Night, April 11th, 1879. Blackthorn, Texas. Good Friday.

Later, when they told the tale, they said it went like this: that the Ranger rode into Blackthorn on a speckled grullo barely darker than her duster, bloodied but straight in the saddle, a blanket-wrapped little girl curled tight to the Ranger's body and a small boy clinging behind.

There'd been an attempted massacre, she'd said, and given the girl into the arms of the priest with a quiet word that turned him pale and sent him hurrying to do his best. The Injuns had taken to crucifyin' folk.

It was the boy who told them how Ranger Hawkins had touched his wrists and kissed away the pain, and showed them the almost-healed scars.

'She done made it better,' he said, and Ranger Hawkins smiled despite the blood matting the dark gold hair that escaped her white hat, and told the people that God weren't none too happy with the forces that beset them, and He had sent His angels and a power to her hand to help them. She told them how to hold off the Injuns who were rendered immortal by magic, and how she'd seen off a demon, and passed the tooth of a cougar to the grieving parents of a little girl slain by the darkness about the town, saying it was from one of the Dust Adders that had brought the wounded in behind her, brought to heel by Ranger Hawkins in Blackthorn's time of need. The man Murphy confirmed this, that they worked together on the Indians' hill, and that the Ranger could tame monsters.

And the people, seeing that she could work miracles and might yet deliver them from their enemies, would praise her, but Ranger Hawkins said: 'This power I show is the LORD's: y'all turn your attentions unto Him, for it is His hand that will save you. As for the rest, I'm jes' doing my job.'

Then the ranger stood watch over the people of the town throughout that harrowing night. Shooting, explosions, and shouting. Jericho Cantrell taking shots at one of the immortal Indians just outside city hall. Gus Shaw gathering the Dust Adders together to attack Evans, who he claimed was off to the ranch to slaughter cattle because he'd gone mad. The explosion that destroyed the church, and the Dust Adder pulling the body of Gus Shaw back to the hall, saying he'd been taken down.

It was a wild few hours. But now it has calmed down. Evans and his deputies has left town, as far as anyone could tell. The Dust adders hadn't liked it, but Wildcat and Cantrell had managed to convince them that they were needed to protect the people, not chase after the Marshal.

That was when the people started looking to her. They wanted her to find the rogue and stop him. Murphy's wife had come over to her, and begged her to find out what had happened to her husband, who had gone off with Carl to discover where the rest of the Comanche Band was up to and had not returned.

She was a hero to these people now. And they wanted her to hero on just a little more...

Wildcat looked around.  She'd lost her hat.

Her hat, once white and pristine, was now marked by a single bullet hole and rimmed with the Texas dust, soaked in sweat, and a spatter of dried blood was seen here and there.  The band was losing its smoothness and stitching as the hat had been used as a makeshift bucket to contain a small fire just hours before.  Although it did hold water (after a fashion, the bullet hole causing a leak), hats weren't really meant to be used so... forcefully.

The irony that the hat, much like her, was no longer as white and pristine as it once was never dawned on her.  That scar on her arm was never going away.  But at least the hat, like Katrina herself, was still white and pure somewhere in the depths of its weave even if the edges were a little frayed. And burned.  And bloody.

She found it, right there under the coach gun.  She'd set it there in case she had to defend the point, but she'd been wielding the .44-40 most of the night.  Its range, power and capacity were what the job needed.

Grabbing both, she turned to man who she suspected, at one point, also had some white in the weave of his soul, but it had long since been tarnished to at least a medium gray.

"Kingsnake."  She placed the tortured cranial decor upon her matted hair.  She'd tied it back for this with a piece of scrap baling wire she'd found in the bottom of the war bag.  If her momma could see her now, she'd have feinted.

"Ah reckon this here mess is good'r'n et's ev'r gunna get.  Ah reckon too th' woman a' tellin' me 'bout the mess out thar might'n be a widder right 'bout now, only fair ah go find out fer her."

The blue eyes narrowed.  A mere few days ago that stare was pathetic in its attempts to be fierce, but now, there was something behind it that at least gave one pause.

"Ah don' like ya'll Cantrell.  Ah really don'.  But ah got me no other 'tern'tive than ta go by what ah done seen ya do, an' ya ain't done wrong jus' yet.  So ah'm gonna trust ya.  Ya may be a snake that's good fer killin' th' other snakes, but yer a snake all th' same."

Jericho nods. "Fair enough. I've done tried my best, anyhow. You want me ridin' with you, all you gotta do is say the word."

"Ah think ah gots to do this one by mah lonesome.  One riot, one Ranger.  'Sides ah need mah Kingsnake here ta' keep th' others in line."

Cantrell nods. "I see. Well, then. I wish you the best, and I'll keep the snake here in line 'till you get back." He tips his hat to her. "God go with you, Hawkins. I reckon you're Daddy'd be proud, and I know Armstong would be, if he could see you now."

"Th' Lord goes to th's strangest places Cantrell.  Mah daddy may be why ah done got 'n this mess... but he ain't why ah stayed in it.  Hold down th' fort, ah need to fill mah canteen 'fore ah go."

She had a feeling she'd need some water to bless, so she'd better take a good long drink too.

((OOC: When you've filled your canteen and blessed it, you can make a Tracking roll to try and get a trail to follow to find Carl and Murphy's trail.))

That's mostly for flavor, I'm not invoking a Miracle or anything.  Yet.

21:51, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 11,4 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+5)11,4. 'cat trackin' - a new line dance?

All the trails.  Wildcat finds all of them.

The moon was full, but the light had to reach Wildcat and her borrowed horse through the thick clouds in the sky. A wet, chill wind blew from the east, carrying the scent of rain and a hint of ozone. Out over the sea, clouds thickened, and jagged bolts of lightning sizzled into the water. The thunder was growing louder. Another storm was coming. It would be here soon. Any trails she'd follow would be long gone in a few hours.

She follows the trial of the two riders back towards that terrible hill where the Comanche had made their passion play. She follows the tracks down to where the Indian band split up. She'd notice Idjit's shy, nervous, meandering gait anywhere, and she'd let Carl borrow the horse because for some reason he'd assumed Idjit would be better for stealth. She had no idea why, but now it was working in her favor.

At the split trail, she tires to make sense of what had happened.

One group, about fifteen or sixteen strong, is headed toward town...that would be the group that had attacked and been captured.

The second group, about the same size, looks like it's heading deeper into the ranch lands. Possibly heading to attack the ranch.

And the third tail, the largest group of all, with about 20 distinct prints, is going along the creek. They must be heading to the mine she'd heard mentioned.

All the trails are several hours old...made before sundown.

Carl and Murphy's trail turns and follows the large group heading along the creek. It crossed the creek at one point, and Wildcat has to herd her mount over the waters to continue on. Across the creek, the trail suddenly vanishes...the Comanche must have started covering their tracks just after crossing the creek. But Idjit's trail is still easy as ever to follow, and she made good time up the hillside, down a low hollow running wet with the recent rains. The trail rises a little, turns rocky.

Finally, Wildcat spies a pair of horses (one of them definitely Idjit) hitched to a small honey mesquite tree. Someone has lit a fire nearby...she can see dense smoke from the wet wood rising into the cold air. A figure in what looks like a fur blanket sits by the fire, stirring it occasionally, sending sparks flying into the sky. The sparks seem to briefly take on fanciful shapes, if one squinted...a rising snake, a diving hawk, a stalking cougar, a whirling explosion, a pack of wolves, a stampede of longhorn cattle.

The figure doesn't seem to have noticed Wildcat's arrival.

As much as she purportedly hated that unreliable animal, her heart leapt for joy to see him. But who was this?  A caretaker or a horse thief?

She wasn't one for stealth, Wildcat.

Slipping out of the saddle with a well drilled dismount, she tied the reins off.  If she fired a shot, she couldn't have all of the horses take off running.  She knew Idjit at least was like to do so, for no beast was less suited to life as a Ranger's mount.

With her Peacemaker at low ready* and the hammer thumbed back, she approached the fur clad fire-tender.  Her words were loud, but not shouted, and clear.

"Texas Ranger!"  Those words ought to ferret out some truth pretty quickly, surely an innocent man would just pause and wish to straighten this out, and a guilty one would bolt or mess with someone who really was in no mood for such.

"This here's an ohfishul 'vest'a'gash'un, ya'll aren't in no trouble yet but ah got ta know how ya'll come by them horses."

*low ready indicates the weapon is in hand, but the muzzle is pointed down at the ground at an angle.  It's a technique for being able to respond quickly without having to point a gun at someone who hasn't proven to be a threat yet.

some mood music

The figure either did not hear or seems to be ignoring Wildcat's words. Either way, he calmly stretches out his brown, wizened arm and stirs something in a tin coffee pot sitting in the fire, something that smells absolutely nothing like coffee.

As she approaches the figure, she makes out more details. The old man isn't just wrapped in a fur blanket--it's an actual coyote skin, with the head serving as a hood. Pouches, feathers, beads and other things hang off of him. Next to him lie a flute, a carved stick decorated with feathers, a long pipe, and a stretched skin drum.

The silence stretches. It grows, widening into uncomfortableness, but just before Wildcat can break it by repeating her demand, as she is in fact drawing breath to say something, anything, to end the awful silence...

"Heh."

The old man chuckles.

""heh heh. heh heh heh. hehhehhehhehhehHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahahahaaaa!"

The sudden, bizarre cackle startles her, as indeed it startles the horses, who shift uncomfortable away from the man in the coyote skin. He continues cackling for quite some time, though Wildcat has precious little idea what he seems to find so funny. His chilling laugh echoes over the rocky draw, and seems to echo down into the depths of the earth.

Then, as suddenly as as he begins, the fur-clad stranger stops, his haoguh cutting off in mid-breath as if he would cough of hiccup or something. But the old man does not.

"Not smart, Texas Ranger." he says. "A red man sits next to horses. You come on them, and think the man claims possession. White man always assumes possession, and then, when the red man says, no, these horses are not his possession, white man locks red man up or shoots him as a thief, then claims possession for himself. The horses where here when I sat down and made my little fire, Texas Ranger. They will be here when I leave. There is only old Laughs at Darkness and two horses here. They do not have anything to do with each other, except that they are warmed by the same little fire for a time."

He turns a fraction of an inch. Light glitters off the eyes of the coyote pelt he wears, but his face is hidden in shadow, and Wildcat can only make out a silhouette of an old, weathered face. "Heh. And as for trouble? I am always in trouble. That is my nature." He motions to a spot next to the campfire. "Well?"

She stopped herself.  Whoever this strange man was, she was wary of him and his eerie way of making her pause like that.  But at the same time, she wasn't afraid of him for some reason.

She carefully lowered the hammer, put it back on the loading position, and spun the cylinder to rest on the empty chamber.  Holstering the Colt, she walked to his fire.

"Look feller, it ain't really 'bout th' horses, but ah'm a lookin' fer some folks might be in a world o' hurt and ah just wann' know if'n you seen 'em or even had nothin' ta do with 'em.  Mister Injun, ah got ta inform ya'll 'tis ain't no place ta be right now.  Ah don't know if'n yer 'ware of it, but there's a whole mess o' trouble 'bout here."

"heheheHEHEHEHAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAaaaaaa!" The old man cackles. "You think I don't know that? You think old Laughs At Darkness is sitting here above Mirror Serpent's den for his health? HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA..."

He continues cackling.

"HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA"

He's not even pausing for breath.

"HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA"

 It's starting to get uncomfortable...

He stops abruptly. "Not smart, Ranger. Not smart at all. Only a great fool would not see the great trouble here. So you must ask the right question. The question is not, 'do you know there is trouble here?' The question IS!" He barks that last.

He seems to be waiting for a reply. But before she can actually respond, he snatches up his carved stick and smacks her across the thigh.

{thwack!}

"THE!"

{thwack!}

"QUESTION!"

{thwack!}

"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS!!!!"

He lowers the stick. "The question you should be asking is, if there is great trouble here, which any fool can see, why is this man here, beside your horse, with a fire going as if to alert anyone coming this way where he was?"

He resume stirring the stuff in the pot, which smells like rabbit soup.

Taken aback, Katrina Hawkins didn't know how on heaven or earth to react to, well... that.  She tried jumping back from the stick but it did no good.

She could have said anything better, but she went with the first thing that came out of her mouth.

"How'd ya'll reckon Idjit were mah horse?  Ain't never seen ya 'fore now."

The old man cups his forehead with his hand, as if trying to massage away a headache. "Stupid. So, so stupid." he mutters "Why does Wakan Tanka never pick the smart whites to give his blessings to? No, all the smart ones are stupid in other ways, think they can play with the manitou all day long and not get burned."

The old Indian looks back up at Wildcat. He points to the Idjit horse in question, who is looking at Wildcat and whinnying at her for oats.

"Even if I knew nothing else about you, Ranger Hawkins, that would be something you would call a clue, yes?"

"Ah reckon ah would... look mister injun whatever burrow milk yer a pourin', it ain't landin' in my canteen.  If'n ya know somethin's goin' on here, ah'd be much obliged ta hear it.  Ah got to find them fellers while they's still above snakes... ah hope they's above snakes."

She didn't dwell on it.  If she started thinking like that what was the point of any of this?

"Burrow milk? HAhahahahahaha! I shall have to remember that one!" Laughs At Darkness cackles. "Yes, I know things. Many things. Wakan-Tanka has sent me to watch this situation, and advise. BUT! I find simply telling people things they need to hear is dull. And more often than not, if I just tell people something, they say, 'oh, that is nice,' then make complete asses of themselves doing something else. People are not smart. And you must be smart, if you are to be of any use to the people down below, in the serpent's belly."

He shakes his head. "No, they are not above. They wander in the serpent's belly, and are slowing being digested. Do you know the story of the snake as big as a valley? I will tell you. It was so large, it kept its mouth open all the time, and people went into its mouth without knowing. They wandered into the snake's stomach, and were slowly digested. But Fox and Coyote, they heard of this snake. They prepared. Fox brought with him two poles, and Coyote tied an arrow to his head. And then Fox and Coyote walked into the valley. When they came to the people who were dying, they knew they were in the right place, and so Fox set the poles near where the light was, to keep the snake's mouth open, and Coyote danced and leapt, and the arrow on his head pierced the snake's heart. The snake was thus defeated, and the two lead the people out to freedom. They were smart, Ranger Hawkins. Are you smart? So far, I am not impressed."

He leans back and points to the fire. "Take a seat, please. We shall have a contest. We will trade questions, you and I. I will see how smart you are. The smarter you are, the less likely I will be to lie. I will give you a name based on how smart you are. It will be a name you will bear for the rest of your life. All those who walk in the spirit ways, who touch the Hunting Grounds, will know you by this name. And you will have earned the things you wish to know, learned the things you need to know, and be less likely to forget or disregard either." he shrugs. "Or you can walk away. The entrance to the serpent's belly is over there."

He points to a crack in the ground about a hundred yards away. 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 Wildcat's arms. The stones poking around the gap resemble gnarled, broken teeth, like a giant maw ready to bite down on anything that enters it. A rope has been tied around a bush, and falls down into darkness.

"Your choice." The old man says. "No pressure."

Some understanding came to her, after a fashion.  She remembered Th' Big Snake quite plainly.

"Reckon ah'll need me a pole an' not a polecat."  The Ranger could be cryptic too, and reared up and took the perch.

"No one never accused me of bein' smart mister.  If'n I were smart reckon ah wouldn't be here no how.  But if'n ya'll say ah got ta start, let's just hope ah ain't barkin' at a knot here.  Who's ol' Wonky Tonic enny how, is he in th' snake's belly too?"

"HA! After a fashion, I suppose he would be. Wakan Tanka is everywhere. Wakan Tanka is the Great Mystery." Laughs at Darkness says, picking up the peace pipe and filing the bowl with pinches of tobacco. "The closest concept Christians have to Wakan Tanka is the Holy Ghost. The power you call on is Wakan Tanka's. You could at least try to get the name right."

He takes a puff from the pipe, and offers it to Wildcat.

"Funny fern werds take a 'mite o' practice.  Holy Ghost is somethin ah got lot more practice jawin' on."

She accepted the pipe.  She'd spent a time learning that men loved to give her acrid and strong tobacco to smoke in cigar or pipe form, first to see if she'd flinch at the delivery method, and then they'd hope she'd cough and hack from a single inhalation.  She'd gotten very good at disappointing them on both fronts.

Of course who knew what this feller was smoking.  Nonetheless she took a good puff.

Laughs at Darkness shrugs. As she puffs, the old man sprinkles a pinch of the tobacco on the ground.

The tobacco in the pipe is strong, but not overly so. There's a flavor in the mix that Wildcat is unfamiliar with, which gives the smoke a pleasant aroma.

"Well then." The old shaman says as he accepts the pipe back from her. "My first question: Why are the Rangers wrong?"

Something in her rose up to argue, but a flood of recent memories stopped her.  Even Armstrong hadn't been what she'd thought... but that made him nothing less.

"They's wrong fer th' same reason ah am, er was, er might'n be 'gain."

The old man waits. Either he's waiting for her to elaborate, or perhaps he'd just fallen asleep. It was hard to tell.

Concerned, she got up and moved to touch him.  "Are ye all right there mister Injun?"

"I am waiting for you to answer my question." The old shaman says. "You are only smart if you can explain in the way the stupid may understand."

"Don't sit so still feller... it ain't right."  She went back to her perch.  "But... ah reckon every'un sometimes thinks they knows better'n they do."

""hehhehhehhehhehHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahahahaaaa!" The old man cackles. "Interesting, but smart, yes. Very smart. Ask your second question."

"Uh... all right... what'll stop th' Big Snake butt cold, so he can't do this mess ever'n 'gain?"

The shaman thinks for a moment, tapping his stick against the ground. "That's probably the wrong question, as stopping him for good means killing him, which means either traveling in his lair in the Hunting Grounds or waiting until he is fully awakened. It is possible, but damn difficult. To have the best shot of killing him, you would have to hit him in the heart--his scales are hard enough to turn aside cannons. To stop him from healing himself back from death, you would need to harm him with his own poison, or the poison of one of his brood. The Karankawa, when they sealed him away, had weapons with them for just such a purpose, which are scattered about his lair. Far, far easier to stop the shaman who wants to wake him, then try to sing him back to sleep."

He reaches over the tin coffee pot, and picks up the ladle. He licks the end of it. he grimaces. "Feh. Needs something." He looks over at Wildcat. "Do you have something good to season rabbit stew with you, or with your Idjit?"

"Eh, prob'ly."  She shook out the war bag.  She'd had to feed herself and the quiet Dust Adder with it, but that had just been a few fried corn johnny cakes she'd made because that was the easiest thing to give him in that bank vault, and it didn't require a fire or utensils.  There was always coffee and an array of odds and ends of food, and things that made scavenged food slightly less terrible, within it.

I assmume between the "Trail Rations" she probably at least has salt and pepper, which would help some.

((OOC: I'll let you have whatever is reasonable for Wildcat to have on her. Are you actually giving the stuff over to LaD?))

Probably black and red pepper and salt, it's not like she'd have a kitchen in there.

"Here, ah got some pepper 'n some salt if'n ya care fer it, might help it."

Not yet, I want him to ask for it.

Laughs at Darkness is quiet. He seems...expectant. He continues stirring the soup.

"Would ye like some?"

""hehhehhehhehhehHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahahahaaaa!" The old man cackles. He launches into quite a long laughing jag.

When he finally gets himself under control, he nods. "Yes, I would indeed. But that was not smart, Ranger. You just used up your last question on salt for our supper. AND I still have one question yet to ask you. Not smart, ranger. Not smart at all."

"Oh fer th' love of Pete, only reason ah didn't offer you none first was ya just asked if'n ah had it.  Ah's tryin' ta be neighborly an' do yer... whatever this is here... an' yer actin' like a jackass!  If'n that's being smart I'll be a dumbass 'n like it!"

"Yes, and it was smart that you caught that, but this is not a contest where being neighborly and polite wins you any points!" the old man cackles. The coyote eyes in his hood glitter in the firelight. "Oh, you would, would you? I could arrange that, you know. But the stakes we are playing for are very high. So, I propose a wager. We will start again, only you get two questions to my two. And if I manage to trick you again by making you speak before you think, you'll be Dumbass and have to like it. If you win, I'll be extra nice and give you something helpful to use. Now hand over that salt, the stew is burning. Or go on down the tunnel, with only one question answered."

She handed him the salt.  "If'n it might save them folks, Dumbass'll do."

"Well, I never did doubt your bravery or willingness to put yourself in danger for others." The shaman says, taking the salt and the pepper too and using pinches of them in the stew. "Only your smarts." he sips the stew. "Better. If you are hungry, let me know, and I'll ladel you some."

"Thank ye kindly.  But ah'm might nervous, don't think ah can think ta eat."

"As you will." The shaman says, and ladles himself a generous bowl of the stuff. It smells pretty good, all things considered, and it has been some time since Wildcat ate last. Laughs at Darkness takes to the food with gusto, seeming to relish the taste of the stew as he contemplate his next question. Then he raises the flute to his lips and begins to play.

some mood music

He pauses, though the music seems to hang in the air, everywhere and yet nowhere.

"In your breast, there are three wolves." He says. "One is white, one is dark, one is grey."

"The white one, she was a pretty thing once. She sings prayers and psalms, and wants to live in harmony with all around her and does not with to take offense where no offense is intended. She will only fight when it is right to do so, to protect others, to see the innocent come to no harm."

"The dark wolf, she is full of anger. She fights everyone, all the time, for reasons she makes up to ease her conscience and allow her to feel justified in her anger and hate. This wolf, she bites when she does not need to, kills fathers and friends in vengeance, scares little children. She cannot think because her anger is so great."

"The grey wolf, she is proud. Her coat is silver, and she wants so much for that silver pelt to be her mark on the world. She has given up much for her silver coat--family, mother, a den, a mate. This wolf worries all the time about her legacy, about her honor, and fears that maybe the silver was not worth the struggle."

"And so the three wolves fight. All the time, they struggle in your heart, until you feel as if it would burst in your chest. All three try to be the one to come out on top."

He plays a little while more on his flute, letting her ponder his statement. Then he sets the flute aside.

"My question to you: which wolf will win?"

She leaned back, well as much as she could on that little perch anyway.

“Dang feller, ya really cut to th’ quick on that one, ya know.  Ain’t a lot of fun ta hear it that way.  But least that ain’t a hard question, not no more.  Ya ain't tellin' th' whole story.

“First ya forgot them wolfs, they gotta eat.  And then ya didn’t mention there’s a fourth wolf.  But he's kindy new to th' pack.  Th’ fourth wolf, he’s a yeller ‘un, but he ain’t yeller like no scaredy cat, he’s what ya might call kind of gold, sorta like one of them yeller dogs.  An’ that there wolf, he knows ‘em other three are all kinda dumbasses.  An’ really th’ yeller wolf ought be th’ one that wins out, but he can’t take on all three, only two at a time.

“So that’s how it goes.  He keeps two of ‘em at bay, and he lets th’ third alone, but since they’s always fightin’, th’ one that ain’t gotta fight goes and hunts and gnaws th’ bones.  Once that wolf has ate up enough, he drags that one into th’ fray an tosses th’ other out.

“Ah hope one day those three dumbasses wolfs’ll realize that yeller one is actually in charge, cuz he decides which one ta send huntin’.  An' the dern thing is, if'n he don't reg-ah-late 'em, they's too stupid an' will jus' keep a fightin' til they all die of starvation.  And if’n they just a keep fightin’ each other, that yeller one, well he’ll starve ta death eventually.  He’s gotta come to the front an’ hunt sometimes too.

”They don't got ta oblige each 'nother none, but they gotta learn to mind that yeller one, or all them wolfs jus' gon' starve ta death."

"I forget nothing, except..." Laughs At Darkness starts, then stops.

For quite a while.

Quite a long while.

It's starting to grow uncomfortable.

Then...

It's more uncomfortable.

But just before Wildcat can say anything to break the silence, he says. "Hmm. Smart enough. Interesting that you would give Wakan Tanka a role in this and remove your choices in which wolf to feed. But very well. Ask your next question."

"Oh tha's jus' it, ah dunno if'n that yeller wolf is ol' Wanka Tanya or if'n it's jus' an ol' feller I fergot about.

"Whassat best way ta stop that shaman tryin' ta conjur' up that' Big 'Ol Snake?"

"I see, said the blind man to his deaf dog." Laughs at Darkness says with a chuckle. "Well. Pale Moon needs souls to power his ritual." The Shaman says. "He sent his men to take people from the town and the ranch, and being them to him to sacrifice on a stone altar over Mirror Serpent's nest. They failed, but he still has men to sacrifice."

"Pale Moon has a magic painting that holds the souls of his warriors. If the picture is destroyed, the souls will be released, and all the warriors will die. Then Pale Moon will have the souls he needs to wake Mirror Serpent. If the picture is taken from him, and a cleansing ritual performed, the magic will end, and the souls will be returned to the warriors, who will then be alive again. If the picture is destroyed, and the warriors are within the mines, their souls will be drawn into the Ghost Rock whether the ritual is finished or not. If that happens..."

Suddenly, Laughs at Darkness leaps up and screams.

"KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"

He sits back down. "So don't do that. Get the picture away from him, interrupt him so he has to start again, or kill him. Those are your best options. Ponder this, while I consider your last question."

Ghost.  Rock.  Mine.

Kaboom?

Oh this was Bad.

Suddenly all of Katrina's other problems seemed miniscule by comparison.

The shaman is quiet for quite a while. The he stands, and begins danceing. he doesn't make a sound, he just moves, leaps, moves, leaps, sways, leaps, and moves. Wildcat has no idea just what the heck he's doing.

But she watches intently, trying to see if there's a pattern or a dance to it, or if it reminds her of anything.

There's a pattern, all right, but it doesn't seem to be anything more than a particularly elaborate rain dance. Eventually, the shaman stops, and sits. He takes a few breaths.

"Darn." He says. "I was really hoping you'd fall for it this time. Now I actually have to think up a question."

He rocks back and forth, then begins giggling.

He looks at Wildcat. "If I were to ask you the question you'd least like me to ask you, what would your answer be? Be truthful now."

The Ranger looked at him with anger flaring in her eyes, but her body didn't twitch.

"That there's downright low, ya flea munchin varmint. But it ain't hard."

Extending her legs, she moved her feet, giving her boots the appearance of rotation.  He was a low down snake in the grass.  This sucked to say out loud, it was something she'd tried to swallow and never regurgitate.

So much for that.  Her voice was small but audible.  It was probably the voice of that white wolf he was going on about.

"Jacob or Diana.  Dependin', ah reckon."

"I see." The old shaman says, surprisingly gently. "Very Well. Ask you final question, and receive your name."

The Ranger mused this over, but she couldn't tarry for too long... then it came to her.

"What'n ought ah do, right here momentarily if'n right now, ah wanna be th' dad burn smartest cowpoke ta ever put on a pair o' boots an' walk 'em o'er God's green Earth?"

""hehhehhehhehhehHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahahahaaaa!" The old shaman laughs. He continues laughing for a while.

"Hee, pack up and run, run, run for the hills!" He giggles. "But that's not really what you're going to do, so do this instead. Take this rope," he points at the rope leading into the crack in the ground, "and mind the gap. Follow the halls to the cave-in and watch for snakes. Find the group within. Tell the Irishman what I have told you about the picture, and how destroying it will doom you all unless it is done right. Follow the rails AND the Ghost Rock to the silver lode...you can avoid the nest that way, and there is a secret tunnel to Mirror Serpent's slumbering lair. Sneak very very quiet through the lair...Pale Moon will not expect it unless the alarm is raised, and will be less guarded. Do not reason with the shaman--he is beyond reason. But Ghost Wolf is not, and if he is in charge, he will take his men far, far away. If you would kill Mirror Serpent, look very carefully about his nest for the things the Old Ones left behind, then have Ward open a way to the Hunting Grounds and confront him there, then use what you have been told to slay him. That way, the Ghost Rock will be there for the people of town to use. If you would rather let him sleep, well, Ward can do so, but then the mines must be sealed for all time, and the fortune lost, which is bad because the herd must also be killed. That will be good for the world, bad for the town. The choice is up to those below. If all goes very, very wrong, only the thunderhawk in the tin angel can stop Mirror Serpent. Releasing her will be very, very, very dangerous for all involved, but by that point it may be the only thing left."

"You are Wakan Tanka's messenger now, Wildcat. Go." The shaman waves her away. And as he says the name "Wildcat," Katrina Hawkins realizes that it's not just her nickname, not anymore. It's become a mark she will bear for the rest of her life.

What... what just happened?  She felt very different all of a sudden, but wasn't sure why.  Something was wrong, different.  But there was no time for that.

"Yer a queer fish Mister Injun... but ah reckon ya mean well, so ah'm much obliged."

She had one more thing to do before she left.  Reaching into the partially opened warbag, she grabbed whatever was in there, sugar, oats, anything, Idjit might like and packed it between her palms.

Giving either horse a handful of it, she stopped to stroke Idjit's face for a moment.  "Ya stupid horse."  The tone and the words didn't match.

She reached for her knife to weaken the branch, but after seeing a bit of clever knotwork on the lead, smirked and let it be.  Even Idjit could get out of that if he really wanted to.  She carefully imitated it with the reins of the horse she'd borrowed.  If this all went south, maybe the three of them could start over somewhere.

She understood him now.  Idjit wasn't meant for this, but he was here all the same.  Even a non stupid horse shouldn't go ignored, so she fed them all the little bite of food.  The Ranger couldn't linger like she might want to, but this might be the last time she saw horses on this side of The Great Corral.  There wasn't anything in the Bible about it, but she was sure heaven was full of horses, and mostly stupid ones at that.

She didn't remember walking away from them, but she must have since she found the rope in her gloved hand soon enough.  Wildcat began to make her way, still curious in the back of her mind what was different all of a sudden.

some mood music

The breathing chasm swallows Wildcat up and the wind from within buffets her about as she descends. It's dark down here...there's no direct light from the crack above her, and the only thing she can see are the walls. There are a number of glyphs carved into the wall, that seem to slither and move in the faint light from the mad shaman's fire, as if the mad scribblings of a dead people were trying to warn her of her impending doom...or climb off the walls and attack her.

She hears something slither across the floor below her...and it echoes strangely. And what did the shaman mean, "Mind the gap?"

A gap could mean either a hole in the floor or the wall in a chasm like this.  She had to be careful... but what was that?

Reaching into one of the duster's many pockets, she produced one of the matches she normally lit cigars with and struck it.  It would only show her the way perhaps for a moment, but it was better than nothing.

((OOC: There's lots to see here, so make me a Notice check. Success will get you a baseline visual, each Raise gets you more info in your brief glimpse.))

20:29, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 2,8 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,(6+2)8. Notice.

Purdy good!

The chamber seems to be some ancient burial chamber. There are glazed pots of intricate design shoved into rough niches in the walls. Made of fired clay, most of the pots have elaborate geometric patterns - zig-zags, concentric squares,  triangles, swirls. The pigments shine in her 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.



It's almost enough to distract her from the fact that, directly below her, there is no floor. A crescent rip three feet wide and almost seven feet long lies directly below the line Wildcat dangles on. She can't see the bottom of the hole, but she could swear she hears slithering from down in the hole, and the faint rattle of angry snakes...it would be a good thing to not fall into it.

Aside from the new hole in the floor, the only way out of the burial chamber is a short passageway not too far away...but the hole is between her and the passage, and Wildcat can see that the floor of the chamber is a spiderweb of cracks.

Won't this be fun to traverse?

All right here's a question.

Barrier is normally thought of as one of the faces of the "cubes" characters stand in for combat purposes, but nothing about the Blessed trapping indicate it can't be the "floor" or "ceiling" of the cube, and I think I can make it work as such.

Would 1" of Barrier be about enough to create a temporary reinforced area Wildcat could just walk over?

((OOC: So you want to try the Indiana Jones trick of making a leap of faith? Sure. I don't have a problem with that.))

Exactly!  Because there's not really a snappy Bible verse for this one.

She shimmied down the rope as much as she could.  Before letting go, she intoned a few quiet words.

"All right now... ah know t'ain't my place ta tempt ya none, but there's only one way over that there gap... ya made th' walls tumble an' the sea part, ah reckon this ought ta be no problem."

She swung just a bit to get as much help on it as she could, she'd have to let go at the best momentum, and simultaneously hope she cleared it and the cracked ground held...

When in reality she's creating a solid barrier under herself and doesn't realize it!

21:53, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 9,-1 using 1d10-2,1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of (10+1)11,1. Seasoned Miracle.

Wildcat manages to land just shy of the gap, and is able to make it to the passage without causing the rest of the floor to crumble. Praise the Lord.

Now if only she could find some light...it's pitch black down here, and she was warned to watch for snakes.

Well the matches didn't burn long, but she had quite a few of them.  Wildcat struck one near the floor to see if there was anything that might ignite that she could carry.

Really trying to not use two Miracles back to back.  XD

Wildcat can spot pots, arrowheads, clay bowls, stone knives, and bones in the niches in the chamber she just left...but no wood or cloth. The rope itself is tied to a rusty iron spike in the wall, and there is a similar one on the far side of the chamber. getting to any of it would require navigating the crumbling floor, and in the dark unless Wildcat wanted to run through all her matches.

She's going to have to improvise.

All right I tried, and I don't really relish taking the time to make an improvised torch from the stuff on the character sheet since people are kind of in mortal danger here.


22:47, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 4,0 using 1d10-1,1d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 5,1. Miracle!

I believe that's a novice power, but I'm somewhere a book is not so forgive me if that's wrong.

She had gazed upon him yet again, surely the radiance would course through her countenance.

((OOC: Light's a Novice power (-2 penalty) but Wildcat has Conviction (+2), so I'm not seeing where that penalty is coming from.

Also, if you want to take a reduction in the light's area to a Medium Burst Template, the Light will last an hour.))
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:11, Fri 20 Dec 2013.

It comes from not having the book in front of me to check the rules and fudging against myself so as not to cheat XD

And yes, that's a deal I will gladly take.

Wildcat's holy glow revels a long, twisty tunnel, leading to more long, twisty tunnels, propped up with old wooden struts that look none too safe. These must be the parts of the mine that got played out early and have been long-abandoned, judging by the dust everywhere. Of course, that makes the footprints in that dust easier to see...but there's something else, too, some strange windy tracks in the dust that put Wildcat in mind of snake trails. The paths cross and recross themselves, turning the area into something of a maze, but at least Wildcat has something to follow...though it's possible THEY got lost down here.

((OOC: Make a Tracking roll, please. You get no penalty because there's a trail to follow. Also make a Notice check for me))

12:29, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 2,2 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,2. Notice.

Hmmmm... I'm going to blue chipper to hopefully get that up to a 4, I have a sinking feeling I really want at least a success on that roll.

12:31, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 8 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+2)8. blue.

So that's 10, success with a Raise.  A chip well spent.

12:31, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 5,4 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,4. Tracking.

That's a 5, I'll take that and be happy.

Wildcat moves through the tunnels, pausing occasionally to make sure the trail she's following isn't her own. The footsteps wind through the warren of tunnels, and Wildcat keeps her senses alert, ready for trouble. She fancies she can hear slithering from somewhere in the deepness ahead of her, and occasionally a fluttering, like wings...bats, perhaps, though they don't sound like any bats she'd ever heard.

Eventually she reaches an area that opens up into a larger space...and a pair of boots, perfectly upright, just sitting in the tunnel.

Before she can contemplate this odd occurrence, she hears more fluttering and something even odder happens. A little black bird pops its head out of the boots and stares at her.

No. Not a bird, though it has crow-like wings.

The body is too long and sinuous, and the thing has a long rattlesnake tail which it twitches at her. It flops out of the boot, rattling its tail and looking at her with far too many red, glowing eyes. It perches on the bootstraps and gazes at her.

"Turn back!" It chirps at her, its voice <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sogtGZQCu5I">distressingly childlike</a> despite the fanged beak.

"Turn back!" it chirps again. The chirping is joined by others...and Wildcat sees three more of the little monsters perched around the edge of the tunnel. "Turn back! Turn back!"

((OOC: Make a Fear check for Fear/Nausea for me, please. (+ Grit, -5 for the local fear level). Also, make a Vigor check for me. This is an opposed roll vs. the crow's Spirit, and they have a 12.))

21:23, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 3,6 using 1d10-2,1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 5,(6+2)8. ain't scairt!

Fear check passed!

21:23, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 2,2 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,2. Vigorous!  Bully!

That's losing, by a lot.

The birds stare at Wildcat...and she suddenly hears a familiar voice.

"Hey Ranger! CATCH!" says a thin, flamboyant figure in a wide-brim hat and a calico scarf, who hops out from the shadows. His gun is already in motion, a huge copper-plated LeMat that begins spitting lead death at the Ranger...

*BANG!*
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
*BANG!*

And suddenly all the wounds Wildcat suffered at that gunslingers hand throb with fresh stabs of pain...The gunslinger smiles, tips his hat, and fades into the darkness, leaving the lady ranger gasping and bleeding on the stone floor of the mine...

((OOC: Well, that's not good. They get 10 over you, which means you'll take 3 wounds (one for their success and one for each raise they got) from the Deep Crows' stare...))
This message was last edited by the player at 20:59, Sat 11 Jan 2014.

No that's not... soak roll?

((OOC: Yup, you can attempt to soak.))

[[Oh no! The other angel is leaking! Reassemble, Katrina! Reassemble!

22:05, Today: Alouette, on behalf of Wildcat Hawkins, rolled 7,3 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 7,3. epic soak attempt.

22:06, Today: Alouette, on behalf of Wildcat Hawkins, rolled 7 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+1)7. red chippit. -> 14, because she's just that good.]]

Wildcat lies on the ground in utter bafflement a moment. Am I...bleeding? I can't be, he weren't...is this another dream? No...no. The lady ranger sits up again. "Con sarn it that hurt!"

The mystically glowing ranger gives the little demons a blue basilisk stare of her own. "Y'all better skedaddle faster'n a flaming ferret from a firework fabricator or I will set to smitin' right presently."



[[Intimidate 6 with another red, since she's owed some Joker draws anyhow.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:36, Wed 09 Apr 2014.

The birds just stare at her.

Stare.

Stare.

Staaare...

And suddenly she feels a hundred bodies surrounding her, grasping at her, pulling at her clothes, hitting her with pipes, bottles, rocks, whatever is at hand. "Kill the ranger. Kill the ranger. Kill the ranger." The mind-controlled mob says, the vacant monotone tumbling from a hundred mouths...

((OOC: Making a Group Spirit check for the Deep Crows to see how they might be affected by her intimidate.

21:46, Today: Exodus rolled 12,6 using d12+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 10,4. Group Spirit check.

The Deep Crows aren't easily intimidated, no they are not.

Again, the Deep Crows send a psychic attack at Wildcat, so she needs to make another Vigor check (which is opposed by their Spirit.))

The ranger grits her teeth and screws her eyes shut. "RRrrgh!"

[[forgot to post. *dope* 21:09, Thu 10 Apr: Alouette, on behalf of Wildcat Hawkins, rolled 6,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 6,2. Resist!]]

The phantom beatings subside as Wildcat concentrates shutting them out. But it's still a near thing.

((OOC: 19:59, Today: Deep Crows rolled 3,4 using d12+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2. Death Gaze. Cool, she survived this one. She's going to need to stop wasting time scaring the things, though.))

[[Ya know, it's quite hard to think of good tactics when a character whose attitude to 'most everything is "shoot first, shoot it again, then maybe ask questions" is fully aware that shooting would be a bad Idea...]]

Wildcat sits, eyes closed and shoulders tense, and prays. There may be a dim tremor in the stone or it may be her own heartbeat. Winds whip up along the tunnel walls, seeping through cracks, eddying in the confined space. Wildcat grabs her hat and holds on to it, and finally looks up.

"...The fear of the wicked, it shall come upon him: but the desire of the righteous shall be granted. As the whirlwind passeth, so is the wicked no more."

[[23:03, Today: Alouette, on behalf of Wildcat Hawkins, rolled 2,4 using d10,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2,4. Faith for Ye Whirlywind.
Novice-Rank Miracle & Conviction cancelling each other out, I hope. I fail at effective use of Blesseds. Still, small objects in small tunnel - she should've brought a squash racket.]]

((OOC: Combine this thread with the Chapter 17.1 thread.))