Dawn finds the cold mountain air still. As the riders rise, they can feel the icy fingers of the morning stretching out with their numbing touch, eager to chill skin that is unprotected from the wintry temperature. The howls and yips of unseen wolves greet the first rays of the sun that trace the jagged horizon. The breaking of camp proceeds quietly, undisturbed by anything that may be watching from within the shelter of the dead trees.

Roberts leads the posse in the same direction pointed out by Lawrence Murphy in the dead of night. Although still dense, the surrounding forest has lost much of the oppressive power it possessed in the night. Nonetheless, it retains its unnatural character, the gray trunks seeming to straddle the boundary between life and death, not overtaken fully by either state. As the sloping trail leads higher, the wind awakens, blowing southward directly into the riders’ faces, buffeting them as they push forward with their climb, its strength enough at moments to feel as if it is pushing against them, trying to force them back down the mountain.

The group presses on, eventually reaching level ground. Here, the wind is calmer, and the forest has thinned, with only stands of piñons and isolated pines standing watch on either side of the trail. As the sun rises higher, the riders are struck with the idea that some of the nearby trees are misshapen, grotesque even, until the growing light reveals the truth: many of the trunks have been struck with numerous arrows. Some have almost a dozen of the missiles in them, each one a gray spike in the hazy morning illumination. Scattered along the path are innumerable arrowheads, along with broken spears and even the occasional coup stick.

A few of the horses nicker, expressing their uneasiness. A few moments later, the remains of a lone wagon appears on the western side of the trail, most of its wooden body rotten, its wheels broken and stained with rust. A rifle and shotgun, their barrels pitted by the elements, lie close to one of the front wheels, and hanging from one of the arched metal bows that once supported the canvas covering, the stained remains of a flannel shirt flaps lazily in the cold breeze. Roberts pauses at the ruin, regarding it with haunted eyes, before urging his mount onward.

The trail bends eastward, and as the posse rounds the turn, they sight a lone building, a wide, single story cabin fashioned from pine. The structure is not large, its interior likely made up of a single room. A crude stone chimney rises on the northern end of the building, smoke drifting from its top. Ahead of the front door, which is covered by an overhang that is littered with gray pine needles, three wooden frames stand, with hides stretched across them to cure. The riders can pick out rabbit, deer, and wolf pelts. A short distance from the frames is a stump with an axe buried in it, a small stack of freshly cut firewood beside it.

Roberts scowls. ”This...wasn’t here before,” he tells the others.

"Mebbe it ain't here now neither."  Kansas Kate speculated.  She was Not Amused.  Whatever the hell it was that was here was trying to mess with her and she was not having it.

She circled the cabin, curious how many entrances it actually had by way of door or window.

”Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, Lydia,” Tamsin whispered to comfort her horse. She frowned as her eyes swept over the cabin. ”If it is here, who is in it? I suppose we might need to know who’s in it if it isn’t here, as well.”

This seems pretty magical. Has Tamsin heard of anything similar or the same as this situation with the mystery cabin appearing?

04:58, Today: Tamsin River rolled 6,4 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 6,4.  Cabin in the Woods? (occult knowledge roll)

"How long since you were last out here?" he asked.

"My guess is that it takes a...powerful will to live in a place like this, not while there are so many more habitable choices of residence. Either that, or a powerful patron, friendly or unfriendly. But either way, I don't think we can leave this at our flank without checkin' it out first."

OOC:

Making a roll just to see if he can have observed how old the arrows, coup sticks, and tomahawks look that were in the trees. Are they relatively recent or old?

11:33, Today: Bryan Lee rolled 4,5 using d6,d6, rerolling max.  Notice.

Dr. Wayland eyed the cabin with the others and tightened his hand on the reins of the, understandably, skittish horse.  It occurred to him that he didn't know its name...  Before his mind wandered too far down that odd road, he shook it out of his head, muttering quietly, "A name wouldn't save you anyhow..."  Which would likely be an odd thing to anyone close enough to hear him.  Especially, when the scientist offered, "Pe'haps we should engage in more direct observation?  Ah find that knocking politely can open many doahs.  Shall Ah?"   Wayland looked quite ready to ride into the dragon's throat...  I mean, up to the door of the cabin.  Unless objections or evidence was produced to change his mind.

02:58, Today: Dr. Ezekiel Q. Wayland rolled 1,3 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,3.  Notice.

I forgot about notice!
01:12, Today: Tamsin River rolled 7,5 using d6,d6, rerolling max (((6+1)7,5)). Cabin in the Woods Notice.

“I would wait until one of them takes a look,” Tamsin says, gesturing at Lee, Cooper, Castillo. “We might not want the door to open.”

Albert frowned as he looked at the cabin, nodding along as the others spoke.

At Wayland's suggestion, Albert held up his index finger, suggesting the doctor wait a moment. "I'd like ta hear if anyone has any thoughts 'bout this edifice first."

He looked around to the others to see if they had any thoughts, though the cowboy did slip his pistol out of its holster, just in case.

OOC: Cooper had planned to make some magic bullets while waiting for the breaking of camp. Please let me know who wants one. He can make 5 at most.

”I haven’t climbed up this far since the wagon train. That’s been years ago,” Roberts tells Lee.

Studying one of the nearby trees, the Ranger can see that the shafts of the arrows that struck it are gray with age, the color of a few nearing black. Lee feels certain that the missiles are ancient, and if interfered with, several would likely crumble upon being handled.

As she circles the humble dwelling, Kansas Kate notes that it has a front and back door, with a single square window positioned to the right of each entrance. The outlaw notices that a dim orange light is visible within both of the windows.

Cautiously drawing a few steps closer to the rear window, Kansas Kate is able to see wood burning in a fireplace on the northern wall. An oil burning lantern, hung from an iron hook in the ceiling, provides additional light. Seated at a table, a heavyset man is building items with stripped branches and leather cords. Kansas Kate immediately recognizes them as snares used to capture small game, such as rabbits. Seated in a chair facing the fireplace, a dark haired woman is stitching a tear in a worn pair of jeans. The outlaw has difficulty discerning the features of either occupant though the frosted, smoke stained glass.

Tamsin River is able to glimpse the same scene through the cabin’s front window.

At the moment, it does not appear that the residents of the house are aware of those watching them.

He nods in thanks to Roberts.

"I think we have to figure out what's goin' on here one way or another. If there's an enemy here, better dealt with now than had at our back while we're seein' to the Owl Witch. But I'm willing to wait if y'all have other thoughts."

”I’m not sure they’re an enemy,” Tamsin says distractedly as she dismounted her horse, keeping a firm grip on its reins. ”Honestly, they look quite... normal.”

Kansas Kate completed her wide circles.  "One o' ya'll... not me..."  She didn't know what else to say.  She could piss people off or anger them, but she wasn't their best diplomat and she knew it.  "Wanna try jawjackin', ah'll cut 'em off round back, yell Hosanna if ya want 'em dead."

She looked to Cooper.  "Still ain't sure they's really even thar, but ya don't win th' pot if ya don't play th' hand.  Ya got one of them special slugs I'll borry it, if not, lead it'll be."

Jacinta remained on her horse, rifle at the ready.  She leaned on the pommel, looking over at Bryan.  "You're the best up close, chino.  Why don't you go give a knock and we'll cover you."


OOC:  Jacinta will take one of Al's magic bullets if he has any to spare. 

Dr. Wayland gave a slightly overdramatic sigh and rolled his eyes.  He let that be the extent of his prima donna attitude about the situation, though.  After all, the Ranger was quite good up close.  And it was probably a trap or something anyway.  Possibly ghosts again.  He glanced around at the desolate, wicked landscape.  Seemed like a good place for ghosts really.  Voice quiet, he muttered to himself...or something else, "Close... ghost... host?  No...  you'ah nevah a good judge of things... poor judgement you...  Not listening..."  While the others concentrated on the house, the scientist decided to keep an eye on their "rear".

"Works for me. Don't know if we'll need it, but just...be ready."

With that, he adjusted his Ranger badge so that it was super obvious, and walked up and rapped on the door.

"Texas Ranger here. Just wanna talk,"

Albert nodded at Kate. "Yup, got one made fer yer loadout, Double Kay. Filched the bullet when ya weren't lookin', then scratched it up nice. Make it count when ya shoot it."


As Bryan went to the door, Albert dropped two bullets into Jay-Lo's hand. "A lovely gift fer a lovely lady."

There is the sound of movement within the cabin; the scraping of chair legs, muffled words, and heavy footfalls, then the door is pulled open. On the other side is a barrel chested man in a buckskin shirt and jeans, his hair and thick beard streaked with gray. In his hands is a black powder rifle, an Enfield musket, a pair of blue feathers secured to the barrel with a leather cord. He regards Lee with a suspicious frown. ”Some kinda law. What in hell you want with us? We ain’t troubled no one.”

Kearney, her hands raised, joins Lee at the front door. ”We’re not here to cause any trouble, sir,” she tells the man evenly, “We’re just headed to the top of the mountain. We weren’t aware anyone had settled up here.”

The man with the rifle spits on the ground. ”Been up here a long time. Ten years, I reckon. First came here as part the army in ‘47. Served under Colonel Price during the Taos Rebellion. Stayed in New Mexico after. Me and the wife wanted a place to ourselves, away from most folks. Built this cabin just before the winter of ‘49. Stayed ever since.”

He glances over at the sloping trail. ”What are y’all after up there?” He grins. Hopin’ the witch’ll grant your wishes or some such?”
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:35, Tue 11 Feb 2020.

"Well, I don't think we have any wishes that the wish is gonna wanna grant. How exactly have y'all survived up here? What I mean is that we just put paid to a spider that was bigger than this here cabin, and it looks like just the two of y'all."

”Largest spider I seen up here was no bigger than the end of my little finger,” the man tells Lee, holding out his left pinky for emphasis, ”Sure you ain’t been taking some of that peyote the Mescaleros favor?”

“As I said, we’ve been up here about ten years all told. Not a lick of trouble. Don’t have many visitors, which suits us just fine. You’re the first in...well at least a couple of years.”

He looks over the rest of the riders with a frown. He points at Albert Cooper. ”When your friend there came up here last night with that señorita with the braids, it scared me and the wife plenty. Never even heard their horses. Just looked out the window and there they were. Watchin’ the cabin. Stayed for nigh on an hour.”

“Seemed like they were huntin’ something. That what you’re doin’ up this way? Trackin’ down some bad men?”

Jacinta frowned, tipping her hat back.  She urged her horse a bit closer to the house so she could look the man in the face.  "Gringo, what year do you believe it is?  Far as I figure, the Taos Rebellion was some thirty plus years ago."  She threw Albert a confused glance.

”Thirty years ago?” He shakes his head incredulously. ”If that were the way it was, I’d be more than seventy years old!” He cackles hoarsely. ”No Señorita, I reckon it’s 1859, mebbe 1860.”

He squints at Castillo and the two law dogs at his doorstep. ”I’d still like to know who you’re huntin’ for up this way. If it’s someone dangerous, I figure I’ve got the right to know about ‘em.”

"We were looking to chat with the individual you've referred to as a...was it a witch? Do you have any information about the witch's whereabouts, or have you had any dealings with said witch? We heard that the witch is dangerous and potentially involved in criminal activity. We didn't think anyone would be living in her backyard, and hope that you have some information about this witch."