'm sorry. No offense meant, mate. Is there something I can do to make amends? Because we really need to get to get to the indian wizard. Or a lot of folks will die."
He licks his lips.
"Folks you know will die. Now, you might bear a grudge against some of them for not being able to save you... but you don't hold the same grudge against their wives and children, do you?"



Persuasion: Total of 7.
10:46, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 3 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3. Another Red chip. Well, it's not a '1'...
10:45, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 4,1 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,1. Persuasion.

"Our grudges run deeper than the mine that killed us. Blackthorn will die screaming. Find your Flora, Patrick Murphy. Put your gun to her head and blow her brains across the wall, then do the same to Rose. Or we will make a special effort to make them linger, in revenge for disturbing our rest."

((OOC: I refund you your chip...Persuasion will not be effective on these things. They are Hostile, and no amount of persuading is going to change their attitude or make them helpful.

They are, in fact, attempting a Taunt Test of Will against you. 01:11, Today: Dead Miners rolled 4,1 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,1. Taunt. Roll Smarts to resist.))

20:18, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 5,4 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,4. Smarts resisting Taunt.

"Well, fuck you too, you bloody bastard!" Murphy shouts, his voice indignant, not really angry.
"Jesus Christ, we were just trying to help you buggers! Don't go around making threats against me family, I tell ye!"

He turns to Carl: "Can you believe the nerve of this fucking bloody guy? I wanted to do this peacefully and respectful, but man they forgot something: Never rile up an Irishman! He's probably a bloody Saxon, too."
The last part, of course, is yelled at the dead miners through the small opening.
"Okay, Carl: What do we do now?"

I got Danger Sense, in case they try a sneak attack or something...

Carl shakes his head slightly. "Ain't a man. Jes'...fear n' sech, in the walls. Echoes." Carl sketches the coils of a snake briefly in the air as to what's probably amplifying those remnant scraps of pain and disease and thirst-crazed rage.

The question gets some thought, Carl absently rubbing at his throat, then makes a shifting motion at the remaining rock, holds up a finger then spends a second or so just staring at the dark. "..."

He moves up the pile of remaining rock first, though, motioning Murphy to wait a moment. "Could be they'll have gnawed each other mostway to dust last time Snake had things up," he suggests, ignoring the walls and the tremor building under his skin. The hunger of the dead could never be appeased, after all. Carl sets his left hand to the rock, knife ready.

Y'all know me. Saul's boy, y'all remember that much. Remember him drunk? Took me 'til I was twenty-one to be able to take my father in a stand-up fight, but I survived. Didn't mind it none, was just my hide and he's kin. That's the most toughness I got, just a mortal man.

The Snake cursed me to death, care o' Nate, but I survived. I set down dissent among my brothers with my blade: they will not break. I got took off my horse and bit by an un-dead cougar, and blew out its brains. I fought ghost-snakes and a sorcerer and a stitched-up man that didn't die, and came out living. I armed my town against the Comanch', got them ready, and when my mount was shot from unner me, I fought the men who could not be hurt by weapons.

I fought Charging Bear, and undid his devil-sacrifice of torture. I stared down a vam-pire, and healed another with my life blood to turn against the Injuns. I have been much wounded today. I have bled. I am bone-terrified of this place, yet I am here, and I will go on until I've got the shaman and stopped this shit and everything that threatens my home.

"If there's anythin' left o' any Blackthorn men back there, you take this chance to pull free o' the Snake, remember what you were. You fight it, not us, an' we'll help you. Or y'all can git in my way."

[[20:46, Today: Carl Allans rolled 0,1 using d8-3,d6-3, rerolling max with rolls of 3,4. intimidating the walls.
20:49, Today: Carl Allans rolled 10 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+4)10. red add. -> 11 Even if it doesn't help, it's still funny.]]

Murphy swallows, hard.

"I'm with you, Carl."
The he begins to pray, quietly.

"Jesus Christ, bring to bear me guardian angel, and all the angels of heaven, against these forces of evil that seek to cause trouble for us.

Saint Michael, be me protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. "

He keeps repeating that whil climbing after Carl.

some mood music

The battle had been won. Augustus Spotswood's amazing Animal Control device had routed the Comanche before they ever got close to the ranch house, or the grazing herds in Dr. Ward's care. The Dust Adders had cheered him on, and not a single life had been lost!

Then the device broke down. Ah, well. Such were the perils of the New Science. Augustus was simply glad that it hadn't suffered a catastrophic failure and blown the ranch house up!

While he'd been demonstrating the practical uses of his genius device, more members of the local chapter of the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon had arrived, as well as a lady in a terrible state of distress who called herself Marina and claimed to have been attacked by Comanche on the road. The Society members had taken her in to let her convalesce.

The Society members seemed to have reached a solution to whatever their argument was about. Dr. Ward approached Augustus with a quest:

"The root of our problems lies at the heart of the Wendell Mine, Mr. Spotswood. We have won a temporary respite, but unless the Aetheric Entity known as Tezcatlcoatl is laid to rest once more, Blackthorn shall never know peace. I would like you to accompany me into the depths of the Mine. Your sonic devices have already proven effective against aetheric entities, and may prove to have use against more corporeal dangers."

Naturally, Augustus had agreed.

Now Mr. Spotswood, Dr. Ward, and a group of five Dust Adders (including Mike Bennett and the giant Tex) were plumbing the depths of the mine. It was well after dark now, and the mine was seemed to close in around the group.

Mike put up a hand. "I hear somethin'," He says. "Sounds like some fool doin' some heavy liftin'."

"Ain't we near where that Bone Thing is?" Ned, one of the more panicky members of the group, gulps.

"Quiet!" Heavy Henry (a rather rotund man) growls, not at all quietly.

"We are near, yes," says Spanish Joe, who really doesn't look quite Spanish to Augustus (more like a half-breed Indian). Good tracker, though. "We should be cautious."

"Hurr Hurr Hurr Hurr," booms Tex. It's rather unsettling, the way he laughs at the slightest thing.

"Mr. Spotswood, you may wish to ready one of your devices." Ward says. "We are nearing the lair of a particularly dangerous crature, a conglomeration of bone and sinew that has attacked my men several times as we have attempted to retrieve Ghost Rock from the veins here. Perhaps you may be the one to finally lay the thing to rest."

((OOC: Augustus, since you never actually rolled for the Gadget, I'll say that you still have a use of Gadgeteer available to you. You have, unfortunately, used all the Ghost Rock Mike gave you.

Carl, Murphy, make Notice rolls at +2 to hear the approaching gaggle of not-very-stealthy cowboys...))

Augustus straightens up suddenly at the sound of his name, instantly losing interest in the curious basalt cross-bedding visible in the nearby wall of the mine.  "Hmm?  Oh...my...   Bone you say?"  Wires and brass jangle as the svientist unlimbers his odd sonic weapon.  "No doubt given animation by some Aethetic Entity?  That would certainly correlate with the supposition of the Ghost Rock within the mine acting as a....."  He trails off and begins wonding the weapon's key.  The tension causes the forks at the gun's mouth to begin a soft, eerily harmonic hum.  "Hush...  The Doctor has explained it all...  No, its all very scientific...  Well...some is still hocum, no doubt, but we shouldn't be rude...."

Carl pauses, though it's too late to stop the rock rattling down their scree pile and confusing the echoes: he stands straight, ready to deal with grabby deadders beyond the rock, sure he heard something, somewhere, but not where or what. More tricks.

[[Carl Allans rolled 3,2 using d6-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 4,3. Notice?]]

OOC: 10:16, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 6,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 6,2. notice.

"Carl, wait. There's somebody here, in the mine. People, I mean. Can't you hear them?"

"I Hear Talkin'." Tex rumbles. "Sounds Like Mad Irish."

Ward frowns. "What is Mr. Murphy doing down here? He's supposed to be helping defend the town!" He mutters, then calls out "Patrick Murphy! Are you down there?"

Carl straightens sharply, staring at the dark over there at the sound of Ward's voice. Then just as sharply switches his attention back to the rock, imagining a flicker of filth-encrused bone through the chinks in the stones.

"I believe its called Gaelic," offers Augustus with pedantic helpfulness towards the frighteningly large Adder, "Mad Irish is a bit derogatory and quite unfair to such a beautiful language."   Weapon humming quietly, the scientist steps up nearer Dr. Ward, "Mr. Murphy is another of your men?  An Irishman?  I do hope he  hasn't run afoul of this bone...thing...."

"Oh." The big man says. "Garlic. OK."

The rest of the Dust Adders snicker and chuckle at that. "Naw, he's talkin' 'bout Mad Irish Murphy," Mike says, "Who, yes, is Irish, but we call him that 'cause he's also a bit crazy."  He turns and shouts into the darkness. "Irish! That you down there? You alight?"

"Well, now they bloody show up... you alright, Carl? I'll go get them." he whispers.

Then he slides back down the small slope of rock and pebbles, grabs his shirt on the way and heads up the shaft toeard the group.
"Aye, it's me, Murphy. Would you keep it down?"

Carl makes a grab for Murphy's arm when he realises what the man's about, but too late. Carl stands on the scree pile trying to hear anything over his own heart as the little Irishman hurries into the dark, hoping like Hell that really is Mike with Ward, because if he goes and leaves this rockface untended, sod's law says that's precisely when the walkers (crawlers, probably, injuries like that) would manage to get through. Singing out in this place of all places doesn't even occur to him.

So Carl stands sentry and waits, refusing to shiver as the cold draught licks at the sweat and blood on his skin. Silently, he prays.

"Ah, another colorful Western sobriquet."  Augustus attention drifts away again, his voice dropping to carry on a conversation with...well...  Possibly himself.  "No, its traditional.  A bond of brotherhood thing I suppose.  Historically, warriors have long given each other amusing nicknames as a show of comradeship...  No, I do not wish to have a nickname...  Well, I'm not a gunhand for one...  No, it isn't, its a sonic amplification and modulation device."  As the Irish fellow gets nearer and makes hus request, Augustus's attention lifts again, slowly focusing in on Murphy, "Keep what down?  Have you seen it then?"

Murphy is still closing the buttons of his shirt as he comes closer into the light.
"Whats the craic, Tex. Mates", he nods to the Dust Adders.
"Doc", to Ward and a polite nod to Augustus.
"Patrick Murphy, how are you."

He looks around for whatever equipment the group brought with them.
"Good thing you've came. We're almost done with clearing the tunnel and get that picture, but we could use another pair of hands or two. Oh, and we've just found the angry spirits of the miners that got buried alive a few years ago. Not sure how to get past them, but between us and them, we should be able to do it."
He flashes a big grin.
"Why are you here, anyways?"

This thread is continued on the "Chapter 16.1: The Serpent's Belly" thread.