"That I know for sure are deceased? Gus Shaw and the fellow everyone called Dishonest Abe. And I believe the colored fellow, Jefferson, was slain with Mr. Sutler. There were other injuries, but Father O'Rouke was able to ensure most of them pulled through." He looks at the Dust Adder. "Which is why we owe it to him to save him."

Evans nods at the Mayor. "Right, if the Shaman was expecting to collect sacrifices here and in town then that has been a failure. But we believe he possesses a photographic plate with his warriors pictured within. The prevailing theory is that their souls are bound up in this plate, which is why we could not hurt them. If he were to destroy the plate, he might have all the sacrifices he needs from the ranks of his own men." he frowns at the news. "Well, Ward may have taken it with him. All the more reason to reinforce him if we can."

"Mostly trying to get away from the vampires and crazy folks... he stopped speaking and his gaze shifted towards the woman's hand. "Any reason particular you're using serpentine magics?" Cold, hard eyes moved look at the widow and there was a rather unhappy look upon the rest of Jake's face.

"Way some folks act, you'd think they'd done forgot their courtesies. I think he meant at least to start out by thankin' you for healin' him, Mrs. Bradshaw,", he said.

Adrian gets a warm smile. "The poor man is probably overwrought - the past few hours have been quite trying! It's a good thing some gentlemen can keep their heads." To Jake, she adds: "-because the sweet little ones are simple healers, and the only spirits to hand that can do the job. Now stop fussing, that throat should be set right enough to sing hymns with by now."

Jake simply shook his head and looked for the nearest door to the outside world.

The widow plumps back down by the stove, bemused. "Indeed, quite distracted," she says.


[[the nearest door is the one you came in by through the laundry room five minutes ago. Alouette and Pierce are still there, albeit just outside the carriage house now, if you want to go back to that thread.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:56, Fri 30 Jan 2015.

"Save who?" Al queries, taken off-balance. Evans' succinct explanation just leaves him gaping.

"Surely even a savage wouldn't betray his own people like that?" Mrs. Bruebaker puts in, the desk creaking a little as she leans forward on it.

"They may all be fanatics, dear, and willing to accept it as the price of failure. Two people wouldn't make much difference, though. Perhaps the 'snake-wizard' means to summon his kin to back up the god if He awakes."

"He took the woman to be his 'wife', though...I can't think he means to marry her and sacrifice her."

"Mph. Quite possibly the shaman, woman and priest are in the same general area but different places...in which case the question becomes one of priorities." Mayor Bruebaker looks up at Evans over the notes, since the Marshal appears to be the one keenest to kick the serpents' nest.

Jake's hands tighten on the counter so hard that his knuckles pop like little cap guns. His eyes seem to change from their normal blue to a golden color with vertical slits but then his blue orbs are back. "Son of a ... that cursed snake."

Taking out the tome he'd found in the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon's sanctum, Jake tossed it at Vega, "Make yourself useful and see if the Marshal can use that. Be sure to tell whoever cares that when the lawdogs leave this place is going to be attacked" there's a growl to Jake's voice that would tell many that he's on edge.

His gaze shifted to the widow, "You're magics trick let the serpent who's trying to more or less destroy everything get even more into my head. So thanks, I greatly appreciate that. Now, mind telling me where y'all keep the guns around here? Mine is outside probably rusting."

The widow just looks perplexed. "Even more? Whatever do you mean?"

"I expect whoever has guns will want to keep them...we primed the old Martini-Henry Dexter got from an aquaintance in India just in case, but that's the only spare I know of...wait, what's going to attack? And where are you going?"

"Shut up in there," Jake muttered looking towards his own brow.

His gaze shifted back to the widow. What he said next came out in such a matter of fact nature that it was obvious that he believed it whole heatedly, "Me? I'm going to die, probably horribly, as I'm not much good against vampires and the other devilry that is afoot here. So I'm going to go find something wooden and pointy or semi-religious and see how long I can survive." He pulled a worn watch from his pant's pocket. "If I were a betting man, I won't wager myself to last past the hour."

"Then I cannot-" still confused, the widow nonetheless moves with surprising speed, back up, past Jake, and to the doorway leading to the laundry room and outside. She makes an X-shape of herself in the remainder of the frame, barring the way. "-let you leave."

A smile crossed Jake's face, a evil little thing then it was gone in a blink. It leaves behind a soft humming which lasted a moment or two before stopping. His eye scanned the kitchen for a large knife or other weapon like object.

The Widow narrows her eyes at the shifty look, but seems determined to stop Jake becoming yet another vampire.

[[Gimmie a notice roll to see how good a thing you get.]]

OOC: Sure
14:16, Today: Jake Lawrence rolled 7,14 using d10,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 7,(6+6+2)14. Notice.

Jake spots an axe under the table, presumably used for firewood and more recently to trim objects for better barricades.

Gently pushing aside a table, Jake picked up an axe. "Maybe," he muttered as he gave the tool a few test swings - away from the general populous. "It'll have to do." Leaning the weapon onto his shoulder, Jake looked for a way out of the room he was currently in that won't require him to use the weapon he'd just found.

The widow pales, but stands firm. The other way out of the kitchen is into the foyer, currently strewn with cow dung, splinters, and the remains of one burnt cow, one plain dead cow and a very flat jiang shi.

[[gonna watch him, Adrian?]]

Adrian had been somewhat mired in the book Jake had handed him, and only just then realized what was going on.

"Why're you holdin' him up, Mrs. Bradshaw?"

The Widow gives Adrian a hard look as Jake ambles off into the foyer with his axe and slightly disturbing grin.

"If preventing a man's suicide doesn't spark some Christian conscience in you, consider: what sort of man wants to become a vampire?"

"Hadn't planned on getting killed nor being turned into a vampire ... just have no desire to sit here." Jake said with a shrug, "Not really what I was sent here for."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:06, Thu 05 Feb 2015.

"Seeing as that is precisely what you told me you wanted to do five minutes ago, I am forced to conclude you are not entirely in control of your faculties, Bitter Waters," the Widow snaps back, clearly apprehensive about trying to deal with a madman but not backing down. It's sort of like being threatened by a small, soggy off-white chicken. "If you wanted to help, you would work with us to formulate some sort of plan, or at least provide information more solid than that you think maybe something is going to attack somewhere, maybe now or maybe not."

"I think that if this ritual were simple to perform, he would not have had to go to such elaborate lengths. Sunday is Easter Sunday--perhaps there's some mystical significance to the date that is a crucial component, which is why they camped out on our doorstep for a month before doing anything." Evans says. "No, I think we should go after O'Rourke and the woman first."

In reply to The Widow Bradshaw (msg # 197)

---

His eye unfocused and his knuckles tighten on the axe grip. "Shut up you..." Jake muttered.

After a long moment he looked back at the widow, "Why do you people keep calling me that name, Bitter Waters? I've never introduced myself as such nor have I ever been called that before I met that shaman who I wish I'd never met." He tilted his head as he talked much like a child would. "As for the suicide, I'm not looking to go get killed but considering how things here seem, I'm just being realistic about my chances. Now a plan would be to leave ... nothing in this house or two that's worth dying for."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:06, Thu 05 Feb 2015.

"The shaman etched that name on your soul, and people like us, that's the only name we got for you. Probably doesn't help things that you've made it your true name. Oh, you'll pitch a fit if someone calls you by it. But if you don't act like someone with the name Bitter Waters, I ain't never seen nobody who did," he said.

The widow pauses unfocusedly herself, a bit confused. "It's your name..." her eyes narrow again, though she's started to shiver a little with the cold and pent-up adrenaline. "If you go outside, your assessment may be accurate, but you have no reason to go outside if you don't mean to help us track the snake-wizard. None. Nothing, despite everything that has been thrown at us, has got into the library; it is the safest place in sixty miles, and is furthermore warm and dry, and reasonably provisioned. You are trying to get yourself killed, and I won't allow it. I won't!" Tears of stress, never far from the highly-strung laudenum addict, finally boil over her lashes to re-streak her cheeks, though her stance doesn't change.