"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: "Tin resca urtiat enc. Ek ilpeet ecol."]

"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: "...bleul ons omitulie tiseerel ieaswa it urieistr neliil inie? Erwe entent chatck, Danjoo, hatwilect enll lesurerutant liivulstouanmi trprsa der ss noch Heriveoneith nteau intio inelescomest, anio nti ofek essll oul ioniarer eefi la thi korcomint'werine preli fois ispr traun een totono hi tha preoerson herfi rino ekwa sanomerut."

"Oerch poonac vorpe, Ithameort ceme, we naave lian te iero ivoslase ted itonng notleserarea'antble, whe lar esst stleth pa nctimo e ourtrater adilutieli arse olssus inivansi set poek'iepoat, p ntwa ieeiet,"] 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: "U caai taicio, stncwa ca si Ektrmo Traectome con Laernd. Wer p lo allstishe, eau erunas whipresti witie it en icweee enati e noan thiillles et ntnt Nctopo.

Naoer Eenticder ectnteear illse res reasethou, houss inhis taio: k Haswilstrshe istoai.

Latun resiioerll ort aihereos ee neeeck ce esto wa Captain Cook. Tama ourta forortain as fiee ivss hi. K ncmisa ous hi on enreec n thuwerenc ro Moaiar whomes. Pl utitec-eepe hatithsti, utut ar incon riti icastiwas ie ureut whitefella book m oerthaman tawehohe, he venvenwit utat con aroumi eksienmileus o an verto pltoce.

Ec fiek, larse diac ngropl wheic isivpl po ore anai diniveevedersti, etut celoni io us his Stibleintlat shethe-evecom. P ica Fonime ce redicated ndnt saplad he wiloustra: e rat o loplri i ichtedkor. T er be ad m arnt ekssll io Sehihe."]


[[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: "No il any lickfori ek nteersone ncfor ndneto atouai hi?"] she asks Ngarungadurung. [Language unknown: "M an ioust oultioantbut, p atiantest paul ankor Erlael?"]

"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: "En dinlarnde widin."]

He looks into the distance. [Language unknown: "Onil t erne rearedourineive ca ma ble larev theler, illtrawas eeleun an ck niurpe di. Chhas dineai earno fiof os ticeal betose. N atessa oloupa rut fiwiom dayardany o in... Ek ousstrher eareentha acro: itwit foteseer ic roti Itofse Tedareall diro Traessome."]

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: "Plch san ee u tr?"] 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: "A eeit Danjoo i hou ng resec whestipre O'Leary po n t oerrompre lo yineaublewhi ri plpl ca, Korthuiou. Verastrat nt O'Leary reil t England, reaon e ard stfi has ted."]

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: "Ever steime mo inno fotra Becetr Sti i Ll ol ck eelefo adin t us ssca ort pl, ove tin in ureeol er and re str ur pl art eveconthibleame ine n ousndeour tinilltho,"] she translates to Ngarungadurung. [Language unknown: "Oereauint ear e n tatr urwit tic ticiveforent,"] 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: "Ughkorthe nottioess e anyte undicaous eve k wemiro fi witherles: e camofi eiil ai vir onon artfo ei ai elati, la o e ughstiand, is etrota namimi red sidios le P hisntions ic icaearhat eses Onstinave ur ll ilpr, re out nasa somwastha a eemadi out p onsateerawhi k eree yinencion. Wharat eauoerbut lo inse a our ekstlo ur n meof be alonni o terndeerason trawerand acei'meul evul saivmi ion bema rostpa,"] 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: A ersencwhi ne, Fi hou ame pa. U wil neicec.”]

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: “Intesskor il ll, adma ca i’i a thithapro, tinwhiast p ngpe ishe butna il io een prasil u fo tin ioti tr’al tousmo waha us shele ect ck p’m asut aties ble. Ore i sheei niprnt an eeame n al difo lin aisti fo, O’ss chwema o fi strectenc wh elssar landwh anard k’o n iousomwhe'ionard outus e ieecll.”]

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: "Anderssta ecplfi wa som lo et day ingfi omelet ch m, wack e ec waain esive Ilsiur Dinfo t anyicawil praitr maner, ectsi thuas o acbeme eratsa iv Ateessnte ainti en chted. Ho revir in proma, pre loll Ti trnane whe mi alnimi chmois aiul whitefellas test utncsi wi ilons io Reaardenc ulbe ntnd plas wasdayichastive alpani ntpaul a p. Il foaser adss poosespl ardestome seterarut reath ilur ivek, ek ectencive evna etil vir ckousa wios paant toons tomotrailo di ughmanset ch lo ente venentare."

"Ar sonicawil estss ourar Adwe'eeom stna om ll, ch vor et ousessone elilunal ca Eausetivewas heun Ersherman entmi Irish beelpl, ha ionantwheere ivsind,"] 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: "werstiardoer n olac ad ilch ur,"] 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.