Matthew was already two cups deep into Steinhof's bottle by this point. He flicked his gaze to Marshal West, to Jackie Wells, to Art Wiley and the rest of his group. This talk of Old Ones and spirits made him uncomfortable. He looked to the other Marshal, looking for some sort of lead or indication.

"Hell of a story," he muttered.

Zek looked at his boots. Thus was not a new story. He had heard it many times, in many different ways, told by many different people. It was not enough to hear the same tale, but he had seen the results as well. He had gazed into the hunting grounds, and seen the result of that horrible deed. Brought on by far worse deeds done not by inhuman demons...but ordinary white men.

Still, he listened.

"Begging your pardon sir, but there could be a serious public health threat..."  Belle trailed off, caught up in this uncanny story.  A master performer was at work here.

"Oh, you ain't heard the half of it yet." Coot sets down his drink and continues. "Running Wolf told me that he followed Raven fer about two years as he traveled across the West, down into Mexico, and up into Canada. Wherever natives had fought whites, he went. And eventually, Raven had himself a genuine army..."

---

July 1, 1863. An old Micmac burial ground, Nova Scotia

some mood music

For years, Running Wolf followed Raven and his Last Sons. They grew in number, here and there, until they became a warband two hundred braves strong. And they grew in power, as members from one tribe taught the ways of warfare to members of others. And they grew in magic, for though the spirits were quiet, there were still some small favors they could provide.

At last, Raven lead them to an old burial ground in the lands of New England, where the portal The Old Ones had used to enter the Hunting Grounds lay. Far to the south, a great battle between the Blue and the Grey had started, in a place called Gettysburg. But Running Wolf knew little of that, only that the great forces of the white man were distracted, as Raven had said they would be.

And now they drew near the promised land. But in their path, they came across someone who would cause Running Wolf his first doubts.

She was a white woman, who sat at a table outside a covered wagons with the words "Madame Minerva -- Fortune Teller" painted on the outside. She sat calmly, though her horse bolted as the army of braves approached her. She did not even flinch away when Raven himself stepped up to her table, grinning the most wicked of grins.

"Fair maiden!" He called out to her, his voice giddy with sick glee. "My band is weary. We have travel far, and are in need of your...assistance!" Raven had been talking for weeks about how he would open the way. The portal required life's blood. Several of the Last Sons had volunteered to be the sacrifice needed, but Raven had always seemed certain they would find someone more suitable. And now, it seemed, they had.

"I have food," the woman said, calm as the summer morning. "Not enough for all, but you may have what there is."

Raven laughed. "Oh, we have food enough. We are on a righteous quest. I would know what fate has in store for us!" Behind him, The Last Sons cheered and whooped. Raven went up to the woman, grabbed her veil, and looked into her eyes. "What brings one as fair as you into this wilderness?" He asked.

"I was to meet a member of my family." The woman replied.

"And yet you met me instead. It would seem you are a poor fortune-teller."

It was then that Tecondo, one of the oldest members of the band, one Raven frequently called brother, stepped forward and voiced what Running Wolf held in his heart. "Raven, she is a mere woman. No threat to us."

"Did I say she was?" Raven snapped, and grabbed the woman by the arm, pulling her forward.

"I have already seen what fate holds for you." The woman said then. "You will accomplish what you seek, but at a great price."

"There. You see?" Tecondo said. "She says fortune smiles on us. Let her go her way."

"He will not let me go." The woman said quietly. "He will be my death."

"Enough!" Raven shouted. He threw the woman to the ground, and glared at Tecondo. "Do you question me, old friend?"

Running Wolf wanted to step forward, but he was beaten to it by Dog Killer. Dog Killer, a proud Pawnee brave, who had killed many Cheyenne and was not sorry for it, spoke up at Raven.

"I question you." He said. "I believe your cause is sacred, great Raven. You bring all of us hope. I will follow you to the ends of the earth." he waved at the woman. "But I do not understand this! How does this serve our cause?"

And that was when Raven struck him across the throat. His long nails, sharpened to points, ripped through Dog Killer's skin, spilling his blood on the ground. "I alone say what serves my cause!" Raven screamed as Dog Killer fell to his knees, then on to his back.

"I-I..." the pawnee gasped, blood bubbling from his neck as he tried to draw breath. "F-for...forgive m..."

"goddess." The woman breathed, then turned on Raven. "This is how you treat your own?"

"My own do not question me." Raven said, watching Dog Killer writhe. "They simply do my will." Then he looked at Tecondo, and Running Wolf felt his blood run cold.

"Then you are a poor leader of men." The woman broke from Raven's grasp and knelt by the dying brave. He tried to speak, but Running Wolf could not hear him make any words he could understand. The woman began to weep. "Hush, my brave warrior." She took his hand in hers. "I shall not forget you."

"For whatever that might be worth." Raven growled, then gestured to the warriors behind him. "Enough. Bring her. I need her alive. For now."

"I fear what we have become." Tecondo murmured as the braves picked the woman up.

But Raven heard him. As he mounted his horse he glared at the man. "We have called each other brother, Tecondo," he said, "But question me again and you should fear instead what shall become of you." He then looked at his assembled warriors. "Come, my Last Sons!" He shouted "We have a long day's ride, and then this night we bring the world to its knees! EYY-YAAAAA!"

---

Running Wolf's mind returned over and over to the woman and to Dog Killer as they rode. He hated the whites, yes, but not so much as to be cruel to them. He wanted the white man to pay for what they had done to his people, but...it was in an abstract sort of way. Watching Raven toy with that woman -- that was unsettling.

And then there was Dog Killer. Raven was quick with punishments, yes, and brooked no disobedience...but this was the first time Running Wolf had seen Raven rip a man's throat out with his bare hands. For the first time in two years, Running Wolf was afraid.

They reached the burial ground at sundown.

some mood music

The sky was overcast, the setting sun setting the clouds ablaze in reds and oranges. Distant thunder rumbled.

"The Great Spirits know we approach." Raven grinned as he dismounted. "The powers we seek stir beneath the earth." He grabbed the woman by the hair and pulled her from the horse she had been laid over. "Come." he dragged the woman across the barren ground toward the center of the burial ground, where a great and complex sigil had been carved into the naked rock. "Let us begin."

He began chanting in a tongue not heard for centuries, screaming his rage and hatred to the blood red sky, the rhythm of his dark words set to the beat of thunder. He placed the woman at the center of the sigil.

They exchanged words, then, but Running Wolf could not hear them over the rumbling. It seemed as if he asked a question and she answered. Then Raven took his knife and plunged it into her, again and again, then dropped her body. The woman's blood pooled out, filling the grooves in the rock. And then, the sigil began to glow. Sparks of lighting flashed.

"Hear me, spirits!" Raven screamed. "Let not even the Gates of Hell stand before my power! Open! I command it!"

And the earth shuddered. There was a brilliant flare of light, a screaming wind...and then a hole, an empty void so black it hurt to look at, tore itself through the sky before the shaman. Lightning flared.



The gates between worlds had been sealed long ago -- an acot of nobility to save the world from the threats that lay beyond. But now, once more, they were rent asunder. Broken by the will of a madman.

Raven gestured to The Last Sons. One by one, they dismounted and gathered behind them. And then he stepped forward, into that terrible void, and The Last Sons followed.

---

Coot paused for another drink.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:45, Tue 28 Feb 2017.

Matt was frozen with his drink halfway to his mouth.

"Did she find her family?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"I dunno." Coot says. "I always wondered about that bit, but if Running Wolf knew, he took that knowledge to the grave."

"Raven was, what, a century old by that point?" Jackie says. "It's entirely possible that before the Paxton Boys dropped on his village like the fist o' god, he was rather more converted than he let on. Now, take this as baseless speculation if you like, but a white girl and an Indian boy gettin' together in a field somewhere and sowin' wild oats would definitely be frowned upon. Might even move someone to a murderous rage, if it produced a bastard. Stir that in with Pontiac gettin' folk riled up...well, you see where I'm goin' with this?" She pauses. "See, my team was workin' with the Sioux, and they'd captured Raven and chained him to a rock. Had him there for a hundred years, tryin' to find ways to kill him. I was told that one o' them was a medicine woman named Dove, who claimed to be Raven's great-great-whatever granddaughter. Thing is, they told me she was a half-breed." She shrugs. "I don't know if it was true. Might just be a tall tale. But if it were, well, Raven'd have to have relations at some point."

((OOC: Hee...Deadlands lore is fun.))

"Anyhow," Coot says, "We was just gettin' to the good bit..."

Moses, for the most part, nodded along, as if he already knew all the details of the story.
He quietly murmered to Little Crow, translating for his benefit.

James had entered with the others but stayed near the door as he thought they'd not stay terribly long. Seemed everyone else had other ideas there was a lot of talking, some were playing pool or whatever else seemed to be going on. James had one thing on his mind and that was killing Darius Carter, all the others seemed more interested in story time than getting things done.

OOC: still here

Coot continued his story. "Running Wolf told me that they reached the first of the Old Ones not long after that. I asked him who these Old Ones were, and he told me they was ancient shamans who had traveled into the Hunting Grounds to seal away evil..."

---

The First Gate, The Hunting Grounds

some mood music

At long last, the warband stood before the entry to the Hunting Grounds. Before the gate stood an immense statue, which held the gate closed with one arm and held a mighty spear out towards the warband with the other.

As they approached, a voice like grinding stone rumbled through the sky.

I see you little mortals. How come you to the Hunting Grounds?

Raven stood tall before the statue. "Though great sacrifice, blood and strength!" he shouted.

And for what purpose?

"We come to end a scourge that brings death to the people!" Raven shouted. "For you and yours failed to protect us, failed to rid the world of evil! The white man has done far worse than any spirit bound by you! So we would free the manitou, bring them under our sway! And then there will come such a reckoning that the white man and all his works will be swept away forever!"

Fool.

The great stature shuddered, and the arm holding the spear ground down, until the point was aimed straight at Raven's heart.

What know you of what lies beyond? Of the monsters we bind? I tore out my living heart so that I might stand eternal against their return. I suffer endless agony bound in this stone so that the world might sleep peaceful, never knowing their touch again. I wield one of The Six, which taints my very soul, to do battle against every danger from within. Or without. You think to bind the manitou? You cannot. None could bring The Reckoners under their sway. So go back to the world, arrogant shaman. You shall not pass. I forbid it.

There was silence for some moments, then Tecondo went up to Raven and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Come, brother. It is not to be." he said.

Raven turned on him. "I will not be denied! We've come too far now to turn back!" he said.

Tecondo shook his head. "This is an Old One. The elder of elders. We cannot dishonor them! We cannot challenge them! Surely you realize that! What choice do we have?"

Raven's blade found Tecondo's heart a moment later. "There is always a choice, brother." He said as the man collapsed, shock etched on his dying face. He then whirled and grabbed a spear. "I defy you!" he shouted at the statue. "You are nothing to me! None shall ever forbid me again!" And then he charged.

So be it. The statue rumbled. Spirits! Come to me! Protect the gate!

A horde of spirits burst from the walls of the cavern. Running Wolf saw then things that his mind could not quite grasp. But this was it. The Great Spirit War had begun.

some mood music

The statue of the Old One struck at Raven with his spear, and it hit with ungodly force. The blast sent man and spirit alike flying backward, but Raven struggled to his feet. He charged again, and struck the stony guardian...to no effect. The shaft broke in his hand against the guardian's granite hide.

Running Wolf charged at a vicious spirit attacking his comrades. His war club thudded, again and again, holding back the tide. In the chaos, he did not see what Raven did next, but there was a booming {CRACK!} and suddenly the statue of The Old One split! Blood gushed from the cracks in the stone skin of the guardian, and it stumbled backward, but rallied and charged again.

Running Wolf called on the tricks Raven had taught him, and found the magic coming more easily than it ever had in the world. He turned his skin to bark. He called on the quickness of wolf. He called lightning to dance at the tip of his warclub. And with these tools, he fought. The blood of spirits flowed on his arms, his hands, and burned coldly there.

But the spirits were mighty. A serpent slithered around his legs, then transformed into roots and vines, tripping him, then slithered away as if the foliage were nothing more than a spent skin. While he tugged at the snake's spell, a cougar with eyes of flame leaped at him, tearing at him in a grotesque mauling parody of an embrace. He might have died then, but there was another {CRACK!} and suddenly the Old One's statue form fell apart, and an old man dropped to the ground.

The spirits began to retreat. Running Wolf saw Raven pick up the old man's spear, only to drop it again, cursing as a green flame burned his hand. He pulled a knife instead, and stuck it over and over and over again into the Old One's body. The same black blood that stained Running Wolf's hand now stained Raven's as well.

Raven stood up, then dragged the body of the old one to the gate. He dipped his fingers into the man's blood, then painted some symbol on the gate. When he was finished, the gate collapsed...and the way was open.

They had won their first battle. It was not to be their last.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:51, Tue 28 Feb 2017.

The Hunting Grounds

some mood music

One by one, the Last Sons attacked the other gates. Each of the guardians wielded an ancient spear of terrible power, and had a host of spirits with them to act as warriors and allies.

The Guardian of the Second Gate wielded the very fire of Perdition itself. His blazing power maimed and killed many before he fell.

The Guardian of the Third Gate spread the flesh-rotting plagues of old. The terror of smallpox, of cholera, of measles, of typhoid...all of these and more spread among the Last Sons at the Guardian's command.

The Guardian of the Fourth Gate called up and command the spirits of the dead, and the Last Sons were forced to kill their own ancestors a second time. Running Wolf remembered this one vividly, fighting his own father, who pleaded with him to cast aside his weapons.

The Guardian of the Fifth Gate had eternal youth and the ability to heal from even a fatal wound. This battle was the longest, and took the most guile and cunning, for the Guardian had to be deprived of his spear before he fell. But fall he did.

The Guardian of the Sixth Gate...was not there. His stone statue was sundered, his spear left stuck in the ground, his hordes of spirits gone into the wilderness. And this was the most troubling one of all. Raven had the Last Sons search for weeks, fearing some sort of ambush or trap...but none ever emerged.

After each guardian fell, Raven made sure to have his warriors collect their spears. He knew they would be needed, but none wanted to touch them, so they were wrapped in leather.

Then the Last Sons, their number greatly reduced since the war began, headed to the Last Gate. There, the remaining Old Ones dwelled, protecting the last, most vital spot: the gate that held The Deadlands themselves closed. Their most ancient and powerful allies, now alerted to the danger, stood ready to battle.

But it was now that Raven commanded his Last Sons to pick up the Six Spears and wield them. Only five managed to do this...the Sixth still burned any who touched it, meaning the original bearer was still alive. But even so, five of The Six were enough. Nothing could stem the tide of death. Raven and his Last Sons came on like a force of nature. All the remaining Last Sons wound up with the black blood of The Old Ones on their hands.

Raven laid The Six out in a pattern around the Last Gate. He chanted in ancient languages, danced the Dance of Sundering. He slit the throats of the warriors who had bonded with The Six, sending their souls into the working. In the rising flame, the Last Gate stood outlined, glowing orange with the heat. Then it cracked and burst apart, and the keening shrieks of a million damned souls washed over the bloodied Last Sons. The fires of hell scorched their faces. And Running Wolf remembered one last thing before darkness claimed him. He saw Raven standing tall in the flames, and four giant figures in silhouette that spoke with the voice of thunder.

And then he saw no more.

Running Wolf awoke back in the world, in the graveyard. He was not alone...the surviving Last Sons were gathered before the portal. He saw the horrible scars on his fellows, and could feel his own face scoured raw by what he'd seen.

Raven, untouched by flame, unscarred by his trials, stood before them, grinning in triumph.

"Behold, Last Sons!" He crowed, throwing his arms wide. "Behold the chosen Servitor of War itself! Behold Raven Doombringer!"

Power flared around him.

"Long have we suffered at the hands of the white man! But no more! Today, their dominion ends! Today, our great work begins! The Reckoning is at hand!"

---

Some mood music

After that, the Last Sons rested and healed. They had each grown in power, and found that while weeks had passed for them in the Hunting Grounds, only days had passed in the world. Running Wolf returned home to the lands of the Ani-Yunwiya -- but he was not welcomed there. People feared what he had become, what he had been twisted into. They feared his face. They feared his powers. And they could see the black blood on his hands, blood which would never wash off.

So Running Wolf went into the wilderness. He heard a summons from Raven some months later, but he did not go. He knew such a betrayal would be punished. It would mean his life. But he could not go back. He would not join the unkindness of Raven and his servants. Instead, he lived alone, moving ever westward, always one step ahead of Raven's minions.

Until he was caught. The manitou tore a bloody gash in his guts before he killed it, and he knew that he was dying. So he crawled to the nearest stream, where he was found by an old white man. and here Running Wolf saw his chance, to tell his story. To warn the white man of what was coming, and perhaps ease the smallest portion of his guilt. And so he spoke, long into the night and into the next day, until he could speak no more. And then Running Wolf died.

---

"At least, that's what I think he was tryin' to do." Coot said. "He rambled on quite a bit, near the end, and I'm not sure I understood all of it. Hell, some of this is things I learned after the fact, doin' some pokin' about on my own. And I sure as Hell didn't know what to believe...at the time, I thought he might just be crazy from his wounds. But The Great Quake happened the next year, and with it came The Ghost Rock, and tales of sea monsters, and the appearance of the Rattlers, and...well, I started meetin' dead folk still walkin'." He leans back in his chair. "So I reckon you folks have a lot o' questions." He looks over at Jackie. "You goin' next?"

Jackie nods. "I am. But let's hear what they want to ask you first."

Zek face soured, as it often did.  "Raven seems to have accomplished at least part of what he wanted. The natives have their own lands, and the union army has been forced back from those areas. As for these...statue folk. The old ones. Can they be replaced with new guardians? I figure that's easier to say than do..."

Matthew sat silently, mind working furiously. He looked almost panicked if anyone were to look at him. He fiddled with his hat.

"So," he said thickly, "...you've corroborated this Indian campfire story?"

In reply to Matthew Broaddale (msg # 88):

"Its true." Zek said flatly. "Maybe not every little detail-but most of it is dead on accurate. None of all this...this...mojo was flying around until the door was opened. It's all real. If you want to live, you better start accepting the idea the Old Ways are fact-not myth. It does not need you to believe in it to kill you. And even if it kills you, it does not mean its done with you..." He growls that last part, and shakes his head.

"I can corroborate it, too." Jackie says. "'Cause I lived in the world that came to be when the Reckoners won." She scowls. "I've been through the Hunting Grounds. I actually saw one o' them gates, though at the time I didn't really pay it much mind -- I was in somewhat of a hurry. Also, you got..." she sniff the air, then does a quick count, "four walkin' dead men in this very room, and he," she points to James Wilder, "is carryin' one o' the Six Spears the Guardians had, though they done changed their shape and are now guns. Not to mention the fella you was playin' pool with."

Coot looks at Zeke. "Well, perhaps he did, but he's still out there causin' trouble instead o' tryin' to strengthen the Sioux. And his followers do a lot o' harm to their own people."

Little Crow, in the corner, glowers at this.

"And now that the war's in a ceasefire, the Union has to do somethin' to make itself feel better about loosing. How long do you think the Sioux will last when the Union turns their hundreds of thousands o' troops, plus God knows how many Mad Science gizmos, loose on these people? You think the Sioux'll be able to stand against land ironclads? Mustard gas? Whatever it was that Sherman did to Kentucky that made it so grass don't grow?" he sighs. "Anyhow. I do think someone could replace the statue-guardians, yes. We'd need to find a bunch o' folk who don't mind rippin' their hearts out to live forever, though." He smiles. "Or maybe folks that're already dead. But I reckon that's a conversation for another time."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:08, Wed 01 Mar 2017.

Matt snorted at Zek.

"Starkweather, I've ridden from one side of this country to the other, and I've never seen anything that would make me believe there's some magical "Reckoning" behind it all. No angry shaman is responsible for the way the world is. It's all simple tricks and nonsense," he said, and pushed his drink away from him, "People see something they don't understand and think medicine men are summoning spirits and demons are whispering inside chunks of rock. The war has been long, the Quake was a tragedy, and people are dark, evil assholes. I'm not about to start doing the Ghost Dance just because you found a burnt Indian with a story."

He rubbed his forehead in response to Jackie.

"I'm pretty sure we've already established that you're loco, Wells. Dead men walking, alright. All I see is a mountain man who smell's like his last kill, a man who faked his own death and went crazier than you, and a couple of victims of premature burial. Shapechanging spears, Christ Almighty. Where is it, then? Where's your mystical burning gun-spear? As for Whateley, he's a parlor-trick illusionist, an academic with a stupid field of study and delusions of power brought on by bad books in his parent's library."

He paused long enough to snatch his drink back up and throw it back.

"Has everyone lost their fuckin' minds? Miss Ivers! You're a woman of science! Are you and I the only sane people in this building?" he asked, before turning back to Coot.

"The Union's not about to attack the Sioux. Custer is AWOL. He's dangerous. Congress would never approve war on the Sioux on the word of a deserter and a failure. The Sioux and the Union don't have any love lost between them, but Grant's dedicated to Peace," he said, "War is not coming the Sioux Nations."

Belle was about to applaud the story... when she heard the reactions to it.

"Excuse me sir, I must report to the authorities."

She looked around, and the closest authority was the nice-seeming Marshal from before.  She made a beeline for him.

"Oh thank god, natural selection, spirits and anything holy or beneficient such as exists in actuality or the minds of men, somebody in here is not insane!  Marshal I will beg your pardon but what we have in this room is an onset of mass pscyhogenic illness, a case exacerbated by mass exposure to psychotropic substances.  I have made several observations today to support my case.

"First, I thought I observed earlier today spontaeously reanimating necrotic tissue, which is theoretically possible but not scientifically documented anywhere so upon preponderence of evidence seems unlikely.  Two, I imagined earlier today I was seeing that gentleman seated as a traslucent image.  I have not been alone, these poor souls I met in the street-"  She indicated Art, Moses and Kills Iron Horse. "-were in a state of obvious discomfort and impairment of mental cohesion.

"Wait... of course!"  Belle had her Eureka! moment.  "The defective ghost rock boiler in the hardware store!  It's been going for months!  That combined with the uncannily high concentrations of trace ghost rock in the ground soil, water and now even the air has deposited highly reactive isotopes, which are the most likely to separate from the larger ore masses, which we have all been eating, breathing and drinking unwittingly have undoubtedly induced psychotropic reactions in several of us, causing us to see and hear things which aren't actually so.

"Additionally, myself, her-" she pointed again at Kills Iron Horse, "and her-" she pointed at Jackie Wells "Have all exhibited symptoms, and mass psychogenic illness usually transmits via females.  Ms. Wells and I have had contact with nearly everyone in this room at the fire earlier today.  In addition Miss Wells was in close contact with yet another woman during the gunfight against the robbers.  Mass psychogenic illness spreads through women, Marshal, which is why nunneries are particularly susceptible to mass hallucinations.  I wish it were not as it offends my sensibilities, but that makes it no less true.

"Marshal, you must impose an immediate quarantine.  These people are all possibly very sick, myself included.  I had thought it was just that poor woman in the street, but it's much worse!  There have been many cases of this kind of behavior, including the dancing plague of the 1500s and accounts of nuns who would begin shaking in unison!  I will help you, though I confess I'm possibly impaired.  I have the visual hallucinations, but not yet the deeper symptoms.  Worse still, Deadwood is such an unstable municipality, if this idea of the Indians using some tribal magic to launch an assault actually were to come true, the consequences would be disastrous.  Also, I'm going to need a blood and hair sample from everyone.  Once I isolate the psychotropic substance I can develop an antidote, but we'll need conventional psychological therapy for the other symptoms."

Belle drew forth two potions between her fingers.  "Alas, had I known I'd have made larger dosages but I do have some non-lethal chemical restraints prepared. I may have to produce more, if this has spread beyond this bar room."

Katy shook her head and sighed at Matt's insistence on ignoring what was right in front of his face. Belle was even worse. She nodded at Coot. "Ever'thin yer sayin' fits with what the Rangers know and have discovered. The biggest question is what can we do about it? Course we prolly need ta hear from Miss Wells fore we can start formulatin' any sorta plan. Mister Coot, do ya recall what day it were when ya met this Runnin' Wolf?"

She looked over at Wilder. "An' James, can ya bring the First Gun over here?"

"Hey!" Zek said, sounding defensive but not really angry. At least-not angry for him anyways. "Bill ain't no faker, Jackie's not crazy, Whateleys don't do parlor tricks and I DON'T SMELL!" He almost pouted that last part. "I know because I use that french toilette water stuff. Totally worth it." He glanced over at the other not so living folk in the room, giving them a silent hint it might be worth investing in.

"Anyways, Marshall, I could prove you wrong in two seconds flat-but no doubt you still would not believe me. No matter what your own eyes, ears, touch and smell tell you. You are just as bad as Maddox. Where the hell is Maddox, anyways?" He looked about.



Zek looks at Belle...opens his mouth to say something and then closes it. "No offense, Miss-but I really wish everything you just said was 100% true. I would be sooooooooo happy if it was just me and a few other people being crazy." He sighs. "Marshall, you just lost your title of the ruler of the state of denial...cause it ain't just a river in Egypt."

"They didn't bury me so much as hang me from a pole." James Lonefeather mutters.

"Ain't nothin' premature about my burial." Michael says. "James can attest to that, as he was the one what done it."

Coot and Jackie look at each other at both outbursts.

"And they call me loco." Jackie shrugs. "Some people just can't take it, I guess."

Coot shrugs. "What do you think? Is he tryin' to convince us? Or himself?"

"He ain't convincin' nobody." Jackie snort.

Coot chuckles. "'Are you and I the only sane people here?'" He giggles. "And then she goes on that rant."

Jackie starts laughing herself.

Coot looks over at Katy. "hee hee...sorry. I know it was 'round about the solstice. June 20th, maybe, but I was out of civilization a spell, so I don't know better'n that."

Wild Bill sits there, just taking it all in.

Walks The Night Alone and Kills Iron Horse speak softly under all the commotion. [Language unknown: "Mo lader ro manre beis ntiad itheom p Strsetwil th ta?"]

Kills Iron Horse shrugs. [Language unknown: "Pe. Ul onslespre po Fongll foai ntican. Prith tra ing altaerri niet mont, iouac venne wifiadch aisero of ou tato ar."] She looks over at Little Crow. [Language unknown: "U osck nc undas niener ekest mala wa mile Earresven ta res Oulereain rutla Ta tin. T relote enles ut niou u ich asted. Eture neul Al ha. Vertioenc etenc unwehoun."]

Katy furrowed her brow as she considered. "So ya talked ta Runnin' Wolf on June 20 or so in '67, mortally wounded. But he was in the Huntin' Grounds in for a few days back in July o' '63. He really was a Runnin' Wolf - evadin' his hunters fer four years...." Katy went back to thoughtfulness for a moment, but then looked to Jackie. "I think there's a lot ya gotta say 'bout this as well, Miss Wells. Cuz right now, we're still fightin' and sorta holdin' our own. I think."

Matthew's head dropped into his hands.

"Alright, fine. Immortal, Unkillable War Leader who has literally opened the gates of Hell. Go ahead, spread it around."

Art set his staff on the ground with a little bit of force. Just enough to get some attention before he spoke. "Who be sayin' he be unkillable? And if he do be, tha' jus means he needs ta get locked up. Those shamans tha'  sealed away evil long ago, the Old Ones, they created a seal tha' couldn't be broken from th' udder side. Mebbe Raven jus' needs ta be sealed away like the Reckoners. Or mebbe he don't be unkillable after all. Tha' remains ta be tested. We do know from th' story o' Runnin' Wolf tha' he be able ta feel pain still. Tha' makes me tink he mebbe more mortal'n ya tink."

Art looked over at Katy and her mention of the First Gun. He then looked back to Matthew. "Of course if he be holdin' the Fifth Gun, th'one tha' allows healin' from fatal wounds? Well, he be awful close ta bein' immortal. Lucky fer us, he cannae use the Sixth yet. If it be more powerful'n the Fifth, well, tha' may be doom fer us if he ever do get ta use it."

Katy looked up at Art as he spoke and pursed her lips as she contemplated. "The Sixth Gun speaks ta its wielder, revealin' the past and future. Raven ever gets a chance ta use it, well, that sounds like it might be the beginnin' o' the end. Power like that might be awful useful. Ain't that right, Miss Wells?" Katy smiled and turned her gaze back to the oracle in the room.

"Well, in the timeline I came from, Raven got chained to a rock for a hundred years. And there was another one, one I wasn't part of, where Stone, another such threat, was trapped for a quarter of a century. It can be done, amigos." Jackie says. "Of course, Raven getting The Sixth Gun is, in fact, a mighty terrifyin' idea which hadn't occurred to me until now. Thank you very much for that, Ranger Cox." She shudders. "Now I'm gonna get even less sleep tonight than I tend to. But its wielder is still alive, I think, so he can't use it without burnin'."

Coot sighs. "Depends on whether the bond was broke when Raven used the Six to open the Deadlands. Sorry for that cheery thought, but it might be that whoever laid claim on it don't anymore."

"What about us?" Wild Bill asks. "This gun...will it work in the hands of one who came back from beyond the pale?"

Coot shakes his head. "The Six are humanity's cross to bear, according to the legends I heard. They won't bond to a dead man, and will burn his flesh same as one who ain't bonded."

Wild Bill frowns, then picks up a lantern, rolls up his sleeve, blows the lantern out, then douses his arm in kerosene. Then he strikes a match, and sets his arm on fire.

Everyone in the bar turns to stare at this.

"That maybe ain't as comfortin' as you might think." Wild Bill says casually, as the flames lick across his arm without burning the flesh at all.

"That's...a damn good point." Coot concedes.

"My God."  Belle uttered breathlessly.  "It's... it's far worse than I thought.  These people are nuttier than feces from family Sciuridae."

Somewhat forcefully she bent Marshal Broaddale down to confer.

"Marshal these people are temporarily insane and possibly very ill.  I seem to have the psychotropic contamination, but I don't appear to have exhibited the hysteria, though I'm possibly a carrier as the phenomenon is not well understood due to the impossibility of clinically testing it.  But we have to contain this, this is another Salem Witch Trial in the making.  There is no telling what dangers these people will resort to!  What if they get it in their heads to stop this fictional danger?"

It was then Belle had another epiphany.  "Great Scott!  The army!  It all makes sense now.  Marshal... I... I think there's only one man who can help us now."