The dead cow doesn't seem to be getting up again, at least for now. Pierce can hear them thundering about in a panicked mass in the corridor, though. A fine dust is falling from the ceiling.

[[Noted. um...your 21 damage took out the cow (they're Extras) and - due to the Smite - the other Blackthorn cow-related problem...there'll be a lamp in the bathroom on the wall by where the mirror was, though it'll take Agility to get the oil reservoir down without spilling whilst climbing over the dead cow in a shaky house.]]

((Sorry. Kinda confused about the whole thing.
12:00, Today: William Pierce rolled 15,4 using d10,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (10+5)15,4. Agility.))

William steps, carefully, on the dead cow's head and leans over to grab the lantern at the wall.
He shoves Marina's legs into the tub and then pours the oil down onto her, finally tossing the lamp in the tub, watching the flames rise up.

Satisfied, he steps back down from the bull.
"See you in hell, Marina. Give my father my regards."

The vampire's hair and oil-slicked clothes become a sudden golden halo reflected around the rim of the bath and in the falling drops of blood spatter from the cow.

[[Heading out, William?]]

The Widow Bradshaw's fine white hand curls into the folds of Evans' clothing a moment as she rests her head at the hollow of his throat, working up the energy to overcome the pain. "Oh, I hope so..." she murmurs, then presses her pale lips together and shifts to hold her mangled undergarments with some kind of propriety as she turns and stretches a hand towards the wounded steer blundering dangerously close by. "Shouldn't do this...worth a try, I suppose..."

Crooking her bloodied fingers, the widow begins to mutter under her breath. Her face grows yet more grey as an unnatural hollowness seeps into her tone, as though she were speaking from some far, cold place. The steer moves more sluggishly, head heavy, as its lowing drops to something like a groan.


[[The Widow Bradshaw, rolled 1,2 using d8-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 2,3. casting Lower Trait on The Steer That Would Not Die. Argh. Not her night... I throw her a GM chip.
The Widow Bradshaw, rolled 3 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3. red chippit. -> 4, scraped success. *proceeds to get distracted by folklore about evil carrots*]]

Out in the foyer, the clank straightens, backs a pace, then leaps onto the back of one of the cows mired in the meadow. Those nearest can feel the echo of vast movement, as though great wings displaced some second air.

The metal head decends sharply, sparks shimmering the dim outline of a not-there beak as the angel makes a tearing motion behind the beast's neck. The green flame between the cow's horns ceases, suddenly, and the animal collapses.

[[Alouette rolled 5,8 using d4+4,d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of 1,4. touch of death! (touch attack, unarmed/grappled opponent) That'll down an Extra.

Allll right, we're in the last round of Barrier, the poor steer has had its Toughness downed to 9 but is still up, Evans is occupied with Liz and the priest is apparently trying to strike a deal with the floor. Hank is still out of ammo and in danger, and John Wesley Hardin is on the ceiling.

Sarah, go!]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:34, Mon 10 Nov 2014.

As the barrier began to fade, Sarah strode forward and looked the nearest hellcow in the eye.  "This is getting udderly ridiculous!  I've herd enough, I have no beef with you, so go hoof it back to your master!"  While the beast probably couldn't understand her words, somehow her sheer force of personality managed to stun it a little.

Initiating Persuasion test of wills!  It gets to oppose me using Smarts.

15:55, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 5,9 using d10+4,d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of 1,5. {Persuasion Test of Wills.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:54, Tue 11 Nov 2014.

[[*headscratch* Well, the Snakeoil Edge doesn't work on animals, even if they weren't magically modified to give them resistance to Beast Friend suggestions...I'll assume you're trying to reason with its passenger and roll it as a normal ToW with that, but Snakeoil bonus included. *looks up rules for Hostile targets* Hmm.

Magic 8 Ball, is this one of the Herd Guardians?

09:31, Today: Alouette got the result "Yes" on the magic 8-ball. is it a big one? Oh. Oh dear.

Bane Cow rolled 1 using 1d10, rerolling max with rolls of 1. sssss. Wow.
That's a Raise over the spirit, raising its attitude towards you to Neutral. Since there's nothing in the content of the request to reasonably render it Shaken, I'll rule it's holding off to see if you want to strike a deal.]]



The wounded steer looks at her with wide black bovine eyes, green burning low in the depths. Its bellowed protest is brief, short, and horrifically cut off by the snapping dislocation of its lower jaw, spattering Sarah with blood.

The skin of its face tears in half, the rupture ripping down its spine as the flesh within contracts and writhes, ribs and internal organs vanished into the squamous coils that burst wetly from the leather bag of the beast's body. The skull, shaken free, remains flat, but as it dips, skeletal, and rearranges the muscles of the steer's forelimbs and neck it is no longer the skull of a grass-eater.

The steer's horns curve backwards from the brow of a gigantic green-eyed rattlesnake. It rears above Sarah, the steer skin no more than dry parchment under its mighty coils...and pulls its jaws back oddly in a grotesque approximation of a smile.

"W̷̢͝e̶͟ ̸̧ea̷͏c̨͢͞h͜ ́h̛͝͡a̛҉v̀͏e̛͡ ̶̛ou̧r͘͜ ̷͏̛m̵͞í͢ś̢şi͘͝o̷n҉̶s̢͡,͏͢ ͟L̀i҉̴t̛t̵̨l̶e̷͜ ̛͞P͏̛lu͝҉m͞p͢ ̡̡O͘͢͝ne̢̛.͟͟.͘͠.̷͘b̸͘u̧t͜͠ ͢͠͠I͏͠ a̷͞͡p҉͟p͢rè͘͝c͟͢i̢a͏t̀̀e̴͏̛ y͡o͜͝u͟r͝ ̢c̡̧͢o̧u̢ra̛͞g̷͡e̷̛,͠ ̢á͜n̴̛d̛̀̕ ̢w̷̨o̸u̸͠ld̵̀͜ ̧n̵҉o̸̧t͢ ̨s̵e͏̧͟e̡ ̵̴͘m̧̨͢y҉ ͟y҉͘͡ó̷u͘͏n̷g̵͞e͏̨̕ŗ̀͡ ̶̛b͘͠͏r̴̨̡et̷́h͏ę͠r̢e̕͠ń͜ ̷͡f̨u̧͟͜rt̶he̕͜r̡̨͟ ̵̸ca͟҉st̕ ͞ba҉̷̡c̶̶k͘ t͢͠o̶ ̀͞ţ̵͜h҉̢͞e̴̸ ̀H̛u͠͝nt̵̛i͞͡n̕̕͝g ҉G͝͝rǫų͝nd́s̀..." It glances towards the foyer.
"̛-̢or͝ ͠w̧͞o͜͝r̵s̴̵̢e̢̧,́ ̢͘d̵̀҉e̛͝v͏̸͢ou̢͝r̨̀ȩd̡́̕ ͢b͏҉y̶͢ ̴t̶͟h͝͏a̛͡t̡ ̷͠wh̷i̧҉̴c̷͠͠h ͝͝wa̷͝ĺk͡s͝ ̷in͏̶ ͢t͢h̵͘e̵͝ ̨h̕͝a҉̡l̡͘͜l̀."

The big blunt head sways into line with Sarah's, looking down on her. Its green eyes are like jungle pools, all bright surface and infinitely dark depths beneath. "̡̛Ì̛ ͡s͢u̡͡g̴͏̨g̴̀e҉́ś́t̷̛͟ a͜͠ ̨҉d̵͘ȩ́al̸͘͜,̴ ͠L͞͡i̷͝t͞҉tl̡͝e͠ ̶̨Ṕ̶l̨̢ư͟m̨̀p͏ ̧͝O͢͞͞ǹ͜e̡͢.̡ ͠S͏u͏͝rŕ͢e̕͏͘n̛̕d͏͝e̵҉͠r ͘t̵̵ḩ͞i̸̷s͜҉ ̨͡d̶͠w̧͜e͜l̡͜͞l͟͡i͘͡n҉͝g̕ ̸͡a̡nd̸͡ ̕҉I͠ ̀̕͞wi̷̢l̢̕l͡ d̢r̷a͜͟w̵͟ ͘͏o̡͢͢ff̢ ͠t̨͜h̨e̸ ̢͜͝h̸̛e͜r͡d͠,͜͞ ̸͢d̸e̛͢͞v̕͞ou͏r̀͘ ͞t̢he͡ ͞D̢̡͠é̡ad ̷̨Rì̸͡de҉̵̨r̵s҉̢,̸̴͟ ͜͠if̡ y͘ou ̶͡li͜k̢̕e͜҉,̨̡ à̷͡n̡͠҉d̡̀͟..̀.h͘҉̛m̸m̛͟,͜ ́͟͠c͏̴͞u̴̢͝r̷͞͞è̶̸ t͜͡h̡͘͠e ̵́k̶͏i͝l̢͘ļ̨͟i̷͡ng͝ ̢s͏i̶c̨̢͡ķ̵n̷ę̛s̸͢s̶ I ̧͏f҉̀͘ȩ̶e̶l ͟u̡͟p͘͜s͏̷tai̡r̴͜͡s̴.̴́.҉͞.̀͏i͠n̛͞ ͞͡re̕͟͠t̛́͡u̶͏r̡͜n̡͜,͠ ̧̧I͏ ͜aś͏k͏̷ o̧̧n̕l̛̀͘y ̶̷t́ḩat ̸̨y͝ơu̵̡ ̴d̵o͝͏ ̸n̴͟o̵͢t͏̡ ̨͝i̡͟ǹ̢t̨͘er̶͠f̸̴͟e̶re̸͝ ̶́i̵̸͜n ̡͡my͞͞ ̵͝͡F̕͝a͏t́͏̴h́e͘͘ŗ͜'͞͏s ͜͠͞m̡̀ąt̵̡t͘͡e̴ŕ̷̨s̶͘ ̸͏f̵̕o̸͘͘r͘ ton͢͟͡i̕҉̡g͞ht,͘͞͡ ̵̡t҉̸͘o̶m̧͜mor̸ŕ͟o̧͜w,̷̧͠ ͏a̛nd̸̀ t̶͠h͞e ̶́͟ni̴͢g̷̸͞h͜t̢̨͡ ̨af̧͡t͘͢e̵̢r̡͠,͟ ͘͜a̧͜n̛̕d̴ ͢҉̨ţ̛h̨a̴t̴͜͜ ̡͢Í́̕ ̶͜m̶a̕y t̶͢a̛k̴̨͟e ̶m̷͡y ́̀p̨í͜ck͘͝ ͞ò̶f̧͞ ͟͏҉th̢e ̨͞w͏̵a͝͏r͏̧͢ḿ͠҉b̧́l҉ơ̧̕ơd̶̵s҉ wi̸t͞h̸͟i̡͜n͡ ̧́͞t͟hes͘e̸̷͝ ̵͜w͞҉a̧͢l͢l̶̀s͟ f͝o͜r͞ ͢͏o͏ne͘ ͞t̢́͡o͢͠͠.҉.̷͢.̡̀se̷̴rv̛͘͡é͘ m̡͟e̸͞.̴"

That parody of a human smile again. It rears back. "̡W̸h͏a͘t̵̕͝ ̵d̸͞o͜͞ ̶̵y̴ơu̵͘͘ ̡͜͢t̨h̛͟i̶͞͝n̵͜k̢͏̧?̷"


[[Since there's enough ambient power for it to manifest it decides to be done with its host and risk converting the poor animal's substance to talk to the potential new ally.

Guts check -6 + Grit, if you please! I'll get to the NPCs and Evans when I'm back from work.]]

Sarah looks unimpressed.  "You cannot cow me, I worship the Lord with great veal!  I shall not be mooved!"

Pretty sure that's a success with several raises.
03:35, Today: Sister Sarah drew the single card: 4H using a deck of 54 cards. Init.
03:34, Today: Sister Sarah rolled 21,6 using d8-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of (8+8+7)23,(6+2)8. Spirit/Guts.

The widow screams at the grisly transformation and the appearance of the gigantic rattler, curling back against Evans.

---

"Ma!" Percy calls from upstairs, fighting his way back to the balcony rail. "What's happening? Ma!"

---

The widow just stares, panting, as the monstrous snake throws its coils wide and circles Sarah, chuckling.

"Mo̵v̀e̡d ҉w̸he̛re, ̢Lit̶tle ͜P̴lum͡p ̧O͠n̛e͠,̨ mo̢v҉ed ͜h͜o̕w̛? Co̴m͟e.͜.̵.͜s͟a͢c͟ri͏f҉i͠c̨e̡ ̢of th̛e̵ on̨è ͠fo͜r̸ t̶h҉e͡ ma͢ny,̡ ̨įs͟ th̵at not̀ ̴w̡h͞a͡t͠ yo͞úr̴ m̀os͝t̸  e͠d̕i̕b̀l͝e ͠l͢i̛ttl̸e ̧Lord ͢thi͟n͢k̴s?"


[[Ack, looking at it on a screen I could actually see the text on, it seems I went a bit overboard with the static. summary for Sarah: It offered to end this situation for you/save the house and cure the folk upstairs at the price of Sarah simply not interfering in snake-related matters until Easter Sunday and letting it take someone from the house to 'serve' it. NB Talking is a free action.

Father William O'Rourke rolled 1,1 using d10-3,d6-3, rerolling max with rolls of 4,4. fear! Fail.
Father William O'Rourke rolled 3 using 1d20, rerolling max with rolls of 3. fear!
Adrenaline surge -> fightin' Irish priest! We'll see how Evans' fear check goes, since the Stray seems to have been about earlier, before seeing how he uses that.

John Wesley Hardin, rolled 8,-2 using d8-3,d6-3, rerolling max with rolls of (8+3)11,1. fear! Pass.

Hank Miller rolled 6,2 using d10-3,d6-3, rerolling max with rolls of 9,5. fear! Pass.

The Widow Bradshaw rolled 2,0 using d8-5,d6-5, rerolling max with rolls of 7,5. fear! Fail.
The Widow Bradshaw rolled 16 using 1d20, rerolling max with rolls of 16. fear!
She develops a Minor Phobia of sausages.]]
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 19:49, Tue 11 Nov 2014.

"Shh...it's alright, Liz, it's alright. I'm here. I can protect you. " I can protect all of us." Evans whispers to the frightened woman in his arms, even as he stares straight at the unholy thing uncoiling in the center of the herd. He had no idea how, precisely, he was going to manage this feat...but it didn't matter. This hideous thing would die.

((OOC: 21:41, Today: The Amazing Evans rolled 18,5 using d8-4,d6-4, rerolling max with rolls of (8+8+6)22,(6+3)9. Fear! It's a day for Raises, it seems. Go Evans!))

Sarah scratched her chin.  "I can't make that deal, because I won't let you take one of my flock.  If you swear that you won't harm any of my flock, not one hair on their heads to be touched until Easter Sunday, then we can bargain.  Do we have a deal?"

The huge snake considers, fine dust from the ceiling rolling unheeded from its scales.
"͞For m͢e.̀.̵.̸to̧ ca̢u͞se͢ ͞n҉o͠ ̸harm̵ to ̧thos̡e͠ ̷u̕n͡d̵er y҉o͜ur..̵.̕h҉mm̧,͝ ͠spiri͏t̛u͢a͟l͏ comma͘n̸d.̡ ̛H̢m̕m. ̴S̛ss-͞ss̴.̨.̶.yes,͘ th̕a̷t is ̶ác͡ce͏p̢t̴a̸b͢le̸."҉

The thing whisks around to be exactly opposite Sarah on her level, its eyes like embers seen through green glass. "I̕f y̵o̴u d́o͜ ͝s̕ó ̵swe҉ar̛ ̢t̢o ͡h̶òņo̴ur͡ ͝and ͠o͏b͟e͜y͡ the͢se͡ term̀s͡,̴ s͏et ͜t͜h͝e̵ ͜w͟at͘er of͘ ̨you҉ŗ ̷mout̀h i̸n̕ y͝o͟ur͘ ͡rig̴hţ ͠h͜a̸n͏d̵ ̨a̵nd ̡h́old͟ ͜i͜t out tǫ me̢.͠"


[[It seems to find Sarah's terms acceptable and asks that she spits in her hand and holds it out to seal the pact.]]

Sarah paused for a moment, then nodded. "You shall not harm a single member of my flock.  Not the slightest harm to come to them, agreed.  If you agree, then we have a deal." She spat in her hand, and held it out to the worm.

"
N͞ot̛ ţhe̢ ͝s̴l͏i͜g͟h̸test͞ ̧harm ̨to͝ co̢ḿe͜ ̴to them ̶b̡y my ̕aǵe̴nc̷y͠,̀" the thing agrees meekly. Carefully, it dips its great head and licks from Sarah's palm to her elbow. Its saliva burns like scarce-diluted vitriol, raising a long welt in its wake. It shifts, coiling tighter and rearing back so that Sarah is forced to step up on its flank or lose her footing, but it is already altering its form.

A brief series of nasty muted crunching sounds later, muscle and bone writhing about the spirit's flesh-cloaked core, a more human head and torso crown the snake coils, offering the sister a gentlemanly hand up.

"Beh̀o͠ld͠," he says, gesturing out into the foyer. The cows visible have come to an eerie halt, their eyes glowing flat green.

---

Upstairs, the cows abruptly stop panicking and stand as though stunned, eyes glowing blankly green. Aside from the creaking of the floor under tiny shifts of weight, the distant drum of hail and the huff of bovine breath, there is a sudden silence. Percy's hands tighten on the rail: unnerved, he makes to cough and then collapses.

"Percy!" Al barely catches him.

"It's...I can breathe again! Al! Mama! I can breathe! Get me up, I need to get down there..."

Gangatsu avoids the youth as he flails to a standing position and walks up alongside Adrian with a light. "Fucken witchcraft," she mutters, staring at the cattle, then starts when they start moving in a quiet, orderly fashion towards the stairs. "I don' like dis. None of it."

The cows start filing down. Percy pushes himself to join them, shaking and kitten-weak but with healthy colour in his cheeks.

---

"Įt ̢i̡s̴ don̶e...͏án͘d ̀w͞itn͠essed̶."

Out in the foyer, the cows turn and start wandering in strange unison out of the door, leaving only the dead. The clank notices, straightens with weird grace and turns, suddenly coming for the great snake-beast at a dead run.

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-!"

The serpent lazily slams the door on it with his tail. There's a violent <*crunch*> from outside, the pannelling of a sudden punctured in a double pattern as though pierced by the tips of huge talons.

"Ha." The snake says, then chuckles properly, drawing Sarah closer as his coils shift, looping his long body more comfortably about the kitchen. (He still watches the door, though: for all his amusement, he still seems wary of that.)

"A̢h, ̷b̶u҉t ͠Li̧t͠tl͝e ̶Pl̢u̕mp O͢n̵e,͟ y̛o̢u ͠ha͡ve ͡b͠een͡ g̀ener͟ou̵s̢...I͘ a͢sk͝e͏d f͏o̡r҉ bu͜t̵ on̢e ̀p͘èr̶s̷on͡ in ret̴ur̴n̶ ̡t͘o̡ ̶ser̴ve҉ m͘e,̴ ̶y͡ȩt ̷y̶o҉ų ̷wo̷u̷ld ́not̶ al̨low mę ͟t͘o̷ také f̸rom yo̧ur fl͝o̡c͡k̨," he muses, coils still in easy, sinuous motion, all muscle and power.

"F͘e͝ar not̶,͡ fo̸r ̢I͠ ̸shal͢l ͏n̵o͘t evęń to̷u͟ch̡ ҉t͟he̡m͝,͘ my҉ ̕be͘au̴ty͜. ̨I k͏no͞w ͞en̨o͢ugh͡ o̷f̷ ̢th͢e ҉whit͞e҉ m̴eń'̸s͠ ͜w̴a̶y̡s, ho̶weve͝r.͏.҉.̡e̸nơưgh̀ ̢t͝o know ͘t͏hat i̵s̸ ͡a She̴ph͝er̛ḑ, an͞d̵ n͘ơt̸ of ̕yo̢ur̨ ̨f͜l҉oc̛k̛..̷.and,͢ ͘t͠h̕oug̕h I͟ ҉ne͝ve͏r̀ d̢a͏re͘d t̸o҉ h͡o̴pe, O, ͝Lit͏t̀l̛e̕ ̷Plum͢p ͡O͝ne̸, ̀a͟nd ͞w͠oùld̶ név̨er͘ u̕s͏e҉ you in͞ ̶ways...u͜nbe̷f́i̛tt̵in̢g.̛..̷yo̕u ͠sa̛i̴d̷ no͏t͞hińg͡ ͠óf y̴oưrself." He grins, a wild and delighted grin, and with a quick movement has her off-balance and into his arms, staring deep into her eyes.

"́You'͞r̀e.

͜M̕y.̶
͜
Wife.͞
́
̴N̛ow͡.͘"

"No! This isn-" the priest starts, but gets no further as the scaled manitou catches the man up in his rattled tail and slings him off his feet and into the air. A brief catch, savage laughter joyful as the storm wind, then the creature throws itself at the wall above Evans' head, gripping both captives tightly.

Bradshaw screams again as the huge snake-man's coils flash overhead in a mad rush, pinballing off the walls of the little corridor and laundry room to crash through the carriage house door and - by the sound of it - the carriage doors at the end of that construction.

---

Outside, Jake hears the cowboy's curses change with surprise as the entire herd stops dead, turns to face outward and starts walking away with a slow sleepwalking gait.

Then something like an express train bursts from the carriage house, at once screaming and laughing ferociously. Too fast to focus on, the rapid blur of dark and light swings a wide arc out and heads for the wilderness, swift as a snake despite its cyclopean proportions. Whatever that was, it wasn't human.

Cows amble mechanically away into the darkness, leaving Jake and a bewildered vampire cowboy standing lonesome in the mud.


[[OUT OF COMBAT, folks. Unless Jake wants to carry on fighting rather than nip in/run off whilst he has a chance. Sarah, I'll get you a squeaky-clean brand new temporarily-cloaked thread up in a wee bit.]]

Jake was slightly confused at the bamboozled cattle but took the opportunity to hide behind/under a nearby  ... anything really.

Jake darts for the shrubbery. The cows ignore him, eyes glowing blank green through the thinning hail.

[[Gimmie a Stealth roll, Jake, +2 for the weather/large amount of cattle cover.]]

[[badass response taken to new thread by GM]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:46, Wed 12 Nov 2014.

Evans flinches as the snake-man-thing smashes through the paneling above him, and holds the widow close to protect her from any flying debris.  When the dust is settled, he looked around, trying to take everything in--the hole in the wall, the silent herd of eerie cows, the four-armed bandit.

"What?" was all he found the ability to say. And then, because it seemed to bear repeating because of the sheer strangeness of the situation, he added another, "What?"

Hardin drops lightly from the ceiling, giving the door a spooked look as he straightens. A large, frustrated bird seems to be trying to break it down, though the talons causing the splintering cannot be seen. The floor is whimpering softly.

"A giant snake turned into a sorcerer and stole my sister away to be his woman," Hank summarises, toeing the shed beefskin with an air of sick shock. He drops his empty pistol and covers his eyes with his hands. "I think I'm in a folktale."

"Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I finally got somewhere warm an' dry and fell asleep, that's...shit, I ain't dreaming, am I?"

"Took the priest, too," Hardin observes.

The Widow Bradshaw buries her face against Evans' chest and breaks out into overwrought tears of shock, fear and helplessness. "It's all my fault," Evans manages to catch between sobs. "It's all my fault and I didn't stop them and I can't fix it...I can't...I keep trying but it just makes it all worse...I can't take it any more, Ambrose, I'm so tired of being afraid...so afraid..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:43, Thu 13 Nov 2014.

Evans shakes his head. "No, I am am afraid not, because I've been living this particular nightmare longer and you've not yet seen the half of it. Earlier this evening, I and my deputies were fighting a band of Commanche made immortal by having their souls trapped in a photograph. Before that, I was nearly beaten to death by Frankenstein's monster, then the mayor of town used some sort of voodoo to enslave the townsfolk to his will to attack me and my deputies. And before that, we were investigating the sudden appearance of undead Federal troops. I dare say I would not be surprised if I saw the ghosts of Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis dancing a waltz by moonlight before this is over."

He turns to try comforting the woman in his arms. "shh...what? Don't be silly, none of this was your fault. How could any of this be your fault?"

In the back of his mind, Evans felt a little guilty for trying to pump Liz for information this way...but he had to know just what was going on, from the perspective of someone who'd been involved. And hysterical people were not known for being able to hide things effectively.

((OOC: Attempting a Persuasion Test of Wills to get Liz to open up and exposit.

08:18, Today: The Amazing Evans rolled 10,10 using d8+3,d6+3, rerolling max with rolls of 7,(6+1)7. Persuasion Test of Wills.))

"I- Oh, Ambrose, I want to tell you, t-tell you so many things, but I can't...the Society..." further words are lost to sobs.

[[Widow Bradshaw rolled 15,2 using d8+1,d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of (8+6)14,1. Resist!
Y'know, she'd have probably dropped info if ye'd been a bit more subtle there...]]

Both Hank and Hardin flinch when the door is opened, but although the clank is there beside the bespectacled youth, its shell still hissing with static, it merely brushes past Percy and goes across the room to jump up on the counter. Murmurs of violent Chumash weave through the static's sigh.

"Ma! How bad're you-?"

"A drumming under footfalls, silver spiralled to the table...table of souls," the clank says. "They delved too deep. Outside, the star-black's get watches...not alone."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:19, Thu 13 Nov 2014.

OOC: 16:16, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 1,11 using 1d4,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+5)11. Stealth (untrained, +2 GM).

From his slightly more comfortable position under a cranberry bush, Jake sees the vampire glance about in bafflement, then remount his strangely unresponsive horse and ride off around the house, presumably looking for him or the other undead.

[[Sorry, Jake, missed that a while there...
Vampires! rolled 1 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1. Notice? Nope nope. Now what?]]

William watches the flames catch and flare up, taking a few steps back.
Then he realizes something and turns toward Adrian.
"Why is it so damn quiet, all of a sudden?"

He hads back down the stairs, arriving just in time to hear Hank sum up what happened.
The gunslinger tries to think of an appropriate response to Hank and to Evans, almost interrupting him with the kind of bad day, he, Pierce, had had himself, but he stops himself.

Finally, the only thing he can't think of is a growled: "Fuck."
The obscenity - and probably his tone of voice - makes the Widow jump a little. William shrugs.
"Fuck. There is just no fucking end to it." The he levels his eyes on the widow.
"Why is it your fault? Some thing took my friend and I'll get him back. If you know anything, I need you to tell me right now."

William doesn't realize it himself, and nobody except Hank recognizes it - but the gunslinger's voice has the same tone, the same air of grim determination, as when he's staring down some young hot shot in the street, ready to draw his gun and take a life in a single, blurry, instant.

Adrian stares at William blankly and shrugs belatedly, watching the vampire walk away. He's not quite sure what just happened himself, but he had pressing needs at the moment and decided to make for the kitchen.

"Leave her alone, Pierce." Evans says, his own tone going stern. He looks at Liz. "You have to help us. The Society is in just as much danger as the rest of Blackthorn. Glenn is incapacitated, Ward has vanished, Frost and Whateley are dead--it's up to you now to see this through. You've said that trying to stop this on your own hasn't worked, but you don't have to go it alone anymore. We can help you. But you've got to trust me."