"Well damn feller, here I was 'a hopin' that were all in my head... 'course guess there ain't gonna be much in my head, considerin' ah got a bit of a leak in it."  She joked, her gallows humor on full display.  She was terrified, but so terrified it was too hard to show it.  "How come you know so much about all of this, not that ah'm lookin' a gift horse in the mouth."

She shrugged.  The joviality left her voice.  What she said next was dry, and raspy.  "But yer on the money again.  Ah'm gonna leave me a pile of corpses in this town, they's gonna stack 'em like cordwood, build fences from 'em.  An' it's gonna be nasty.  Ol' tuhubitu better not get in the damn way or ah'm add one more to th' stack."

”My people...we have tried to hold back the darkness that makes its home on the mountain for many winters. In all that time, we have seen many things. You are not the first that has stepped back into this world, wrestling with the shadow that helped you return. The shades...they all have their own reasons to walk among the living. Mostly, they want to cause mischief, or worse.”

His gaze briefly goes to the doors of the barn. ”One of John Tunstall’s riders...he is as you are now.”

He returns his attention to Kate. ”It is Tunstall’s riders that concern me. Tom O’Folliard. The House now believes that he is alive. That you did not kill him, as it appeared. Jesse Evans and his gang have begun riding through parts of the valley, trying to find him.”

"Shit."  Kate looked around.  "Ah need a gun.  And then a guide.  Ah've gotta go kill them peckerwoods."

Roving Wolf moves back to the entrance to the barn, picking up a bundle wrapped in a woolen blanket. He brings it to Kate. ”Your weapons. I found them by the road on the way to this place, thrown into the brush.” He shakes his head. ”I do not know what became of your horse. But I brought a paint mare that you can ride. She’s quick and she doesn’t become spooked easily. I will ride with you. Help you find the way.”

He points to the body covered by the tarp. ”O’Folliard. He and the others that were loyal to John Tunstall will want to know what became of this man.”

Kansas Kate was happy to have her iron back, but frowned when he indicated O'Folliard's body.  "Ain't sure what that other feller done to 'em but he's only sapposeda look dead fer a few hours... shit.  How long ah been out?"

She finally thought to ask the question.  She could have been in here for hours or days possibly.

“Perhaps a day, tuwikáa. Less. Doesn’t seem as though you had much interest in staying buried.”

He reaches over to the tarp, pulling it back to reveal the dead man’s face. Kate sees a slender figure with thinning black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, dressed like the well to do who favor life in the largest cities. His shirt is stained with dried blood, a gunshot wound torn into his left chest, the fabric singed where the bullet struck.

”This isn’t O’Folliard. Tom is still alive, provided you find him before Jesse Evans’ people do.”

“This man is Alexander McSween, the husband of Susan McSween. She runs Tunstall’s ranch now. He was a lawyer. He was riding to Santa Fe to request help from the Governor about Murphy and The House. He never finished the journey.”

"Damn.  You know this were a basket of snakes b'fore, now it's just plain gone ta hell."

Kansas Kate had so many questions of an existential nature.  But... why.  Why right now?

Well there was one more practical question and then they'd be off.  "Okay... what's the meat and th' hooch gonna do fer me?  Shit... ah still got a hole in my cabeza don't I?"

Shabbakasha gives a wan, sympathetic smile. ”Keep your hair down and your hat low. It is not so easy to see, then.”

He points to the burlap sack. ”Your body....it still needs sustenance. Of a kind. You need meat. The other one I knew who returned would eat it just as the wolves and the great cats do. Raw. Untouched by fire. If you are ever hurt, you must eat meat in order to heal. Otherwise, your wounds will remain.”

He taps the bottle. ”You can drink all you wish. You’ll never become drunk. But...you should drink whiskey every day. The liquor...it keeps the smell of the grave away. Without it, others will notice the scent of decay.”

“No matter how much you drink, you will never fool the animals. They will always know.”

"Figgers.  They's smarter'n people ya know."  She sighed.  Kansas Kate function checked her weapons and tied the sheath back to her leg.

Taking the Toothpick out of its sheath, she inspected the edge.  It had rolled just slightly, she'd have to true it up at some point.  But it would do for killing a man, or cutting a hunk off the meat, which she did presently.

"All right let me finish this up, and let's get th' hell out of here."

Roving Wolf rises and exits the barn, providing the outlaw with privacy.

When Kate emerges from the barn, she finds the Comanche waiting outside with two mounts. He offers the reins of one of the paints to her. ”O’Folliard’s hiding spot. It isn’t far. I’ll lead the way. Just be ready for trouble.”

He urges his own horse forward, starting off to the west at a fast trot.

OOC: Kate, go ahead and give me both a Stealth and a Notice roll.

She still wasn't quite herself (to be fair a lot of that had to do with the fact the Indian was one of the few people Kansas Kate unironically liked), but she was quick and eager to get into action.

She contemplated the bitter irony of being able to drink all the hooch she wanted to and not being able to enjoy any of it.

05:24, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 5,1 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,1.  Notice.

05:24, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 7,8 using d4-2,d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of (4+4+1)9,(6+4)10.  lol stealth.

*blinks in astonishment at the results*

Kate’s world has taken on a gray quality, she realizes, as she follows Roving Wolf through pine forests that cover the low foothills south of the Capitans. Even as the colors of sunrise begin to paint the horizon in colors the outlaw has witnessed countless times, she notices that the blazing orange and deep violets of the morning’s awakening seem muted, their hues somehow dulled in her vision. The tall trees retain their shadowed aspect, even with the arrival of dawn, and Kate’s passage through the wilderness has a phantom quality, almost as if she were a ghost, cutting through the dense foliage as she hurries to visit her vengeance upon the living. The outlaw is disconnected from her surroundings, separated by her unnatural state. She remains in the world, but she is no longer a part of it.

The Comanche signals to Kate and the pair slow their steeds. In the distance, Kate can hear the babbling of a stream. Shabbakasha dismounts and creeps forward, remaining crouched, moving carefully through the tall gatherings of spruce. Following him, the outlaw makes virtually no noise.

The pair halt at a small cave, Kate can see signs of passage in front of the opening, and immediately understands that it is the spot where O’Folliard has taken shelter.

In the same instant, she notices two other figures approaching the hideout. One, she does not recognize: a fair haired man with a drooping mustache and dust stained range clothes. The other, she knows immediately: It is Dolly Graham. The man carries a carbine. Graham, a shotgun. Both are entirely focused on the cave ahead of them. Neither perceives the presence of Roving Wolf, or Kate.

OOC: Kate, the next action is yours. For purposes of combat, you have The Drop on Graham and her compatriot.

Kate could not believe her luck in both the supernatural cosmic sense, and the immediate sense.

Could this possibly be any better?  Well, maybe if their bosses were here.

She looked at Shabbakasha and nodded, drawing iron and loading one more round... not like she'd have to keep her funeral money in that chamber any more (not that she ever had).  Time to serve a lead salad.

Well shucks, this is the very situation Fanning the Hammer was invented for.  First three shots for Graham, three for her buddy.  Quickdraw.  The extra round thing is just flavor because at the time there would have only been 5 rounds in the gun, but Deadlands ignores the reality of 19th century firearms for the sake of ease.

-2 for fanning (with Hip-Shooting, normally -4)
+4 for The Drop

Here's hoping for redemption LOL

16:46, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 11,5,10,3,7,11,7 using d10+2,d10+2,d10+2,d10+2,d10+2,d10+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 9,3,8,1,5,9,5.  Fanning the Hammer.

lol Redeemed!

Graham takes 2 hits with a Raise, and a regular hit.

16:49, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 3,9,10 using d6+1,3d6+1,3d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of 2,2,4,2,5,3,1.  Graham Damage rolls.

I forgot the 2d6 on the first one, I'll just roll it separately.

16:50, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 2 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 2.  Forgotten die.

I completely forgot The Drop damage.  So with The Drop, that's 9, 13 and 14 damage against Graham.

The nameless feller takes two hits and one hit with a Raise.

16:51, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 7,10,14 using 2d6+1,2d6+1,3d6+1, rerolling max with rolls of 1,5,5,4,1,1,(6+5)11.  Other damage rolls.

Jumping Jehosephat.  I completely forgot The Drop damage.  AGAIN.  With The Drop, that's 11, 14 and 18 damage.

... he dead.

Assuming there's no one around for the Innocent Bystander rule to matter (Though I think with the 5 replacing the 1 it wouldn't matter anyway?).

The Schofield barked and it was as furious of a hellhound as its wielder.  Kate felt her own personal hate coursing through every one of those bullets.  This was too good of a death for them, she hated them for not feeling the wrath she had in store.

She gave no cry, no yell, no scream, but the look on her face was that of The Devil herself.  There was pure bile, pure hatred, in this act.

She broke open the Schofield's action and with a practiced hand it was filled, ready to go again.

Speedload, and just in case, Initiative Card!

16:57, Today: Kansas Kate drew the single card: 7S using a deck of 54 cards.

The gun’s report shatters the silence, lead speeding through the dim forest like hateful hornets. None of the bullets miss their mark.

Graham’s unnamed accomplice doesn’t even have the opportunity to cry out. The first shot shatters his jaw, the others opening gaping wounds in his temple and throat. A rattle is all that escapes his lips as he sags against a tree trunk, blood soaking the aged bark.

Graham half stands at the first sound of gunfire, two of the shots ripping through the left side of her chest, the last hitting the dead center of her abdomen, just below her breastbone. Frozen in mid turn, she tumbles to the ground, her shotgun clattering on a rock as it leaves her hand. Still struggling for life, she let out several gurgling wheezes as she fights a losing battle for breath.

OOC: Yes, Graham’s dead for all practical purposes, but I’m using a bit of artistic license. She’s still conscious and aware, at least for next few minutes.

Kansas Kate emerged.  The pentagram burned into the flesh of her right hand felt hot.  She should feel satisfied right now, but she wasn't.  Rather, she felt like one of a thousand needles had been removed.

Whoever this feller was, he might well not have been part of this.  He could have been some poor patsy pressured into showing Graham the hiding place at gunpoint.  For that she was maybe a little sorry, but the fact was he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  She'd had to make a call and she made it.  That's the problem with an unruly gang, it ropes in other people.  They tend to be ones that die.

She checked around first to ensure she didn't observe any others with them.  It seemed clear.  She went to the dying Graham.

Kansas Kate didn't bother with threats of pain or injury or anything else of that nature.  She went straight for the throat.

"Ya'll know why ah done this to you.  Ya hates me fer it.  Ah get it.  But truth is, ah don't actually hate you'n part'c'lar, hell ah don't even know you, how could ah hate ya.  Ah know you were just doin' a job, and ah don't resent you none fer sech.  We's even on that score.  In another life, you 'n me were best gals.  Hoooh howdy that was a right singular one.  Ya shoulda seen it."

Kansas Kate chuckled.  The thought didn't occur to her she hadn't actually remembered the experience, so she shouldn't be able to think about such an instance of a possible life now.  She had forgotten she mentioned it already.

"Don't you worry none, Hell's real, yer a goin' there, and it ain't so bad as ya think.  But 'fore ya go, there's one last play, one last shuffle of th' deck of fate, just one more hand ya have ta play 'fore it's all over.  One chance ta die knowin' you ain't goin' ta Hell alone.

"Murphy put ya in this position.  You know it, ah know it.  This is his damn fault, th' sunuvabitch, he's fist deep in the ass of a horse called Perdition and you done got sucked in wit' him.  Left to yer own devices, ya wouldn't be here."

She leaned in real close.

"Tell me what ah need ta know to kill that piece of shit proper.  Ah'll make him regret he was ever part of Creation.  He will envy you as th' sounds of his agony play like music on hell and earth alike, so good ya can dance to it down there 'twixt th' brimstone.  Ah'm gonna find out one way or th' other, but th' faster ah do the more he's a gonna suffer."

Kate reached over and adjusted the dying woman's hair and personal effects.

"Go out like a split tail skank, or go out like a mean and ornery bitch.  Yer play, chica."

Graham shakes her head weakly. ”Jesse...he’s the only one who ever talks to Murphy regular. Rest of just get our orders from Dol...” She coughs wetly, droplets of blood spreading across her cheek. ”Dolan. Murphy mostly stays at his ranch.”

She struggles to inhale. ”The one thing I know for sure...only time Jesse, or anyone, sees Mr. Murphy is at night.”

Kansas Kate cackled and slapped her knee.  "Yeeee-haw!  Bad bitch it is!"  She leaned back in.  "That power Murphy has, how do I beat it?"

”I don’t know, I swear to you,” Graham replies, before succumbing to another coughing fit.

”In Lincoln...in the House’s headquarters, I heard McDaniels and Dolan talkin’ about Murphy. Said he got his power from the mountain. The Capitan Peaks. Happened when he took that wagon train up there.”

“But...there’s a fella who probably knows. A bounty hunter. Roberts. Murphy wants him dead. He’s the only other one who survived whatever happened up there.”

”Roberts, he’s got dark hair and a beard. Stout fella.” She weakly gestures to her cheek. ”Has a scar under his right eye.”

That... that made Kansas Kate think.  That made Kansas Kate think real hard.  It made her response particularly laconic.

"Well.  I'll tell Murphy you said hello when ah kill him.  Anything else 'fore ya go?"

”Yeah. Don’t bury me where they can find me,” she answers, ”Or better yet, just burn me. Let the wind take the ashes.”

“Send Murphy and Dolan to to hell where they...”

Graham’s voice trails off and she becomes still, her eyes suddenly vacant.

From the direction of the cave, Kate hears the sound of a pistol being cocked. ”Who’s out there?” a young man’s voice calls, ”I’m armed! If you mean trouble, you’d best be leavin’ while you’re still upright!”

Kansas Kate shook her head.  Was she any different from Dolly Graham?  Well yes, for one thing Kansas Kate drew the line at children, Graham clearly did not.  Still, they were more alike than different, and maybe Graham wasn't able to just quit and leave so easily, it could be she was in over her head.  Kansas Kate would have done the same thing in Graham's position, because if you're dead either way, fuck 'em.

That, and Graham took her death like a gunfighter in the same position would.  She'd lied about not hating Graham, but now it was true, that hate was gone because they were truly even (assuming Kansas Kate did in fact kill Murphy).  Graham was just on the wrong side when it counted.

Well in any event, it was one more corpse on a pile of corpses.  Though she liked Graham's last idea, and thought she'd do her best to execute it.

"'Folliard, it's just me.  The bitch what shot ya but didn't really.  Murphy sent some of his trash ta kill ya.  Yer safe, ah got th' jump on 'em.  Come on out, we gotta talk.  If ya gotta shovel in thar bring it."

Kansas Kate began to check Graham's person.  She obviously wanted that shotgun and the shells.  That would come in useful.  She didn't want to be seen in town just yet, and she wanted to hide who was doing the killings if at all possible, so using a variety of  weapons might be effective.

But she also wanted any paper, any maps, notes, scraps, pictures, anything that Graham thought was important enough to keep on her person.  Hell she'd even take her money at this point.  Keys, tools, anything, she wanted to find it all, and was willing to take the time to do it.  She'd check the other one too, or... well let's see what O'Folliard did.

Roving Wolf steps out of hiding, nodding respectfully at Kate.

Searching Graham, the outlaw finds a dozen shells for the shotgun, along with fifty dollars in Confederate script, a folding knife with a bone handle, a pocket watch, and a neatly folded piece of paper.

O’Folliard emerges from the cave, a pistol in one hand. He sights the dead bodies and goes pale. ”I never even heard ‘em comin’,” he admits.

”I’m sorry. I ain’t got a shovel.” He shakes his head. ”How’d you know to come? That they’d found out where I was hiding?”

"Ya owe yer life to this here Injun."  Kate pointed her thumb back at Shabbakasha.  "He's the smartest sunuvabitch ah've yet ta meet here in this shithole.  He figger'd it out 'n then fetched me fer th' killin'.  Ah told ya he were smart."

Kate took everything, but did not put it on her character sheet yet lol delayed taking too much of an inventory of it just yet, though she did check the shotgun and then turned her attention to the paper.  The man was next.

Speaking of which, she prodded his corpse with her toe.  "Ya know this unlucky hombre?  He were wit' her, not sure if'n he had anythin' ta do with Murphy or not.  Mighta shot me a bystander."  She added with a shrug.  What was done, was done.  "Either way 'Folliard, ah'ma leave a pile of corpses.  Ah tried th' gentle route, but now th' war's on.  Murphy's an' his crew's done shit in th' applesauce, an' they don't call me Bloody Kansas Kate fer nothin'.  It'd please me just fine if yer little dancin' ass got th' hell out of here beyond th' reach of Murphy, mostly because ah hate his little candy ass an' anythin' ah can deny him is mah pleasure.  If'n ya want to take their money an' get yer fam'ly out, ah'd do it right th' hell now, Murphy's gonna figger out you ain't dead real quick.  Either that or ya get yer kit and get dug in, this here's gonna be a bloodbath that'll cover th' territory."

The paper has clearly sat in Graham’s pouch for some time, its edges frayed and yellowed. The handwriting is from an educated hand. It reads: ”Make certain that Judge Wilson adds the two names we discussed to the list of Tunstall warrants: John Kinney and Andrew Roberts.”

””I’m obliged to you, sir,” O’Folliard tells Roving Wolf. ”If there’s anything I can ever do for you, just say the word. I’ll see it done. I promise.”

Shabbakasha smiles and nods.

Gesturing to Graham’s dead companion, O’Folliard says, ”That there’s Bill Spawn. He’s one of Jesse Evans’ boys. Heard he was the only one of Evans’ bunch who couldn’t go to Wilson’s Saloon on account of him beating one of the gals that worked there bloody when she didn’t take an interest in him. Mean as a rattlesnake.”

He looks back at Kate. ”I ain’t gonna run, ma’am. I’ll ride a couple of back trails. Do my best to stay outta sight. Get over to the Tunstall Ranch. I’ll be safe with Ms. McSween and them. I need to let ‘em know a storm’s comin’.”