Murphy looks at Carl.
"Hey, what about Gabby Clarke? He might have found another way in."

Carl frowns in thought - he'd been musing as much himself, but if there had been any prints from Gabby's mule not washed away by the afternoon's rain the Injuns had probably obliterated them along with their own. They didn't have time to go roust the man out and cajole/beat any information he had from him, not even abandoning their mounts back in town and running a gauntlet of Injuns to secure fresh ones.

[[he has a point, y'know.]]

Think. Keep moving. Carl closes his eyes a moment, maps out the depressions and rises of topography that lie like the knuckles of the land, the cracks, scars and callouses of worked-out ore and abandoned scree and what knowledge he has of the veins of mineral beneath. Last time they'd seen Gabby off he'd been not far north of here, and the time before, coming down out of some scrub cover up that way...Carl pauses at a sudden thought and nods at the creek. "Photographs - waterproof?"

PM
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:50, Mon 03 Sept 2012.

PM PM

In reply to Carl Allans (msg # 29):

"Not sure, Carl. The fancy book man wasn't sure what would help, exactly. Release the essence or something he said. Still, once we have the picture, we can figure that out, I guess."

There's a small nod to indicate Murphy's been heard, then Carl sets the chestnut walking again, heading northward. Keep moving.

"Was a place I found as a kid, got down there by a fault - large enough for a man, jest about. Was old Injun stuff there." But that was in daylight. "Reckon passages off that're likely t'lead unner the mine-" Carl falters, swallows hard on the urge to hyperventilate at the thought of tunnels in the dark, becoming lost, disorientated. (Pa's screams in the throes of delerium tremens, broken glass across the hardpack floor from the lamp. Violence, terror and the dark.)

"-if Gabby ain't gone through the side o' them exactly, could be the Comanch' have knowledge of the Injuns before. We find which way they went," Carl gestures around at the damp, smoky brushwood they're not short of. If the Injuns would sooner suffocate than run/climb out into ambush at that they could take torches in at their leisure.

"Ought leave horses back a way," Carl mentions, since with the recent cold end-of-hibernation weather any pit would be liable to contain vipers.


[[Yeah, we're doomed.]]
This message was last edited by the player at 22:52, Tue 04 Sept 2012.

"That sounds... promising."

Murphy's tone is not exactly enthusiastic.

Carl leads on at a trot, wary and alert. Eighteen years, but he could no more forget the landscape than his own skin: sure, some things changed in the detail like grey hairs suddenly found amidst dark brown, but that ridge, these rocks...and here was where they'd last seen Gabby off from, and still no sign of Injuns.

Down along a low hollow running wet with recent rains, the smell of damp earth and ore trace, the horses snorting reassurances back and forth passing under the darker shadow of rough rock faces. The trail rises a little, turns rocky and ringing underhoof. At last the wrangler halts and dismounts, concentrating on the feel of the ground through boot-soles without socks and not the speeding thud-thud-thud within his chest.

Holding up a hand to signal Murphy should give him jest a minute, Carl takes the rope and paces over to a rocky patch, crouching awhile to orientate himself then moving over to what's clearly a disturbed faultline when he drops to the other side, 18" lower.


[[so, d'you want Survival for torchmaking knowhow, Notice for the right spot to decend when adult-sized, Climb to get far enough down to tell if, well, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClwIj3x24Q4 or...?]]

The crack in the ground has a faint breeze coming from it, rustling the bushes around the edge. The breeze seems to come from below the ground like a damp breath, and the faint wail of rushing air sends gooseflesh rising on the cowbows as they near it. The stones poking around the gap resemble gnarled, broken teeth, like a giant maw ready to bite down on anything that enters it.

((OOC: All three seem like worthy skills to roll, yes. You get a +2 bonus on your climb check for using the rope to descend.))

Carl gestures to Murphy to hitch up and brushes aside the undergrowth, pausing a second to let a spider flee across his hand and abseil into the dark. There's clearly been some human modification to this part the fault untold ages ago, glyphs half-erased by time and seeming like the urgent scrawlings of a madman in the moonlight.

When Irish has caught up, Carl indicates the place and goes to fetch some oilier wood, stripping the top and making a crude well to be stuffed with charcloth, drier scraps of grass and undergrowth and pine pitch, if they're lucky. Another likely bit of wood is prepared for use in case.

Carl looks into the caliginous depths, secures his rope, takes off his coat and heads down at once, as-yet unlit torch through his belt. Not thinking, because if he ever considered going down a hole in the dark, he would become paralysed.
Breathe. Keep moving.


[['k...huh. Apparently being terrified makes Carl good at things (before he starts getting crazy penalties for actually being underground, anyway).
07:04, Today: Carl Allans rolled 2,7 using d6-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 3,(6+2)8. torch-fu.
07:06, Today: Carl Allans rolled 19,1 using d6-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of (6+6+6+2)20,2. Notice? He's super-observant! Does such a very good place to get down - with Carl's example - help Murps' Climb check any?
07:07, Today: Carl Allans rolled 2,11 using d4+1,d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+4)10. climb! Murphs, if you've got rope there (you ought to with the basic Dust Adder kit, I think) assume he's indicated to bring that, too]]

some mood music

The breathing chasm swallows Carl up, buffeting him about as he descends into the depths. Something slithers across the floor in the pale moonlight from the shaft. The glyphs he passes take on a sinister aspect, as if the mad scribblings of a dead race were trying to warn him of his impending doom.

The chamber seems to be much like he remembers it...glazed pots of intricate design shoved into rough niches in the walls...but there's a major difference now, too. Carl's keen eyes catch spiderweb cracks in the floor of the chamber, hinting at danger. Once false step, and the unwary could break through the floor itself and hurtle down who-knew-how deep.

((OOC: The super-observant lets you notice the unsafe floors of these chasms.))

OOC: I guess now's not the best time to mention that Murphy can't climb?

"Oh, Jesus... that is steep..." Murphy whispers and crosses himself.

What ye gonna do now, lad?

Can't let Carl go alone down there... I'm the one who talked him into it. the Irishman mutters.
He wipes his sweaty hands on his shirt, then gets the rope and ties it around a trustworthy enough looking rock.
He crosses himself and gingerly lowers himself over the ledge.

14:41, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 9,1 using d4-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of (4+4+3)11,3. Climbing, unskilled, white chip 2.
14:41, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled -1,0 using d4-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. Climbing, unskilled, white chip.
14:40, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 0,2 using d4-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 2,4. Climbing, unskilled.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" He exclaims as his arms have to carry the full weight of his body and in a sudden surge of panic he kicks with his feet against the wall, causing a small avalanche of pebbles to rain down on Carl.

"Now look what you've done, you fool!" he mutters to himself and takes a few deep breaths, counting slowly to 10, then he descends, slowly, but steadily.

He's shaking and his shirt his wet from sweat by the time he's down, but he made it.

Carl trusted to his boots against vipers, tapping his heel as hard as he dared against the floor to give the reptiles plenty of time to slither away.

Murphs scattering pebbles across his head and shoulders sends a jolt of raw fear through the wrangler, instincts screaming that this is it, the walls are caving in to crush and mangle and leave half-alive in the darkness, the darkness where- can't breathe...

But Murphy might be in danger.
Keep...
the wrangler reaches for the rope and uses his grip and weight to steady it, even before his brain registers that there is air and ability to move.
...moving.

Carl takes in a long, shuddering breath and sets to lighting the torch as Murphy makes the last few feet, giving him an 'all right?' look and a nod at the destabilised floor.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:23, Sat 08 Sept 2012.

The slithering things glow faintly in the dark...whatever they are, they aren't natural serpents, but Carl isn't able to get a good look at them before they scatter.

((OOC: Using the rope gave Murphy a +2 bonus to his climb check (see posts above), so you made it the first time. I refund your chips. If you want to search the area, make Notice checks.))

Carl casts a glance about for indicators of recent disturbance, just in case, but can't concentrate when it involves the idea of standing still down here.

[[Carl Allans rolled 2,1 using d6-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. Notice? Oh, wait, should that have phobia penalties already? In which case Carl is minus observant...]]

15:21, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 7,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 7,2. notice.

As Carl grapples with his terror, Murphy takes his torch around the chamber, making sure to avoid the weak places in the floor. The pots draw his attention first. Made of fired clay, most of the pots have elaborate geometric patterns - zig-zags, concentric squares,  triangles, swirls. The pigments shine in his light, polished to a gleam. There are other items in the niches...bowls, stone knives, arrowheads.

And, in one of the niches, buried in the wall, a skeleton.

Murphy crosses himself.
"Sorry to disturb your peace, brother", he says earnestly.

He carefully touches one of the bowls and grabs an arrowhead.
"What you make of this, Carl? Indian burial ground?"

He tries the point of the arrowhead and shakes his head.
"Wonder if that's why the Comanche went on the war path. If the mine's holy ground to them, they're bound to be unhappy."

Carl looks towards the light and the skeleton currently illuminated by it, pale. (Teeth.)
"Karrencaws. Long gone," he rasps, then frowns a bit at Murphy handling the heathen grave goods.

"Mebbe Snake wants some idol o' their'n," the wrangler allows, looking away from the deceptive flicker of shadow over the bones and flicking the redundant length of rope ready to hand. It's about then he realises he's eaten his grass stem at some point; there's a soft snort at the foolishness as he looks around, then back to Murphy, holding up the end of the free length. "?"

Murphy grabs the rope and looks around.

15:50, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 7,4 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 7,4. Notice.

"Aye", he replies, then points to a rusted old spike that somebody has thrust into the side of the wall a long time ago. He ties the rope around it and gives it some tugs and pulls.
"That oughta hold. I hope." He grins at Carl, hoping it looks reassuring.

Murphy's grin at Carl is short-lived, as the ground he's standing on suddenly collapses out from under him...

((OOC: Roll Agility at -2, please.))
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:23, Sun 09 Sept 2012.

Carl reacts without thinking, throwing the lit torch into the first passageway, hauling back thattaway and grabbing for the little Irishman in the same movement.

[[20:25, Today: Carl Allans rolled 16,-2 using d10-5,d6-5, rerolling max with rolls of (10+10+1)21,3. floor collapse! That is some raisins, I think - may I share 'em with Murphs?]]

((OOC: Yes. Murphy goes from a -2 to a +2 on his Agility roll))

22:05, Today: Mad Irish Murphy rolled 9,3 using d8+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 7,1. Agility.

Murphy grabs on to Carl as well and together they stumble backwards.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph...." Murphy says, again, after he caught his breath, the coughs from all the dust around.