Without a second of hesitation, Jacinta shoulders her rifle, centers her aim on Murphy, and fires. Glimmering with a faint blue light, the shot strikes the wendigo in the center of the chest.

11:24, Today: Marshal, on behalf of Jacinta Castillo, rolled 6,4 using 1d10+2,1d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 4,2.  Shooting.

11:25, Today: Marshal, on behalf of Jacinta Castillo, rolled 5 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5.  Shooting - Blue Chip.

11:26, Today: Marshal, on behalf of Jacinta Castillo, rolled 18,3 using 2d8+2,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (8+2)10,6,3.  Damage.

Total Damage: 21

Castillo’s shot will leave Murphy shaken with two wounds. He’ll attempt to soak the damage.

11:32, Today: L.G. Murphy rolled 5,4 using 1d12-1,1d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 6,5.  White Chip - Soak Roll.

That will soak one wound, but not both.

11:33, Today: L.G. Murphy rolled 1 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1.  Soak Roll - Blue Chip.

And that won’t help. So the second wound will stand.

11:59, Today: L.G. Murphy rolled 7,0 using 1d12-1,1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 8,2.  Spirit.

Murphy is able to lose the shaken condition.

Initiative Order

AD - Dr. Ezekiel Wayland
QD - The Dead
10H -Tamsin River
8H - L.G. Murphy
6D - Albert Cooper
5S - Jacinta Castillo
3H - Bryan Lee
3D - Kansas Kate
2D - Allies (Bauer, Garrett, Billy the Kid)

Murphy possesses a Parry of 8 and a Toughness of 12. He is carrying two wounds.

For purposes of distance/range, Murphy is four squares/inches from the gathered posse’s current position.

Ranger Lee and Kansas Kate, you may each take your turn. You may certainly coordinate your actions, should you desire to do so.

OOC: I don't think I'd drawn initiative after grabbing the heart. JC for next round.

11:06, Today: Albert Cooper drew the single card: JC using a deck of 54 cards.  Initiative .

OOC:

This is not taking his action, Marshal, still planning that out with KK.

But all the same, I'd like to lay the ground for the scene's narrative development by playing

AH - Here Comes The Cavalry
“I thought you guys would never get here.”
Help arrives on the scene from some source determined by the GM. The Marshal gets a draw from the fate pot.

OOC: So noted. The cavalry will assuredly be putting in an appearance. :)

He exchanged glances with Kansas Kate, who looked to be thinking the same thing that he was.

"I thought I'd be the only one closing in, but this'll make for a better story."

OOC:

Thought I'd riff on some old KK dialogue for this scene. Going on hold until Kansas Kate's action has concluded. Ladies first!


This message was last edited by the player at 14:17, Fri 28 May 2021.

The outlaw broke eye contact and went from her first gear (grim) to her second gear (sadistic).

"HEY MURPHY!"  She put a round into her Schofield and close its action.  Or she appeared to.  A bit of slight of hand she could manage expertly.  "Now that yer twice as big an' five times' as ugly, ah'm gonna shoot yer pecker off!  Again!"

The muzzle pointed at her opponent, she took two long running steps and fired.  Murphy had been conditioned that a shot in the crotch was really a shot in the head.

Except the shot only went into the air.  At the same instant the report from the shot was heard, the pistol was reholstered and pivoted at her waist.  It wasn't quite a roll, it wasn't quite a spin, it was simultaneously awkward and graceful at the same time as she came up with the hungry Toothpick, which wouldn't be fed.  She came in wide and low deliberately, the real goal being to make him recoil back while also still trying to protect his head or crotch or both.  But she wasn't going to get any purchase, but that wasn't the point.

An imaginary shot in the face and a wide, low slash, both feints, she hoped would be one of the best Okie Dokes she'd ever pulled off, but she had to do it fast, much faster than the monster could react.

So a good old fashioned feint, and one that should put Double Kay in reach of this abomination.

10:04, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 5,1 using d12,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,1.  Agility Trick.

lol wow, really, on a d12 I get a 5.  Well,

10:05, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 3 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3.  Cheep.

Okay that's an 8 that's more like what I was hoping for.  It's not "good" but it's an eight.

10:05, Today: Kansas Kate drew the single card: 5D using the Deadlands system.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:07, Fri 28 May 2021.

21:21, Today: L.G. Murphy rolled 3,1 using 1d10-2,1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 5,3.  Agility Trick - Opposed Roll.

Kansas Kate’s misdirection manages to fool the wendigo into reflexively lowering its head in anticipation of a gunshot that never reaches it. The monster’s needless dodge provides the outlaw with just enough time to close the distance between herself and Murphy, reaching the hulking creature with blade in hand a moment before it begins to recognize that Kansas Kate’s bullet has passed harmlessly overhead.

Kansas Kate’s trick succeeds with a five point margin, a raise, which means that due to her distraction, Murphy is shaken and receives a -2 penalty to his parry until his next turn.

Initiative Order

AD - Dr. Ezekiel Wayland
QD - The Dead
10H -Tamsin River
8H - L.G. Murphy
6D - Albert Cooper
5S - Jacinta Castillo
3H - Bryan Lee - Holding
3D - Kansas Kate
2D - Allies (Bauer, Garrett, Billy the Kid)

Murphy possesses a Parry of 8 and a Toughness of 12. Due to Kansas Kate’s agility trick his Parry is effectively 6 until his next turn. He is shaken carrying two wounds.

For purposes of distance/range, Murphy is four squares/inches from the gathered posse’s current position.

Ranger Lee, I believe you have the floor.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:41, Sun 30 May 2021.

"You've had this a long time comin', Longley. I reckon you were always more monster than man, in a sense. This is for all the people that you've hurt in the path to come to this point. For the children you had kidnapped. The families you terrorized. Not the least, the people you killed and ate on that wagon train. This is for all of them," he said, almost spat.

Throughout this struggle, Lee had largely fought with a cool and dispassionate demeanor, using his focus to keep emotions at bay. He had occasionally thrown a barb out to attempt to taunt an enemy into a foolish mistake. This was different. He was truly and sincerely angry for all the needless harm that had been caused in one man's quest for power, and he let it show.

He didn't have the energy for the faster than believable strikes anymore. This was the best he could manage, and it was going to have to do. These might have been the last three punches he had in him today. He had to hope they'd be enough.

He slugged him, then slugged him again, and again, and each time he did so the memories of all the people the man masquerading as Lawrence Murphy had killed or tormented flashed in his mind. He wasn't a religious sort, but every punch he threw was as close to a prayer as he was like to get.

OOC:

Spending a chip to play the Payback Adventure Card. Might as well get another +2 Attack and Damage while I'm at it.

Attacks: 14, 17, 13 (Gang Up, Payback, Wild Attack)
Damage: 15, 23, 14 (Martial Artist, Payback, Wild Attack, Brawler, Raise)

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
07:28, Today: Bryan Lee rolled 14 using d8+d4+6+d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2,5.
07:27, Today: Bryan Lee rolled 23 using d8+d4+6+d6, rerolling max.
07:27, Today: Bryan Lee rolled 15 using d8+d4+6+d6, rerolling max.
07:26, Today: Bryan Lee rolled 10,13 using d10+5,d6+5, rerolling max.
07:26, Today: Bryan Lee rolled 17,8 using d10+5,d6+5, rerolling max.
07:26, Today: Bryan Lee rolled 8,14 using d10+5,d6+5, rerolling max.  Fighting.

16:55, Today: Bryan Lee drew the single card: 6C using a deck of 54 cards. If needed.

---

Lee’s second strike will leave Murphy shaken with two wounds. He will try to deal with that damage first.

19:28, Today: L.G. Murphy rolled 1,1 using 1d12-2,1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 3,3.  Blue Chip - Soak Roll.

No. He’ll have to burn another chip for a reroll.

19:30, Today: L.G. Murphy rolled 2,6 using 1d12-2,1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 4,(6+2)8.  Blue Chip - Soak Roll (2nd Attempt).

That will soak one of the wounds, but not both.

19:37, Today: L.G. Murphy rolled 1 using 1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1.  Blue Chip.

Investing a third chip doesn’t change the outcome. Murphy is now shaken with three wounds.

Lee’s other two strikes would also each inflict a single wound as Murphy was previously shaken.

22:40, Today: L.G. Murphy rolled 8,2 using 1d12-3,1d6-3, rerolling max with rolls of 11,5.  Blue Chip - Soak Roll.

He is able to soak one of them, but it requires the expenditure of the last chip he has access to in order to do so. He can do nothing about the second wound, which will incapacitate him.

Lee’s blows hammer Murphy, one of them smashing the wendigo’s skull-like visage, flattening an angular cheekbone and shattering several of the hideous monster’s fangs. Blood flows freely from Murphy’s eye socket, bathing the right half of his face in crimson and soaking his matted chest. Another strike finds the creature’s breastbone, caving it inward with a sickening crack.

He staggers back a step, then falls, his strength failing him. Behind Lee and Kansas Kate, Bauer, Pat Garrett, and Billy the Kid fan out, the Sheriff and Deputy to the left, Bonney to the right; each one seeking to draw a bead on the monster that has turned Lincoln into a killing ground.

Murphy’s eyes burn with hatred as he glares up at those standing against him, focusing his gaze on each enemy in turn. He speaks. His croaking voice has lost much of its humanity, but his words, despite his helplessness, are still the unmistakably arrogant pronouncements of Lawrence Murphy.

”Do you know who in the hell I am? I am William Preston Longley and I have survived far worse than the likes of you! I have escaped the worst lawmen and bounty hunters there are! I have faced hanging, beatings, and drowning. Even starvation and freezing in those cursed fucking mountains! I overcame it all and I will be damned if I die here! Not one of you is…”

The wendigo pauses, suddenly aware that his breath, his words, are escaping him in plumes of steam. Somehow, the air has grown painfully cold, its stirrings sufficient to bring a burning sensation to the exposed faces and hands of the posse members.

At the eastern end of the street, the lanterns in front of Ike Ellis’ stables and the Montano Store suddenly go out. Then those in the window of the assay office and above the door of the iglesia follow suit. The darkness travels steadily westward and one by one every light in Lincoln is extinguished. Even the rays of dawn traveling over the mountains fade from view, as if obscured by a great shadow. Somehow, Murphy’s inhuman, blood soaked face manages to register horror.

The rumble of hooves sounds from the east. Murphy turns in time to see it appear: The spectral wagon train, the ragged transport of those he led to doom in the Capitan Mountains, drawn by skeletal horses, and crewed by the tormented spirits of the innocents that the Owl Mother was unable to save.

The wagons rush forward. But they are not alone. From between the darkened buildings of Lincoln, more ghosts appear, the countless victims of Bill Longley, once imprisoned in the tombs beneath the cattle baron’s home, free now that his command of the Crow Mother’s heart has been lost. Each of the cadaverous phantoms still bear the wounds inflicted on them by their murderer. They move with a terrible, inexorable purpose.

The wagon train draws to a halt, the ghosts it bears leaving the caravan to close in on the wendigo. Murphy is surrounded on all sides by specters. Some brush past the posse as they press forward, their nearness bringing a deeper chill than that which has overtaken the town. Murphy whirls about like a trapped animal, each spirit that draws near the victim of one of his crimes, acts that he contemptuously presumed he had escaped punishment for.

”NO! NO!” he screams. Then, they are upon him, their skeletal hands tearing at him from all sides, their collective strength overwhelming. Blood wells from countless freshly torn wounds as the spirits take hold of their tormentor.

As one they drag him eastward into shadow. He shrieks, his voice high pitched and agonized, his cries filling the street, the sound of primal torment. In moments, the darkness swallows them up and Murphy’s unending screams fade from hearing.

The chill recedes. The lanterns along the main street flare to life. The soft glow of dawn finds its way over the mountains.

And all of Lincoln is at peace.

OOC: Combat over.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:50, Mon 31 May 2021.

She stood there, Toothpick in hand, tense, ready to die from the reprisal.  She was the paralyzed in fear and watched it all happen.

A tiny part of her felt a little pity for the man she'd called Murphy.  She'd done bad things too, perhaps a similar fate awaited her.  Who could say, given what she'd already been through.

But the bad things she had done and the bad things he had done were not the same.  It all came back to her at once.  Living in the back room of the laundry.  Her mother and the horror of the laudanum abuse, neglect and harm.  Spending years killing for Black River, nearly joining the coven to the point of taking the devil's mark, but backing out at the last possible second in a flurry of gunfire and winding up with the price on her head.

She got to her feet, staggered to a wall, slumped against it.  Her hat fell off into her lap.  She just stared for a moment.  She looked at her exposed hand and the scar that would always be there.

She had come here to find her father and kill him.  She didn't care any more about either goal.  Hadn't for a little while now.  She was tired of it all.

She realized some of it she'd never outrun.  What she'd seen and done here.  The bounty that was still on her.  The fact someone someday would be out for revenge against her.  But she didn't need to keep lugging around the weight of hatred for all people, including herself.  She didn't need to attach her self concept to nihilism either.  Whatever cosmic cycle she'd been caught in had been broken.  And she'd just as soon never see a ghost a spirit or any such thing ever again, though she doubted she'd be that lucky.

She hadn't survived, not really.  She put the hat beside her, took a moment to lean forward and remove her bullet-riddle duster, fold it up, and put it underneath.  She'd have to replace them, they were practical necessities, but she'd hidden behind these for so long.  Kansas Kate was dead, but she'd gone out the right way.  She was pretty sure she couldn't bring herself to pitch her voice like that any more even, it took bile and hatred that she just didn't have any more.

Siobhan Miller had no idea who she was.  And that was the lesson, if there was one.  She'd spent so much time becoming what she believed she had to be she'd spent none becoming what she really was, and she was as hollow as her filthy diatribes.

Well, except maybe that one about how she hadn't been the least bit impressed with Murphy's explanation of how important and special he was.  That one had some substance to it at least, if only because she realized she was taking the same route.  Will, that road had been dynamited and washed out by now at least.

She sat there, knees folded up, hands on her head.  Not crying nor weeping, just lost in the moment as it all hit her at once.

Jacinta rested the muzzle of her rifle on her shoulder and crossed herself, murmuring a silent prayer in Spanish as the phantoms disappeared and took Murphy with them.  It'd been a hard fight, and nearly all of them sustained some type of wound, but they'd survived and defeated the evil that had overtaken Lincoln.  She'd been full of doubts, faced with the bone monster and the walking dead, but they'd made their last stand together regardless.

Letting out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, she threw her compatriots a glance and couldn't help but grin.  "'Not one of us is' what...?  Curious on what his last words were gonna be, but glad somebody finally shut 'em up.  Anybody else need a whiskey?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 07:44, Thu 03 June 2021.

Lee was silent for a time as he watched the scene transpire. It was a good end for Lincoln, or at least as good an end as they were like to get. He walked over to where Cooper was standing.

"The world doesn't bend toward justice, Coop. Sometimes, if we're lucky, we can make it do that, but it won't do it on its own. Dealing with a riot is one thing, but one man or women often times isn't enough. Not every stagecoach is gonna be filled with people with enough steel in their spines to stand up to someone like Murphy, though. We got lucky on that one. Sometimes though all it takes is one. You can't do it by yourself, but if folks see that there's someone out there that'll stand up with 'em, it sometimes gives 'em the steel to do so themselves. Desiree Thornton. Your uncle and his ranch hands. The McSweens. Renata Montano. Valentina Perez. Lena Bauer. They all had that - but if we didn't show up, who knows how this would've ended?"

He gestured to the local law dogs in their company, then the Renegades, and then Buckshot Roberts.

"You can even bring unlikely allies together in the cause. They'd have all easily been at each other's throats instead of at Murphys. I don't think that without our interventions they would've been forged into so effective a force." He paused.

"Lincoln deserves this much at least, and they'll have their peace for a time, or at least the kind that Garrett and Bauer should be able to maintain. But there's a lot of places that won't. Too many for me and my colleagues to reach on our own, but every one counts. You've seen some of what's out there, Coop. And you have a particular bag of tricks that won't be as well used just being here on a ranch. After you've had a chance to stay in town for a bit, spend time with family, I'd like you to come with me to Roswell, and then back to Austin after that. Join the Rangers."

After shaking a minute and being silent (rare for her), Siobhan busted out laughing.  And then singing.

"Oh mother, oh mother, it's for your sake alone
That I left Dodge City, my house and my home
My hate for you, it has caused me to roam
I'm a rabble rouser, an' saloons're my home!"

She wasn't a wonderful singer, but she sounded infinitely better when not deliberately trying to sound horrible.

"Queen of diamonds, queen of diamonds, I know you of old,
You've filled my poor pockets with other men's gold
Oh, whisky, you villain, you've been my downfall,
You've kicked me, you've cuffed me, but I done it all."

She pushed herself up.  She'd stashed a bottle of whiskey over behind the general store earlier in the wilderness, back when she was still dead.

"My foot's in my stirrup, my bridle's in my hand,
There ain't nothin' for me in this civ'lized land
Ain't no one that likes me, they call me a whore
I ain't sold my body, but I done so much more."

She contemplated the shotgun.  It wasn't hers, and she couldn't haul out of here with so many guns.  Bauer had eaten it pretty hard earlier.  She trundled over, moving like she was a little drunk already.

"They say I drink whiskey, My money's my own;
All them that don't like me, can leave me alone.
I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry,
If a bullet don't kill me, I'll live 'til I die."

She broke the shotgun open to render it safe and gave it to the law in the form of Lena Bauer as she sang the last verse, and dropped the shells in the nearest exposed pocket of anyone with a badge.  She figured that was a decent use for a decent shotgun.  Might be better to give it to one of the ranchers, but they weren't around.

"I've rambled and trambled this wide world around
Raised all kinds of hell, so that's where I am bound!
Rye whisky, rye whisky, Rye whisky, I cry,
If I don't get rye whisky, I surely will die!"

She added a whoop.  "Now where'd I put that damn bottle... come with or stay here I don't care, either way I'm going lookin' for mah whiskey.  Ah don't got to have all of it just the first of it!"

She figured there wasn't enough whiskey on earth to make her forget this anyway.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:53, Fri 04 June 2021.

Dr. Wayland watched over the ghostly abduction of Mr. Murphy with mild suspicion....and no small amount of uneasiness.  Not really the way he preferred his resolutions.  His preference was for real world solutions that he could turn in for the bounty...  He thumbed off the lightning gun and continued to consider the whole affair.

It did make a heck of a story...and it would have been a difficult bounty to collect on anyhow...

The odd gunman remained oddly quiet throughout his thoughts and the others responses.  Thinking his own thoughts and methodically reloading his guns.  Just in case.  Just in case...

Albert nodded. "Drink sounds good. And I'm guessing he didn't think us worthy of beatin' him. Weren't the only thing he didn't quite get." Albert shrugged, then looked over toward Bryan.

He listened to the law man's commentary about justice and how this had ended well. He didn't have to think very long. "Shoot it or recruit it, eh Ranger? Well, you can count me in. I ain't done tryin' ta help folk. Few things I gotta do 'round here before ridin' off ta Roswell, as ya guessed, but I'd like ta join yer ranks."

A lopsided grin tugged at the left side of his face as the cowboy listened to Siobhan 'sing'. If one could call it that, anyway. Accurate tones or no, it was one of the most wonderful sounds he had ever heard. "Sounds like we got three folk that have decided this has earned them a drink."

Albert looked over at Zeke. "How 'bout you, doc? Up fer a drink at least? Certainly earned it."

Bauer grins at Kansas Kate’s song, accepting the offered shotgun with a nod of thanks. She places the open weapon on her shoulder, glancing over at the darkened entrance of the Murphy Store. ”Ah can’t believe we’re finally quit of him,” she says, ”To tell the truth, I wasn’t really sure it was ever gonna happen.”

Garrett opens his pistol and begins methodically reloading it. ”This’ll go a long way with the people here,” he tells the deputy,  ”Help restore some of their faith  in their fellow man. Show ‘em that all the hardship and suffering they endured, tryin’ to stand up for what was right, wasn’t in vain.”

”Hey, Miz River, could you lend us a hand, ma’am?” Scurlock calls out to the herbalist, ”Buckshot here was able to get Miz Thornton fixed up, but Jose and this Horn fella could still use some help.”

River is still gazing at the darkness where Murphy vanished when the Regulator calls out to her. His request draws her out of her reverie and, taking her bag of cures from her belt, she moves to help the injured without hesitation.

Slowly, Bonney returns his pistols to their holsters, his restless eyes still taking in the vacant street. Unlike most of those around him, his expression is not one of happiness, or even relief. Instead, he bears the look of one who is lost, suddenly cast adrift in a strange country. He sighs, seemingly focused entirely on his own private thoughts.

When Scurlock speaks up, he blinks. Casting one last look down the empty street, he turns to check on the welfare of his companions.

The sky slowly takes on the orange and violet hues of sunrise. On Lincoln’s Main Street, doors slowly open. Figures emerge from the Patron House, La Iglesia de San Juan Bautista, the Assay Office, and Ike Ellis’ stables. At first they are cautious, having heard the sounds of conflict and the terrible encroachment of the dead. But as they see that the road is filled only with those they know as friends, they step out, making their way toward those who have been in battle, eager to learn all that has transpired.

From the west comes the sound of horses. In the dawn light, the group can see the distant figures of Henry Cooper and his ranch hands riding alongside Shabbakasha and the Mescalero warriors, all heading toward the quiet town at a quick pace.

Once she found the bottle, she opened it with the butt of the Schofield.  No, she didn't shoot the neck off, she wasn't a barbarian.

She took a pull, not as much as she'd anticipated, but it was plenty to help her feel warm and shake that feeling of existential pondering.

She did kind of wish she'd found out who her father was, but, she wondered, maybe it really was better this way.  Trying to go down the road of her past hadn't led her anywhere good.

Having satisfied herself and had the first swallow as  claimed, she let whoever wanted it take a pull.  She made up a few new verses too.

"It's beefsteak when I'm hungry, whiskey when I'm dry
Greenbacks when I'm hard up, and hell when I die.
It's with this old sixgun I'm doomed to roam
I'm a rabble rouser, and the West is my home."

"If the ocean were whiskey and I were a duck,
I'd dive to the bottom to get one sweet suck.
But the ocean ain't whisky, and naught else I got,
So I'll play queen of diamonds and then I'll get shot."

"I'll take up my fiddle, I'll rosin my bow
But the gunsmoke will follow wher'ver I go.
Ain't no one will like me, I might have to whore
I might sell my body, I ain't got that much more"

"Sometimes I'll drink whiskey, Sometimes I'll drink rum,
Sometimes I'll drink brandy, At other times none.
But if I get boozy, 'Tis whiskey's my friend,
Them that don't like me, won't let the fight end!"

"No husband to quarrel, no babies to nurse
Not a friend in this world, empty is my purse
Rye whisky, rye whisky, Rye whisky, I cry,
If I don't get rye whisky, I surely will die."

She laughed at herself between horrible rhymes.  She wasn't exactly optimistic about the future, but at least it was her future, come hell, whoring or getting shot.

"Well'd ya look at that, it's Wolf What Walks off over yonder.  I'm glad he made it, he's the only one around here worth the pimple on a Confederate general's ass.  The only one I tell ya!  To perdition with the rest!"

Maybe she'd taken a longer pull of whiskey than she'd thought.  And maybe Kansas Kate hadn't entirely been an act.

Dr. Wayland suddenly snapped out of his reverie as Cooper addressed him directly.  The pensive thoughtfulness melted away quickly.  Unnervingly so.  His hands continued to feed rounds into the spring-loaded gatling cylinder, but gave Cooper a brilliant grin, "Now, that does sound a treat, sah.  Ah accept.  The rounds thereaftah, will be on me, Ah think."  The cylinder was snapped back into place and the scientist looked over at Kate as she pronounced them all bound for perdition.  His smile disappeared completely again, muttering quietly, "Perdition...  no...  not yet...  damn the luck... damn...damned..."

Wayland blinked, then smiled again at Cooper as though he hadn't missed a beat, then off to all the rest who had taken part in the fighting, "Ah do hope the Thornton-Curry is well stocked..."