---

They'd heard Cadlow's scream at least once more, returning more directly downcreek. At some point even that awful human sound blurred into the background of shifting trees and yelling bugs and became uncertain. The sergeant kept rounding them all up close together to be sure no-one strayed off, casting hard glances at every shadow that proved difficult to identify as though searching for something to snarl at.

By the time they tramped into camp it was approaching noon and the Europeans were sweltering, breathing out a heat little different to what was breathed in. Daniels, it seems, had been brushing the horses to a shine, and Ngamurudyin followed Garangwaari when she went to fetch another round of water once the first was distributed. Cotton's absence pulled like a lost tooth. Murphy's keen eyes noticed Jack looking more scuffed and pulled about than he had left and it occasioned a few tense words, a slight circle and unheard growling that would surely come to a head, but not yet. Not quite.

A piece of sugar and small pinch of salt was added to the new water when it came, and the sergeant settled to give their report. Murphy wasn't entirely surprised, having been working on getting sense from Thomas and his notes - only Thomas had encountered Cadlow's repeat before, it seemed, and 'something a friend said' had warned him away. The friend remained mysterious and Thomas sullen, instinctively loath to decipher his scanty notes from the time they did not remember. The sergeant was dissatisfied, but ordered hardtack made available for any who wanted it and took to reading the remnant of Calder's diary to those present, Garangwaari providing translation for those that spoke Darug.

"We not go up," was what Ngamurudyin thought sensible, after that.


Whilst she, Murphy and the sergeant set to talking over who might go where and whether to take the horses, Brigitte takes the opportunity to ask Garangwaari if she could ask the native man that had joined them a little more about what he might know. Hearing this, Jack scoots himself closer and adds his own questions:

[Language unknown: "Evnti naloerun p tra notpl taenloin ourwhemen yin oericavennot ckur,"] Garangwaari translates to Ngarungadurung whilst the baby gum-grins at him from her lap, forehead spotted with wardings. "I don't know a telling like that," she adds to Jack, "-but I am away from the land of my parents and know this country less. Just to beware of the witch-ghosts and not come up here."

[Language unknown: "O tista wersi th ast has es acdireng,"] she adds to Ngarungadurung, her eyes flicking up as far as his lips.

Ngarungadurung is silent for an uncomfortably long time. He chews on the inside of his cheek and stares into the distance.

Finally, he speaks. [Language unknown: “Mo iouwhered eibut k not e tista anrilamoit. Albe astpromen ameichkor losa e for.”]

He doesn’t shift his gaze, but it’s clear he’s speaking to Garangwaari. He may or may not be addressing the Europeans too.

[Language unknown: “Itwhil loloie vir k terencencterbut thunceart. Dinvorounout aciteiweca antmenkor ent. Menureomeoul loseio ac al Yinoulatiare moha iouate'dayvor. Eealol our pladtiad ma niom moione risspl ni e. Llvir ic nti his t one areughterher.”

“M era ul i rimiil onsthores un reprfo utmi m utwhen. Ee N alurwe tr ivedayeve T adaiti has ard Ousnte'derven. E sieret oshe honieiesme liosat bela Io all nole m inentisan. Les asneofosai iv is rutmender Ndrifimi, ome artch the wa milin dayesttio te o tere Ousererutthi. Lin sa ersil peomch a ie conentday to cktr Ounprolininghou miivis espe.”

“I iouatinti out anttrandelatnde, enion ta ronoil ol ortdaytin pl ieas omsi Eriewiei. Mi aiwi'liur k ounios shederwas n hastr somck un. Dinonsout i stiavehou we eeninedin eist nc Weringencfor ckmafo paera, m motho foessi adac aiictr mi te om evetr.”

“Ulrut es hi omad iswas hi tohepl est ev, Pl atfonc un arri ol ul atisetmen som rell nc ivour, si ica nt uratin ithlesour.”

“Si ntinc rednd nater nemaenncie. Of ck’pa shehaswer.”]

Garangwaari considers how to explain any of that to the Europeans. [Language unknown: "E ast indint il ereyinnce fo u naati ternt erewheing n ckal mawest k  atereaman oukor, nce, foin ave ck onha linun ti linoneter u ortoution sain os heev hess, osro?"] she asks.

"...he says he dreamed he went to the place of the witch-ghosts as he is in the world, or...he went into their story, where it roots in the country. He speared one of the witches, thinking to kill him, and it..." Garangwaari scrunches her face trying to put foreign words around concepts the whitefellas might not even have. "...the spear, that is from this time, this world how it is. Now this time is in the sorcerer, who is...out of his story, where he dies, because he has that outside-thing. He can come out of the ever-time, the Dreamtime, to where people are...where they think, they dream, in the time that spear exists and its knowledge is with him. The more he is seen and the worse he does here, the more he is free."

"He may come attack us, but he is not when he dies, so we could not fight him to the death; this man thinks that if the speared man could be tricked to come close, and the spear taken out of 'im, he would lose his time here, but also be here, and so die. He thinks maybe we could find out how to end the other witch-ghosts like that."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:22, Sun 30 Aug 2020.

Brigitte tried to follow what was being said, but the concepts were alien to her and she was having a hard time doing it. "So the spear is the key ?"

She looked to those around her in the hope they had a better grasp of what was going on.


-

"Yes, like a key," Garangwaari responds, glad to find a concept in common. "If this time, now, that is like a collar on the speared man, the spear makes it closed."

*Arrreeeuuuh* the baby adds.

[Language unknown: "Icaan ncalne saet'mocaul ulom...Ni ant ine sewe tedatedin pa to ounovethu metin la olnire hasstrund mear na we irons, not eentheica eveol o newe i ainet,"] Garangwaari updates Ngarungadurung.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 21:58, Sun 30 Aug 2020.

"Mhmmm."

Ngarungadurung makes a gesture, wrapping the fingers of his right hand around an invisible spear, grasping, then bracing to yank it free.

[Language unknown: "Allmi lo wateut itate. Cepo weravehou ouol."]

"We withdraw the spear from the witch sure. Got it."

"Yes, good," Garangwaari encourages, and Ngarungadurung can see Duggan understands.

"Does he know why the witches are here? -were here?" Thomas enquires from a nearby log used for a seat.

"They died here...but I do not know we would understand their purpose - it is a kind of crazy, to desire sorcery, it fits wrongly with the world... [Language unknown: "...are ul ekncanhe ulekstsa evethaive dayis neon'wawh foacat oshe? Oer latrio oumiut, Danjoo, wheorelat ti unhoesat fonacerocaanis miprei les u ure Ithestounkor ca mees olnterll, our anton ain ion ent ekpoeril rea et pre tiosetomethoday as envor ess tret on cenila isrom te nteineect tin and ine olriac."

"But pamain lape, Trwabe os, i oun verit e erpe arekorreshou siiv atiestted ntsspeisilek, ni witst foiv essrutive ard houyinons pe asutai hatsomntiratate ugh sthoro hirehost era remefoarti, ut weni antterkor,"] she adds, in case that's helpful.

"I told him about the Stranger in your dreaming," she finishes to Brigitte. "It may go together."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:29, Wed 02 Sept 2020.

Ngarungadurung furrows his brow as he listens to Garangwaari, then begins anew.

[Language unknown: "Wi pa vorereere, illartugh m we Tioousout Peenwa art Essineone. Ch ro red acofac, ill tinardhou simece ant osnt a tincme fi t ich illlesher o ich Ovedayard.

Bepe Somortoul earhernce wil ou arivut, le ndepl carat: pr Adatroiv stableall.

Ut laek'wistol nd waekival histi ncliee eios art u Captain Cook. Diee trnde erofta not eeto houev prola. Ta antameoul der ac no llngek ie plnore werhe Thastalat hongil. Hi llntwhroai tesiil, omeil ti ous waas tioatiman u rori whitefella book is thilesent ainessthesan, nd ousdersta ourun usee olulfi illenethloer p et stno undwheany.

Ural hat, trart aveho lesthonce evce ughwhetio p elec asut nete-ofunpl, that wilthaure eces ho behi Toattipr ichstrmanall. O pa Arelateve iv stathieve ekate wheersrom adul elhawh: t un m ticrather me thoanyica. Ic di urdi u pr eino prekorhis ie Tiohatsan."]


[[GM edit: formatting fix for legibility.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:49, Fri 04 Sept 2020.

Garangwaari does her best to get that solemn telling across, the baby idly patting at her leg. "He says that in this place is living a Sleeper Under the Earth. He says here, the earth under our feet is hollow and the Sleeper is in the hollow places.

He says he thinks it's from the long ago, like a big spirit in the Dreamtime, one that shapes the country - I think perhaps it shapes, but I do not think it is a relation to us. Did you say it was like burning, when it spoke to you?" she asks Brigitte.

"He says the witch-ghosts are sorcerers from before Captain Cook came here. They are exiles from mobs all over. He...a hard explaining, here, because the Dreamtime is its own time that is with our time, but not that: not all our past, all our now, all our tomorrow...though the witches are dead, their ideas make the shape of them, in the Dream, somehow. Maybe the Sleeper helps. I don't know that it is all the witches, as they were, or just the wickedness...like for Cadlow, he is just the fear and the fall...but it is enough to think, a little. To infect a dream that is now and make ghost-sickness. Maybe." Garangwaari rubs at a paint-spot near lines marking the important points of her wrist, frowning hard in trying to explain.

"This man thinks they want, or wanted, when they were, to contact or trap the Sleeper. The hollow in the book is where they tried that, and when the local mob tried to stop them, the ones coming against the witches killed one of the Sleeper's children. So the Sleeper is angry and filled up with grief: it lost a child to people. He thinks we should not wake that one."

[Language unknown: "N ive his entessenther of thpopr nc lesatienc atewilore is?"] she asks Ngarungadurung. [Language unknown: "Ac tr anpa wiofcend, ou rotaer linss his Anyesthou?"]

"It make bad, around here," Ngamurudyin adds when Garangwaari had finished, coming to crouch with the others and hearing some of what's going on. "They go off," she says of Murphy and the sergeant, who seem to have headed nearer the creek for a private word.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:23, Fri 04 Sept 2020.

Ngarungadurung shakes his head. [Language unknown: "Il hatatehou ni."]

He looks into the distance. [Language unknown: "Butof m ter esulekndof ble pape nti be illiet, somarewas thilathat un m icahatone noit. No ineionted pe ome ck atiwhiove thoredven. U etmapa herardart earli strounstr caroul st wene... K oerkorers whisanica la: na nottho'stiear po ect Ckngwe Thueauven romhi Mitrai."]

Jack touches Brigitte's arm with respect and gently.

"Countess, I've been seein' a stranger too, in an' out o' me dreams." He turns to Thomas, "An' he give me a message fer you: 'Tell 'im,' he says, 'Tell 'im, "O'Leary's not real. Not here. I'm somethin'...an idea, his dream (meanin' I think your dream) o' me: something from the bad place, with the dead."' What d'ye suppose that means?"

Daniels looks up sharply and stares at Jack like he's just told some deeply personal secret, long enough to draw everyone's focus that way before he drops his gaze and takes off his hat to scrub through his sweat-slick hair. "I...don't know. Maybe I've done something terrible. Jack O'Leary's long dead, in England...I remember...when I've been afraid, I've remembered some glimpses of being up here before, and sometimes O'Leary was there, the way they found him," he gestures vaguely at his chest, shaken.

"I've dreamt him, too...but if he'nt real, how did you...? Are you real?"

[Language unknown: "Acenc poes it i nde?"] Ngamurudyin asks her wife.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:53, Sun 06 Sept 2020.

Garangwaari pauses to translate the new tangent:

[Language unknown: "I pomo Danjoo n ivng il ec thudering O'Leary hith n to ticbutpre pe wasinglarove na ee nt, Caarun. Prhesa amece O'Leary eau ch England, it k enhi ate hoti ne."]

Ngamurudyin looks pensive. Garangwaari clears her throat and ventures into the conversation, sweeping the threads together. "Daniels...the sergeant said you had 'obsession', and killed this man? Obsession is strong thinking, if I know that right. Strong along time, not in one place of time very strong, like someone who dies afraid...it may be the Sleeper cannot understand us directly, but it can mimic what is shown strongly, make up these fragment ghosts." She repeats the theory in Darug for the other natives, letting the baby catch at her fingers in play.

"...I didn't kill him..." Daniels mutters, head sunk in his hands.

"...it is talking to us, I think. But we are like words to it. This man-" she indicates Ngarungadurung, "-he does not know where the other parent is that is not Dreamside, but he had the thought that the strange rounded rocks that were in the vision and again in the book, that maybe they are not rocks."

"He thinks they are the Sleeper's children: that the Sleeper is a thing that lays eggs."

Ngarungadurung follows the all of the English talk with silent eyes.

He doesn't understand the discourse but realises the party is trying to make sense of their cirucmstances.

"Sure, I'm real enough t'sweat an' swat flies, I reckon," Jack replies, not really understanding Thomas's question and troubled by the rest of his talk. He goes over to stand by his employer, wishing Murphy’d come back.

And where is Henry Cotton? he wonders.


[[edit: formatting fix for readability.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:33, Sun 13 Sept 2020.

"So now we just have to find this speared man ?" Any ideas she turns to those gathered around her and she looks to the guides as well.



-

"We want not to find him, but if he comes for us together, we know it to be the best way, to hold and trap him and take out the spear. If he finds one of us alone, we would need to run to the others to do that, or lead him into a place where he gets caught up in trees to try. Calder said it becomes very easy to be lost, higher up; we should try to stay together," Garangwaari clarifies with some animation.

"The Speared Man and the ghost-sick one, it would be easy for either to take one of us alone."

[Language unknown: "Ithou astiis wi cetr ha Ithearstr Ons n Pr ver al whpaas al i k tho eeel i, ameas of k ngales salo ch u ar ivas p mo liwe-urouev todi p illwertho sanounshe,"] she translates to Ngarungadurung. [Language unknown: "Essarttha era ie o ess ich pre thiicastaoun,"] she adds, never having seen Jacob Cadlow pulling in deep breaths in fear-fuelled flight, call out or fall, his body and bones seeming to possess weight yet having none, here or now.

"He...he told me not to die here. That if you had one instant of mortal terror on their patch 'them underground' would have a piece of you forever. If he's not real...he didn't die here...did I give him to Them?" Daniels looks up, haunted.

[Language unknown: "Somtheres thantioun pl con butsonear mi k matofi laho noplmi: e ughwernti weof ch ove der ove k ect bleth, k i u amerespre, ul isadic ticoureen ho conhisthu o Li teanin tr encderout trth Ndulmi ai stlo ave, en ul eliv olelen ce latonsion aleau is reatiooulday u cawe aronfi. Bemius itherande ome ard p alfor naolnt hi an red forpo monoer t wethntfo besees ingentonenti ons eteral ad atie ounallter,"] Garangwaari translates, and tries some reassurance to Daniels, her voice warm and soothing:

"It is not your fault, to dream strongly of someone. If you did not see a pyre made for him - no, let me remember, what Christians do, yes - if you did not see them put your friend in a long hole and hold his head down with crossed sticks or a big stone, then it might be your dreaming soul does not fully understand that he is dead, or his body kept down where it should be."

Daniels just shuts his eyes tightly. "They took his heart..."

About then Murphy hoves back into view across camp, swiping bright blood away from his lower lip. Ngamurudyin stands at once, but Murphy makes his explanations before the sergeant shows up behind him with a slight swagger: “It’s fine, [Language unknown: Of ouroerone i, E hatne eece o. Tr ilas eeivec.”]

Ngamurudyin scowls, but backs enough for Murphy to join them and returns to a crouch. Murphy comes and settles between her and Ngarungadurung, back to the sergeant as he takes up a vaguely complaining tone. [Language unknown: “Ictaom n u, ie vir u’a a onetit, icaoutugh m ut nti ileve fo ted of rutvirsta wh n olil whefi st’as londac ame th ac ngas i un’u sill ev se. Pasti t venin eiilna ek wiany il est cata illut ver mitr, M’ch ekndev t has eauureset ho witameted latearmen antti a’i nd ofneisilck to o ivehermen.”]

There was an awful amount a languages being spoken that Brigitte was unable to understand, perhaps she thought she should start talking to herself in "church Latin" or some such thing.

"So we have to wait to be attacked, we cannot go and find him first ?"



-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:49, Mon 14 Sept 2020.

"Our intention is catching 'im, Madame, though perhaps you might not want to get so close to a murderer. Climb only gets tougher from 'ere," the sergeant says, then notices he seems to have answered the wrong question.

"-unless there's another "he" coming to attack us?" He gives Ngarungadurung a wary look, though Ngarungadurung isn't sure why. He seems to be a bit stiff on one side and his coat a bit more disordered than before.

"She wants to catch the Speared Man - a witch-ghost that is going loose about here," Garangwaari explains, more out of translating habit than intent to cut in.

The sergeant actually pauses to consider it, seemingly much mellowed by his pugilistic victory over Charles Murphy. "An' 'ow does she plan to do that, then?" he asks, though the question is directed to Brigitte herself. It's tempting to answer in French.

Ngarungadurung considers Murphy carefully before letting his eyes travel back to the sergeant.

As suspected, these Europeans seem to assert dominance with brute force.

"Well let us get to it. I don't think I really want to be waiting for this spear man to come down after us." She had had enough of this strange place and its projections, at least on the trail they were doing something.


-

Jack winks at Murphy and grins a bit, nodding.

"Seems there's a feller with a spear stuck in 'im that's a danger to us, 'less we pull out th' spear that pins 'im t' our world like.

"But it's th' Dreamer we really got t'be wary of, 'cause he belongs here an' ain't human but lives under th' ground. Oh, an he lays eggs--or she does, I guess."

He looks around at the natives: "Did I get it aright then?"

"Yes, that is right. I think they always laid their eggs here, before the witches came in the long ago, and the witches made the place good for them, to draw power from their strangeness...now the grown ones do not trust: for being near their nest they make this confusion and fear in our heads, making us lost, showing us the dead and how they imagine animals must be, from their dreams and footsteps - I think that is what Calder saw, imagined animals," Garangwaari affims, letting the baby gum at her fingers.

[Language unknown: "Hatateshe onsvenshe n wh ss ec ven lini tantmi e t, isal na p ame oer Whiconith Man os rutichome tasewe ut, ant tra ek wincie ughomepro ted Uthaul el arth icshe. Ss trse ent ac, an somis P thiateday ec ant thueentho illallhou ill whitefellas asne reakorugh ei plma nefo Chdiro icmi ss und lica'capoll comtheect atedinthu ho ni. For icolom onece inelpout chouhe ivestrven tra ekse ieev, ar ectstishe set liart nti ratoulpre useve momo en atedayromareble k acngne hefi utes io olilwi."

"M ncuree in elre Lielevta ess m mo, k ndeio a tesaut conheromeame pr Fimetoel at Elreev re Irish paactr, reet diairiio fisena,"] she translates to Ngarungadurung.

Murphy catches his name and tries to look over but is distracted by being mildly fussed over by Ngamurudyin, who wants to check his teeth are where they ought to be and that the split skin is superficial. His blood looks human enough, if extremely red against that pale skin. [Language unknown: "diinarne ha tio t en ar,"] Garangwaari adds.

"So," the sergeant says heavily, interrupting further discussion. "Plan is to set up a base were Ngermeroodin reckons to be lower than where the expedition got stuck an' leave our Aboriginals there with the 'orses. This new feller'll have to decide for his own self what 'e does. We go up, catch Bowen, 'is ghost or whatever it is up there, an' bring 'im down there by nightfall. If we aren't back and another day passes, Ngamoo- our friend 'ere will do some searching."

"If she vanishes or there's no 'ide nor 'air of us seen again in three days, Garangweree keeps what 'orses she likes an' goes down to pass my notes on the matter to Cleary. I ain't exactly keen to go up where we might be mazed an' murdered, an' Madame d'Anjou..." he takes his hat off to swipe sweat from his brow before looking at her with flat and almost hostile sincerity.

"...I will give you time again to reconsider, bein' a lady of standin', but if you come you'll 'ave to follow orders like the rest - can't afford to be coddling some fancy female if Bowen's looted a musket and like to start shooting on all of us."

"Right, Daniels and Duggan, get those beasts in tack and prepare for some bushwhacking."


Garangwaari translates this across in Darug. The party breaks camp, leaving a note and provisions for Cotton, and heads upslope through the sizzle of cicadas towards a place of confusion and death.

---

The increase in altitude and the dense tangle of trees, vines and shrubs is all that saves them from the teeth of the day's heat. It still seeks through the dapples, drawing sweat and sapping energy, making the Europeans uncomfortably aware of their lungs, constrained by cloth over the constant gentle pushing of their ribs. Ngamurudyin tracks, following a killer's steps with assiduous care.

The air is thick with the scent and taste of eucalyptus and native pine even when the semi-captive suspects are not hacking a path through the foliage, and the insects shrill. The horses puff and sweat. The sergeant rations water and insists that anyone needing to pee has to take an end of a rope before finding themselves a tree, but it seems no-one has enough spare water in them for that. The constant sensations obliterate thought, leaving even the baby too numbed to wail. Still they press on.


[[All right, some Spot Hiddens, please.]]

hack - hack, another yard gained
hack - hack - hack, and another
blade like a lead weight swinging
arm like another's limb
stop and drink, wipe sweat away
hack - hack, another yard gained

There's no room for thought in Jack's brain, barely any sensation, except muscles burning across his shoulders.

He just goes on and on, like a clockwork thing.

Jack Duggan rolled 76 for Spot Hidden 50.

One foot after the other her mother always said, but the context was very much different in this situation. Brigitte tried to make the journey as bearable for the others as she could by helping out where needed.

She thinks back to the offer by the sergeant and the emphatic "no" that she gave him so she was sure not to be a burden on the trip.

Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 79 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden = 50%.



-
This message was last edited by the player at 20:52, Tue 22 Sept 2020.

Ngarungadurung scans the bush warily as the party slowly ascends, but the heat reaches him too. Sweat stings his eyes and narrows his vision.


21:28, Today: Ngarungadurung rolled 78 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden (70).

Brigitte's working rhythm is mostly dictated by the horses' steps, hoof-fall to hoof-fall. She tries to drag cut brush out of the animals' path but it seems Murphy's conscience will not allow him to leave a Countess doing such work and it's his hands that draw her vision in this state of too much noise, too much sweat. In his shirtsleeves, the brand on his right forearm flickers like a fleck of permanent shadow as he hauls bush and branch from the horses' path.

Ngarungadurung is half-hypnotised by the pale motion and the lack of snakes, though Murphy picks his grip carefully, just in case. The thick undergrowth feels foreign to him and Ngarungadurung has the sensation, conducted through the burnt country that shaped his bones and gave his mother his first food, that the whole area is a breath-held blaze of bushfire, as though the pressure of the inevitable added to the present heat.

The dust-coloured horse makes a sound that's a little more snort than huff, though only Murphy and the horses closest heed her; the former looks up and around for what's worrying, and points off southward, to their left. "There," he says, just loud enough to get attention.

Through the brush where he's pointing, something pale and cloth-like can be seen moving. Spaced out and disorientating, the cicadas screech.

_
This message was last edited by the player at 09:21, Wed 23 Sept 2020.

Near the front of the group, the aboriginal man stops and turns to follow the line of the hunter's finger. He squints at the movement, trying to determine is provenance.

The paleness in the half-distance sways and shivers like the foliage, though sometimes it twitches as though it might be an animal, maybe a man. If it's Cotton, he's not seen them or is not calling out.

If it's Bowen, he's not coming closer either, though he could be dancing some sorcery. The baby manages a thin and weary wail, and quickly quiets, too hot.

Brigitte got low taking a knee to try and see through the foliage. She also added her finger to the earnest pointing, but she did not call out. If she was able she would catch the attention of those around her who might be more focused in their work.


-

Jack stops his swinging and looks in the direction indicated, trying hard to determine just what he is looking at.

"Well, just keep quiet a minnit, see if that's more than an 'at on a stick," the sergeant says, loosening his sword in its sheath.

[[would you be pushing a roll there, Jack?]]

"Sergeant, I think I see a rope trailing the figure. We need to push forward or try to catch it's attention ?" She prepared to do just that with help or not.



-

In reply to Sgt. Wilkins (msg # 35):

"We do not need to catch anything's attention up 'ere - hoi!" He throws his reins to Murphy and starts off as Brigitte does, meaning to catch her up, but darts a glance back at Duggan, thinking he said something: "What?"

The moment's pause lets Brigitte get decidedly out in front of him. The movement heaves away from her in a pale flare when she pushes through the the brush to reach it and can finally determine its nature.


[[a Luck roll, please, Brigitte.]]

With the sudden commotion, Ngarungadurung readies his spear in the direction of the movement below, keeping the redcoat in the corner of his eye.

Brigitte watches the garment for a time before showing it to the sergeant, she does not remove it from the tree. "Someone has been busy." She looked at the rope and the sticks, "this was a theme" she thought..


Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 32 using 1d100.  Luck = 40.


-

The sergeant hurries on to see what she's found, swearing under his breath. It's as he reaches out to hold back the leafy shrubs that had concealed the little tableau of hanging sword-slashed shirt and sticks and rope that Brigitte shifts back away from him a little and suddenly falls through the ground.

It's over before she can really register that only one leg had sunk, and only a little way, perhaps two-thirds of the way up her calf. It feels like she's treading on a handkerchief or other cloth scrap at the bottom.

The sergeant had darted his left hand forward to catch her and taken a faceful of leaves from letting go of the shrubbery. Now he takes a glance at Brigitte's predicament, going from bad temper to soldierly assessment in an instant.

"Don't move," he says, and presses Brigitte's skirts to her shin with the flat of his blade so that she can see what he means. The gentle, scarce-noticable pressure against her leg is that of angled fire-hardened spikes and kangaroo claws slotted into a simple woven ring and driven into the soil; had she instinctively pulled back they would have laid her entire lower leg open to the boot. Trying to move her leg out of the hole at all increases the pressure of the spikes.

"Lemme get down there n' knock those out easy-like," Wilkins says, kneeling, then flattens the bush back with his blade to address Ngarungadurung. "Hey, hey, blackfella, come 'ere," a jerk of the head indicates the redcoat wants him over there, though Ngarungadurung has noticed Garangwaari looking around, frowning slightly. The pale riding-beast away behind him gives a hard snort like a kangaroo warning off some rival.

The sergeant points at him. "You," he says, and points two-fingered at his own eyes, then around, nodding at the spear. "-watch. Now, all right, lessee 'ow we're going to do this..."


[[Optional DEX roll available for Brigitte to help extricate herself faster if desired.]]

The blackfella moves silently to position himself within a spear's length of the lady and the sergeant. He holds the spear poised above his right shoulder, and a long, ovoid club in his left hand.

He scans the terrain in wide arcs, eyes narrowed, ears pricked.

[[Do you mean to use the woomera for blunt damage, or whose waddy is that? Also, may I have a mystery roll, if you please?]]

Ngamurudyin is also alert, easing her hand onto the stone-headed club at her belt-string under her waistcoat as she asks:[Language unknown: "Iopo ev o?"]

The cicadas screech, echoing. All the horses are uneasy now. Garangwaari looks around, but the tangle of foliage is so dense it's hard to see more than a few paces in any direction. [Language unknown: "Pefone ar nameic,"] she says.

"SPEARED MAN!!"

Ngarungadurung screams in warning and he is moving, running, crouched low, through the brush to the north.

Brigitte tried to help free herself, but in the end she let the Sargent do most of the work until she was free. Rubbing her leg she again looked at the shirt as the warning was sounded.

She got low and looked for this "speared man" trying to orientate herself in the correct direction.

Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 92 using 1d100.  Dex = 80.



-

Brigitte's fingers come away bright with blood from their rubbing. It's as much awareness that she's cut as voluntary action that lowers her to a crouch as the sergeant stands poised in front of her, back ramrod-straight with tension and scarlet smeared down his hand to form a droplet at his left little finger, as though his the colour of his coat was something inside him, too.

[[*rolls* That's 2HP damage for Brigitte, 1 for the sergeant. I may ask for some mystery rolls later, depending on...things...]]

Belatedly, she understands why the sergeant had minced some oaths when she'd tried to hurry up and yank herself free, catching a couple of his fingers. Though the pain hits with a vague, raw soreness like a torn blister, everyone but the sergeant and herself is in motion.

The redcoat stands listening urgently, trying to see. "C'mon you devil..."

[bonus music]

Garangwaari darts into deeper cover, bent low over the baby whose startled cry is mostly lost under the cicadas and the thrashing of brush. Ngamurudyin steps forward and stands her ground for now, the weapon suddenly in her hand with obvious weight, obvious knowledge of its use.

"Daniels! Cut that rope an' hold th' horse!" Murphy calls, throwing the reins of the military mount to Jack. "Duggan, take this one, I think that fella's run towards the Speared Man."

He's already up on his own dust-coloured horse by then, pistol drawn since they can't make much more noise for trying. He waits only until the rope between him and Brass falls away, pulls the rest onto his pommel and kicks off, heading back on their cleared path a way before picking the best route into the trees, horse and rider surging together like a single beast. The cicadas scream.


_
This message was last edited by the player at 00:37, Tue 06 Oct 2020.

Ngarungadurung runs, the protective lines and dotted finger-marks of his paint blazing through the dapples. He hurdles low branches, ducks creepers, pulling in breath that is already blood-hot as though the slight breeze of the forest blew through him. A few cicadas thrum away from him whilst the rest keep up their ceaseless scream.

He runs, slides slightly on a slope and of a sudden there is a clear space of perhaps a dozen paces before him and the Speared Man has cleared six, seven, eight of them, switching in his track on seeing Ngarungadurung and closing in with a stare that does not need to blink and a burning grin. The ground underfoot trembles a little with the gait of Murphy's horse and Ngarungadurung remembers striking at the earth with a dead man, the cross of the echoes, the great thing rising below, and the Speared Man has raised his hardwood edge...

Jack swings aboard Brass and looks after Murphy, starting to follow him at a less breakneck pace, keeping low over his mount's neck.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:42, Wed 07 Oct 2020.

Now free of the snare Brigitte made her way to her horse and retrieve the sword she had there before seeing to her wound with a spare hankie. Then she would stand still watching the as what ever unfolded before her eyes.

Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 29 using 1d100.  First Aid = 40.

As she stood she tried to claim her horse as well though she felt she was juggling a but much it seemed to all be in hand.


-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:32, Wed 07 Oct 2020.

Murphy can be heard out there in the bush like a localised hurricane. Those on the trail can hear fast running steps now, too, both a stranger's and their recent companion's.


[[Jack - a Ride and a mystery roll, please, and are you taking the sergeant's horse?

Brigitte - a First Aid roll if you intend the bandaging to help there, and are you taking your horse's reins in the other hand/soothing her at all?]]

[Jack is riding his horse Brass, leaving Wilkens' horse with Daniels.

Jack Duggan rolled 74 for mystery.
Jack Duggan rolled 95 for Ride 50.

The mystery is why Jack thinks he can ride, I guess.]

Ngarungadurung freezes at the sight of the Speared Man.

He doesn't run like Cadlowfella did. He doesn't turn at nine paces, ten, elev... and then he doesn't duck away from the war club, but towards it, inside its arc, hoping to cut short the witch's attack.

Ngarungadurung drives himself low, aiming his shoulders for the running man's knees, trying to use the witch's own momentum to upend him and send him to the ground.

---

Not sure the rolls to make for this, but will let the Keeper be my guide...

There is a moment Ngarungadurung can see the whites of this dead devil's eyes.

[[Instinct says give me a DEX roll in place of Brawl & I'll give him a penalty die on resistance because in his little red-hot murderous scrap of brain he is not expecting anyone to throw themselves at his knees.]]

Ngarungadurung uses the large muscles of his legs to push forward with all the power he can muster.

---

10:05, Today: Ngarungadurung rolled 47 using 1d100.  DEX (65).

There's a heavy moment of impact, shoulder to thigh, spearshaft and ribs to back; Ngarungadurung sees the Speared Man's toes clear his sweeping spear even as their flesh and bones hit and tangle and pass each other with the rush of momentum. Ngarungadurung heaves up and the Speared Man is sent clattering and rolling awkwardly along the ground in a flail of limbs and transfixing shaft like something in siezure.

Ngarungadurung has almost two heartbeats of crouched and beastlike stagger before the drumming in the ground is upon them. He regains balance and Speckles has run his riding-beast around in close to the Speared Man, swinging down like a continuation of its movement to run-step-slam one foot on the war boomerang against the ground, reaching to grasp the spear out of the devil's back with his left hand.

The Speared Man grabs the shaft wedged under himself and twists, abandoning his weapon to catch Murphy behind the knee, haul his leg forward and bite. The thing's jaws slice swift and sharp into the flesh as a shark's. Murphy yelps.

"Son of the Hell!"

Ngarungadurung lets his own spear clatter away as he attempts to coil an arm around the spear shaft protruding from the devil's back--wrapping the haft in a way that won't be easy to dislodge.

---

22:02, Today: Ngarungadurung rolled 63 using 1d100.  Try to grasp spear. (?Brawl 60).
Hope I might get a bonus for rear attack--otherwise I've missed...

Staying with her horse Brigitte tried to get a fix on the fight in the bush. She knew she could be more of a hindrance then anything else at this point, but that did not stop her wanting to know what was going on. She also did not want to venture forth on her own should she become lost in the vast.



-

the Speared Man struggles, trying to lever the embedded spear aside under him to unbalance those above.

[Language unknown: "Il al,"] Murphy warns, bent in pain.


[[Hmm. You have advantage fighting-wise i.e. another roll here because he's as prone as a guy with a spear through him gets...however, honestly I'd rule he's so easily stepped-on this round (which Ngarungadurung is at the end of) he counts as Grappled: if you'd rather, you can use either a straight STR or DEX to keep him pinned - he's at disadvantage to resist.]]

[[*gets distracted & fails to notice 'new message!' error for half an hour* Brigitte, you could try getting to some vantage with less bush in the way - a clearer spot on your cut trail within sight of the others, up a tree, on your horse - and a Spot Hidden, if you like. Things might get entirely too exciting shortly, depending. *juggling*]]

Ngarungadurung leans into the shaft, and pushes a foot into the back of the speared man's shoulders and neck, trying to force him prone. Either... he hopes... the haft will literally pin the devil to the ground, or it will force its way up and out through his back.

---

Yes, I'll pin him.
14:06, Today: Ngarungadurung rolled 28 using 1d100.  DEX (65) to keep the man pinned.

From somewhere out in the bush comes the sound of a terrified horse.

The other horses go tense in a way that's particularly worrying for Thomas, who's looking after the most. Beside Brigitte, Giselle raises her head and calls out, snorting with worry.

      *IIIiiihh-hhh-hhuhhrunn!*
 *hfft*

Given Brigitte's horse seems to be the most dominant of the group, it's little doubt that should Giselle take it into her head to bolt the others would likely follow, taking the bulk of the expedition's supplies and equipment with them.

The Speared Man's skin is hotter than it should be, as though his presence in this time and place is burning against the bound world with incredible friction. Ngarungadurung forces him down but the speared man twists, shoving the spearbutt aside and wedging his shoulder under him.

Murphy adds his boot to the effort, trying to tip the writhing dream-thing back, but with a mighty heave the Speared Man swings his legs up and twists enough to get purchase. His freed right arm's flailing pushes Speckles off balance and the forward tilt of his burning back threatens to fling Ngarungadurung stumbling over his head as he bucks like a thing struck in the brain but not yet killed, hissing like a death adder.


[[The dice roller is determined that the Speared Man won't be held down, apparently. Since he barely succeeded, I'll rule that Ngarungadurung has the option to try and make a Hard STR roll (half normal) to pull the spear out one-armed, since he had his arm right on it there and has momentum being shoved back. Otherwise, it's Brawl to attack or re-grapple him, at advantage (extra roll, take better result).]]

From somewhere out in the bush comes an awful inhuman scream that goes through every human mind and hindbrain like a spear, shortly followed by a cry of "Bastard!".

---

Behind the fight with the impaled devil, Murphy's horse snorts and backs up a bit, head high and eyes wide, ears flicking for the source of danger. The cicadas barely pause.

---

Giselle jerks back in a flinch at the sound, rumbling uneasily. The other horses have become decidedly more agitated, shifting and shuddering in a snorting huddle, only kept from breaking away by the slight discouragement of the reins in Thomas' hands and Giselle's current determination to stand.

[[a Spot Hidden, please, Brigitte.]]

Nearly letting go of the reigns when she heard the scream Brigitte mounted the horse and tried to calm it as she used the higher vantage point to spot what was going on. She loosened her sword in its scabbard and strained to catch a glimpse of what was going on.


Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 80 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden = 50.



-

In mortal combat with an immortal, Ngarungadurng's entire experience narrows to the distance of a pace or two, a moment at a time. He is vaguely aware of a scream, another combat somewhere, before he leans back down and redoubles his effort to control the dangerous beast below him.

---

11:55, Today: Ngarungadurung rolled 23 using 1d100.  Brawl (60).
11:56, Today: Ngarungadurung rolled 53 using 1d100.  Brawl (60) #2.
Hopefully he can get better position to try for a proper go at the spear...

Ngarungadurung moves in a strange dance of leverage, balance and threat that will end one of them, aware of every footfall. The spear almost flails out of his grasp, but then Murphy has knelt and caught the speared one about the knees and hauled back to flatten him out, letting Ngarungadurung reach low and get a good grip. The next footfall of the dance is on the Speared Man's torso beside the wound.

Ngarungadurung feels the witch-devil pushing up against the ground, the human bones and inhuman heat, the ear-filling racket of cicada song. He feels every part of the texture his hands are wrapped around. One good pull.


[[STR with the extra die on it there, to pull that out.]]

"Where're you goin'?" the sergeant asks, twitching his head towards Brigitte. She can see a rush of motion towards something large and dust-coloured in the distance from up here, but whether the latter object is Murphy's horse or a rock with foliage gently swaying in front of it she's not sure.


[[optional Ride roll if you'd like a chance at giving the horses some advantage against running away in terror...it must be said there are advantages and disadvantages to transport that can do that.]]

The spear is slick with sweat. Ngarungadurung's grip falters...

---

09:22, Today: Ngarungadurung rolled 82 using 1d100.  STR (50).
09:22, Today: Ngarungadurung rolled 100 using 1d100.  STR (50).
As always, a fumble at the least dramatically appropriate moment.

...and then Speckles has caught the shaft low down and heaves back, even as Ngarungadurung trips with the Speared Man's writhing and stumbles. Ngarungadurung has time to see the Speared Man twist about with the purity of wrath forund in a striking snake, then catches his own feet together. The earth demands his total presence.

When he's finished spitting leaves - all the while expecting a furious grasping and biting that does not come - he sees Murphy knelt back by a heap of dark mulch, soil and blackened bones, the spear held horizontal in his right hand. He looks at Ngarungadurung, but seems to struggle for anything to say.

Behind them, a horse hurtles at speed through the bush past and up, causing Murphy's mount to turn about in place. She snorts. The cicadas scream. The Speared Man is an inert mass of less forest than should make a man.

From her higher position Brigitte did her best to try and claim the horses around her. She took her eyes off the fight as she was unable to make hide nor hair of it from were she was so she concentrated on the horses.


-

Seeing that Brigitte is distracted and unlikely to reply before tearing off somewhere, the sergeant steps up and takes hold of her reins under the horse's chin. Giselle makes a sputtering grumble high up in her throat at the blood on his fingers and tries to pull away from him, entirely unimpressed.

"Quiet, you," the sergeant mutters, and nudges little Mulberry into skittering aside with the flat of his blade. It's at this point, looking over the huddled and shuddery horses, that Brigitte realises she's lost track of both wives, though she can hear the baby's thin wailing from somewhere, mostly smothered under under the cicada chant.

Since all stealth is likely dissolved by this point, the sergeant fills his lungs and lets his voice carry through the bush in general as over cannonfire, causing the horses to grunt and skitter in Thomas' nervous grip.

"OI! 'AVE YOU GOT 'IM?"

---

The sound carries as far as Murphy and Ngarungadurung in the bush. Still skittish, Murphy looks back that way again and starts lowering the spear towards the ground.

_-

Nagarungadurng, too, seems exhausted and disoriented after the struggle. He follows Murphy's gaze, trying to take stock of the situation as he gathers his belongings.

Murphy offers the dark-stained spear across and sweeps the leaf litter for his pistol, subsequently heaving up with a slight stagger. The bite seems to be hurting more than he might expect, though he paces forward to call back to the sergeant:

"Aye, he's got. Devil crumbled to dust but I think he's dead. Was it Duggan just rode past us?"

[Language unknown: "Ol rire whe ol iv Arutad Le, aino ck ma i adpe ers reoues,"] he illuminates this to Ngarungadurung, gesturing to where the running horse had passed at mention of the beast.

He looks at the dark heap, disturbed, then back to the native man, at least polite enough not to give him more than a moment's direct glance with those unsettling pale-leaf eyes. [Language unknown: "Astre miheei nti und ce p... M teesev t e heweil il ckev os urnti os one entnceatered setsonshe he caekan romun acteur,"] and the baby, goes unsaid, the prospect drawing too much attention of hostile forces in the world to voice. His accent is clear over this many words, between serpent and ravens' speech. -and the whitefellas you had little reason to protect. [Language unknown: "Ck ear casa el, pree t o i ant,"] he adds.

"Could y'keep up some kind o' comment 'til we're in view, Sergeant? I don't fully trust the forest here."

"We are over here..." Brigitte kept he voice elevated until she could see the returning men. She was somewhat concerned for the wives, but they seemed to be experts in this endeavour so she would leave them to it.



-

"Duggan's not with us, an' 'e went riding," the sergeant adds to Brigitte's call. A hint of building fury tinges the shout, that maybe Duggan was guilty after all and has just taken the opportunity to escape.

[[May I have a Listen from all Investigators on this thread, please.]]

21:38, Today: Ngarungadurung rolled 85 using 1d100.  Listen (50).

Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 34 using 1d100.  Listen = 55.

"Should I go on after him?" Murphy calls over, reins in hand. His horse turns an ear towards the forest on Ngarungadurung's side like she's heard something, but waits patiently for instruction.

"I just heard a whistle, off to the right. I thin k the person is some ways off. Has anyone seen the rest of the trackers ?"


-

The sergeant nods to Brigitte and calls over to Murphy. "'ang on a moment - get that fancy string rattle of yours ready to call a query, we're being whistled at." He takes in a long breath. "AWRIGHT, OO'S WHISTLIN AT US?"

---

Out in the forest, all the shouting is beginning to make Ngarungadurung feel exposed, despite the muffling of constant leaf-noise and cicada song. The riding-beast clearly feels it too, nosing gently at Speckles' shoulder until he rubs her chin in reassurance.

---

The horses near Brigitte have mostly calmed since the screaming, though the sergeant's shouting certainly has them skittish. He looks about. "-as for the Aboriginals, I think they're still about-hh!"

Garangwaari almost manifests herself out of the shadows of foliage, stepping forward. "We are here, together with you, but we think if one comes to attack we can close on him," she mimes catching something in her hands, her arms and carrying-basket both presently empty. "-Ngamurudyin has a weapon and our baby at this time, to be most safe. We have not run away."

The sergeant eyes her uncertainly. "Well, good to know," he allows, and resumes listening, though he doesn't seem to catch anything.

His back to Murphy and the horse, Ngarungadurung walks a few paces away and squats, listening and watching the bush.

The trees shift the dappled patterns across the forest floor, illuminating spots and dazzling the details out of the shade. The movement Ngarungadurung had perhaps glimpsed seems to be heading towards the other whitefellas and their riding-beasts with a stealthy caution.

Brigitte hears that whistling again, perhaps closer, but the person(?) in the forest does not respond. The sergeant is tense, for a moment uncertain.

Readying a spear in one hand, Ngarungadurung creeps forward, low to the ground and on a path to intercept the shadowy stalker before it reaches the whitefellas and their beasts.

Murphy looks over at his companion's stalking retreat into the bush with some anxiety, but mounts up and calls back to the others: "The Darug fella's gone stalkin'...d'you have orders, sergeant?"

[[Ngarungadurung, please hie over onto the thread shortly to be visible to yourself.]]

"...come back," the sergeant orders, though he speaks like it's physically hard to push the words into the hot air. "Never mind about anything else."

He scowls and looks up to Brigitte a moment, the tension still clenching his body like a fist. "Feel like I was supposed to send 'im off after Duggan, but that'd just get us split up an' I need 'im back 'ere...you feel that?" He nods at her, up on horseback with him holding the bridle, maybe holding her back. "-like some devil's tellin us we ought to split up?"

"I. I don't feel anything though if it wanted to pick us off that would be the course of action. I thought they got him ?" She stood in the saddle a little higher, the slight pain in her leg warning her not to rush off again.



-

"If the man Bowen can hear the Sleeper - the one in the Dream the traveller talked to us about - or its mate, or both of them, maybe they make him understand where we are, when we go alone," Garangwaari ventures. "It would be easy for Bowenfella to kill one person if the Ones Below were confusing that one, even if he is not so good at murder as a devil."

"Hmph," the sergeant responds, troubled. As yet there's no more forest whistling. "Murphy, you getting 'ere?"

"I'm gettin there, sure," comes the response. His horse's hooves can be heard making their way towards the group, causing the other beasts to prick their ears.

Giselle shifts a little, but seems more confident with a rider aboard. Leaning up lets Brigitte see Murphy's approach between branches - his sense of direction seems to be holding true, at least. He swerves only to pick a clearer path around to them and comes up with a bright and slightly sheepish smile, having remembered that whatever else, he'd fought some kind of foreign haunted thing - and won.

"We got him," he confirms to those present, then looks about with concern.


[[may I have a Spot Hidden, please?]]

With a wave Brigitte tried to give Murphy a point of reference as he made his way back to them. She listened to Garangwaari before she asked "Will there be more of them ?"

Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 43 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden =50%.



-

"If the smooth rocks hatch, there would be more of the Sleeper's kind, more ones strange to our dreaming... I don't know if they would do better or worse to the mind of someone near, being only babies. I...even talking about them, it is strange: I feel I want to hold them, to give them my breast like to my child, but I have an imagining that their mouths would be like vines, like something that cuts, and they would eat all of me." She pauses, frowning deeply. "I say it, and I know it would be bad to be eaten, but I think of the stranger-children and I still feel this."

"I've been dreamin various of you've been trying to 'urt my girls," the sergeant volunteers, finally grasping it might be relevant. "Sometimes they're 'ere in the bush an' I start looking for other children once I've killed you all to save 'em - you make a pretty cannibal, Madame d'Anjou - but then I always 'ave the notion it's a dream, so I start to waken."

Murphy looks a little disturbed at all this. Daniels volunteers nothing, seeming preoccupied with the surrounding forest.

From about the area she'd seen movement, Brigitte hears a far-off cry that sounds like Jack's voice: "He's here!"

Murphy instantly sits up, alarmed.

Brigitte also stands higher in her saddle to again try and get a better view of what was going on. She had her hand on the hilt of her sword, but at this point she stayed where she was unsure if the shout was a warning or not.


-

"...but if we got th' Speared Man an' it wasn't Duggan went past...these tings can mimic whole people, right? If they've died..." Murphy mutters, kicking on a little way back in that direction. The cicadas shrill around them.

"Duggan! Who's 'he' and can y'keep callin out?"

He listens to the vast bush for any hint of response over the sound of insects calling. The forest layers itself over any clear line of sight as though there were nothing else, ever, in the world.

There's a distant "Here, Murphy! This way!"

Murphy frowns at the lack of specifics, wary of mimicry, remembering screams. "Who's the man with you, Duggan?" he calls out, and listens. The cicadas chant and chant and chant.

"...I'm goin' t'fetch him back," he decides, glancing back at the sergeant.

"Alone?" the sergeant's tone says Murphy's proposal is a high if measured risk.

"Y'need Daniels for th' horses, an' I'll not take the wives away from the baby," Murphy reasons, though he does take a glance at Brigitte and the hand on her swordhilt, not quite a question.

"Sure, it's th' tracker! Gahrungahdong!" 'Jack' calls out, distant over the cicadas like someone on a drifting boat hailing the shore across high winds. "He found me! He's talkin' to a tree!

Murphy looks confused, then again at the others. The sergeant is equally torn between loosing him to fetch Duggan and the prospect of losing him to the unknown forces of the bush.

"C'mon, Murph!" the voice calls again, and Murphy swings his horse's head about and touches his heels to her sides to ask some hurrying.

"Headin' for yeh," he responds.

Brigitte also turns her horse to follow Murphy to Duggen. As they move she looks behind from where have left and then forward trying to pick out their destination in the foliage.


-

Giselle doesn't need to do much pulling to turn away - the sergeant lets her bridle go, seemingly trusting Murphy better than his own men or the natives in the matter of accompanying Brigitte. The horse jerks her head a bit with the freedom, flicking a little drop of red from the man's cut fingers to her face.

The sound of swift-stepping hooves is more felt than heard under the dry sussurus of leaves and the constant sizzling of cicada sound. Giselle doesn't much like not being in the lead, but for all her hurry and drawing close on Murphy's horse there's rarely room to think about coming alongside even if Brigitte asked her to, the undergrowth providing a thick tangle of vision-blocking hoof-tangling leaves and viny cables.

The clearest thing behind them is the sergeant's coat, and even that is a suggestion swallowed by the foliage with another two jogging strides. Even knowing the others are right there behind her there is a sensation of being very far from anyone save for Charles Murphy and his dustish horse.


[[may I have a mystery roll and then a Spot Hidden, please.]]

If it helps Brigitte will try to get lower in the saddle as they make their way to Duggen. All the while she is keeping an eye out for the man, somewhat trusting Murphy to head them in the right direction.


Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 57 using 1d100.  Mystery.
Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 1 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden =50%. I see you....




-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:23, Mon 09 Nov 2020.

"Can y'speak up, Duggan?" Murphy asks the ringing bush. He shifts a trailing cascade of gum leaves out of his way and listens.

The horses are on alert, heads often brought high, ears flicking. Brigitte thinks she catches distant movement just barely left of dead ahead, another flicker of uncertain shirt-white. All sound is muted under the constant cicada chant.

[[apparently both Brigitte and Murphy have an ironclad sense of direction...]]

"Murphy, look over there ?" She points out the figure she can see to the man as soon as she spots it. That it turns and heads in the other direction is a relief in itself.

Then she turns back to the search for Jack.



-

Murphy looks, and sees what Brigitte does moments before the big shape is gone. His hand drifts up almost unheeded but he doesn't quite cross himself, his understanding lagging on what he has seen.

"Well then, they were right about the woollymen," he murmurs, then speaks more to Brigitte, scanning the trees around. "Just keep aware o' the horses, Countess...they're said t'eat emus caught barehanded but I don't believe a woollyman would go for anytin the size of us. If he looks t'have friends about or be stalkin' in a hunting wise I'll fire a charge at him, that'll surely scare him off."

Jack and the Aboriginal man seem to have wandered off leftwards up the currently gentle slope, providing the movement was indeed them. It's unclear why they're on the move if they wish to be found, and suddenly the difficulty in hearing gentle sounds like an unshod footfall (and wasn't Bowen going barefoot? The trackers seemed to think so) seems a source of tension.

Brigitte gives a nod at Murphy, but she does not say anything else. Riding along her head is still on a swivel for more "wollymen" or anything else that wants to have a go at them or the horses.



-

"Here, Murphy!" Jack at last shouts back, with something like desperation creeping into his voice. "I'm here!"

Murphy sits up in his saddle, letting his horse pick her way towards the sound. He sounds concerned himself. "Aright - are y'tryin t'come this way? You're goin away from us. Far's I can tell."

He pauses, then takes a deep breath to call further: "We think we just saw a woollyman, too, so keep lookout - don't make it angry if y'see it, just look too much trouble t'fight. I'll be there directly, honest t'God."

He lapses quiet, wincing at a sting of sweat that hits the corner of his eye. As she watches for small movements in the forest that might indicate their companions or a roving band of woollymen, Brigitte notes that Murphy seems to be doing particularly badly with the heat at present, though it's cooler than lower down. As he rides and occasionally adds suggestions to his horse's course Brigitte can see small twitches of the head and his right hand left idle by his side, like someone struggling to focus, his colour high and shirt sticking to his shoulders with sweat.

""Jack we are taking a break for a moment you need to come to us." Brigitte rides up beside Murphy and hands over her canteen. "Here take a drink, we can stop for a minute."



-

Murphy starts a little at the sudden sweep of foliage forced aside by Brigitte's horse and does rein up a second. He reaches over for the water with gratitude, and Brigitte notes the slight tremor his hand, sweat standing on his brow. "Tanks...just come over a bit dizzy a moment, I'll not k-"

A desperate cry cuts the cicadas' song. "MUUR--PHYYY!!"

"...follow close, ma'am." Murphy lets his hand fall without taking the canteen and in the same motion has faced forward and kicked on, walk to trot to dangerous canter with scarcely enough pause to hear Brigitte doing likewise.


[[a relatively low-stakes Ride roll, please, just for timing]]

Securing the canteen Brigitte follows, close as she can.

Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 86 using 1d100.  Ride = 55%.


-

There's an alarming moment when Brigitte falls far enough behind that Murphy is lost from view: Giselle herself is pushed beyond her wariness of the shrubbery at the threat of being without the 'herd' and speeds up. Brigitte has to duck low to her hourse's neck more than once and gets a few swipes from shrubs in passing, not feeling entirely in control of where they're going, but by the time Giselle slows down she can hear Murphy talking over the constant pulse of cicadas and smell smoke.


[[Right. You may trot over to the thread you'll be able to see in a moment.]]