Not pushing the horses as the heat of the day closed in around them. Brigitte sat up in her seat once the house came into view.

Brigitte d'Anjou rolled 44 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden = 25%.



-

A glance down at the offending limb at least confirmed Jack's right leg was where it should be.

[[GM edit: adding a moment's useful text to a PM]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:16, Sat 01 Feb 2020.

---

Squinting a little against the glare of the sun on bleached wood, Brigitte sees the squatters' farmhouse remain as still as a skull in the dust. Whilst by now the birds have largely quieted, the sun has woken the cicadas to action so that sound sizzles from the bushland beyond the house, audible even at this distance out in the fields. She sees the door of the dwelling lies halfway open, though neither Mary nor either of the children are working on the threshold. Another sweep of the fields fails to show anyone commencing their work out there, either.

As the riders draw closer, the horses begin to get tense, snorting unease to each other. Duggan's horse tries to pull a bit more free rein out of the youth's grip, ears turned back to judge the rider's reaction, then one turned forwards again to hear ahead. The cicadas scream. Heat shimmers at the horizon. Every hoof-fall leaves the track smoking with dust.

By the time they reach the fence that marks off the yard, the horses are decidedly skittish, requiring additional nudges to keep heading forwards. Brigitte's gray baulks at entering the yard, snorting and trying to turn until pulled under control. Seeing this, Jack's horse just stops, nostrils flared and ears flicking. A fly lands on Jack's hand and starts edging down it, perhaps seeking sweat. No call or movement comes from the house.

"Somethin don't seem quite right 'bout th' place, M'Lady. Horses don't like it.  Sure, I'd best tie Brass here t'th' fence an' approach th' house afoot. See what's what." He swings down and the big, bay gelding's reins tight to the rail.

"I'll be back direckly."

Slipping the thong of his cudgel from the saddle and around his wrist, Jack squares his hat and approaches the front door at a slow walk.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:27, Sat 01 Feb 2020.

Jack heads across the yard, accompanied by a warning snort from his tethered horse and the constant shrieking of cicadas from the bush. Small dried weeds and clumps of grass shiver in the warming wind as he crosses the packed earth. The horse snorts again. The house stays quiet.

[[would you like to Stealth up, or/and Listen nearer the door? If so, go ahead and roll a thing!]]

The man stops a half dozen paces from the front door.

"Halloo th' house!" he calls loudly, listening sharp for an answer from within.

Jack Duggan rolled 43 for Listen 50.

Watching him, Brigitte hears nothing over the racket of cicadas save for the uneasy sounds made by her own horse.

No-one calls back.

"We better take a look, this seems... out of the ordinary ?" If Jack is in the affirmative Brigitte would dismount from her horse, then wait for Jack before approaching the house.


-

Jack abruptly crouches, all his attention on the door, left hand extended back toward his employer in a warning.

"What was that? Sounds almost like sheep in th' house."

No sheep appear from the front entrance, at least. The open door swings fractionally on its hinge and comes to rest again, as though shifted by vibration from within the dwelling. The cicadas scream from the trees.

Crouched there, Duggan becomes aware of the tickling of a fly on the back of his neck. A couple more edge over his sleeve and another flits and resettles on his shoulder as he waits some moments more, the dark bodies providing the most definite movement in Brigitte's field of view.

Flicking his head to disperse the flies, Jack asks quietly, "So, are ye wantin' me t'go in there?"

His tone makes two things clear. He'd rather not. He will if he must.

In reply to Jack Duggan (msg # 19):

"Yes, let us both go in there." She will follow Jack into the house and help remove the livestock.


-

Jack steps lively to keep himself between the ominous doorway and the Countess. Stepping up on the porch he pushes at the door, wanting to see as much of the room a fully open door will allow before he or the lady steps in.

The door slowly swings open with a soft creaking almost lost under the insect noise from the trees; a shaft of light expands across and along the hallway beyond, cut by the shadow of Jack's arm. For a moment the shadows inside the house are almost impenetrable, but in the light it's clear the floor is splashed and smeared with old blood, dried at least a week ago and leaving little of its butcher smell. A fly lands on Jack's ear. They were here the day before yesterday, and the floor was clean.

A fly crawls across the back of Brigitte's neck, another alighting on her hand. The blood drags out of the parlour to their right and the children's room to their left, the door to the former halfway open and the latter mostway shut. The streaks drag down to the kitchen visible at the end of the hall where a line of brightness indicates the outdoors visible beyond the open back door. There are no sheep. There is the quiet of an empty farmhouse, indistinguishable as it is from the quiet of a hunter watching a trap. Two days ago Brigitte spoke with Mary Ryan, measured out fine cotton between their hands whilst Sean and Cara played in the kitchen. Two days ago they were all here.

A couple of flies spin and circle near the ceiling, passing out over the watchers' heads.


[[anyone want to give me a Listen?]]

Brigitte stopped dead in her tracks and brought her hand to her mouth. So much blood she thought as she looked on the scene before them.....


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


-

Jack has seen animals butchered in his time, here and back home, but never has he seen so much blood splashed about. Slaughtering is done for a reason, to get the meat and hide and other animal things useful to man. Part of what's gotten is blood and it's drained into buckets, not splashed about the killing room floor, not splattered around carelessly and wastefully, the blood--

Jack shudders and shakes his head, taking a step back, almost bumping into Brigitte. He cannot go in there.

"We gotta... gotta go," he stammers out, "Go alert th' Guard so's they c'n... c'n look in them other rooms, so's they c'n...c'n see."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:19, Wed 05 Feb 2020.

Composing herself Brigitte says " Let us walk around the side of the house and check out back. I don't want to leave without making sure that the children are not alive or other people are hiding from whatever did this. Is that acceptable ?"


-

Jack is breathing in rapid gasps, his face pale and stricken.

"Ah, but... but..." He gulps and takes a deep shuddering breath. Blowing it out, he stands straighter, gripping his cudgel firmly.

"Aye, M'lady, as ye say." His voice is somewhat steadier now. He licks his lips, nodding.

Turning to face the house again, he begins to circle it to the left, his distance widening a bit perhaps, but his steps not faltering.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:09, Wed 19 Feb 2020.

Jack circles the house, a tense, certain feeling rising in him like prophecy, as though his fear of the blood were doubled by knowledge he possesses and yet cannot grasp. The cicadas scream from his left. The house sits so very quiet (so full of blood) at his right.

He passes around the side, and the shutters of the children's window gape darkly open, flecked with a constellation of flies. He passes under the shadow of the eucalyptus nearest the house, the shadows of long leaves like fingers sliding over his face. The sense of un-knowledge grows intense, and Jack becomes aware of his breathing; the heating air and the tin taste of unease.

As he's about to round the corner to the back, he recalls this is where the movement he likened to sheep seemed to flee to. There are more flies here, in the air and being bothersome about his neck and face, seeking his sweat.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:58, Wed 05 Feb 2020.

Following Jack around the side of the house Brigitte stays close but not close enough as to hinder a quick escape should it be needed. Could a wild animal do this, she was unsure and doubted a dingo would be up to the task, even a pack of them.



-

At the back corner Jack stops. He cranes his body forward to get a look along the back wall before he moves farther. He's still loking for those clattering hooves he heard leaving the house.

Carefully leaning to look around the house, Jack can see half a dozen emus warily regrouping near the back door, attention apparently focused inside. One hops back in as he watches, disturbing some of the flies that sit thick on the back wall. The ground back here is stained in patches, too, though the staining is sunbleached.

Out in the back paddock lie three lumps, thankfully smaller than humans (adult humans); Jack's guess is some kind of animal carcasses. The emus ignore them completely, clearly having inspected them long before and determined them neither food nor an indication of threat.

A bloody handprint by the back doorframe fixes his attention like a needle. It seems extremely, incredibly familiar. As though he knows that shape like the back of his hand.

"Just birds," he says to the Countess with some relief in his voice. He breathes a bit easier as he walks on around the corner of the house. He waves his arms, shouting "Gwarrraaaahh!" to startle the emus and send them on their way.

Then he walks over to inspect the stained ground before checking on the lumps in the paddock.

[Jack Duggan rolled 47 for Spot Hidden 50. In case it's needed.]
This message was last edited by the player at 15:58, Sat 08 Feb 2020.

Continuing to follow behind Brigitte breathed out with relief at the large birds as they ran off. She continued to scan their surroundings as Jack focused on the hand print. When he was ready to have a look at the dead livestock she followed as well.


-

Startled, the emus flee at great speed towards the treeline, ridiculous and graceful as a herd of ballet dancers. Walking out across the yard they had left, Jack inspects the stains (more drag marks, less densely clustered, as of something that had stopped bleeding some time before the dragging, and a dark spot as though a burden of uncertain shape had been set down, its base wet) and ducks through the fence to wade shin-deep in the dry grass.

Brigitte, using the gate rather than become entangled against the rough wood with her skirts, sees no sign of the Ryans' horse, but continues to be beset by flies, almost as much as Jack. Approaching him, she finds that the corpses were at one stage sheep, though none of the three bodies, spaced a few paces apart, possess a head. These are far fresher than the blood in the farmhouse, a few days old at most and scarcely scavenged. The flies have been having a ball, glad of the remnant moisture. The cicadas continue to screech and screech and screech. The farthest sheep is also missing a back limb.

Crouching to inspect the wounds whilst trying to ignore the smell, Jack takes note of how it was done.  As he looks up at his employer, he sees something else.



[[SAN check for Jack, please.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:23, Fri 26 Feb 2021.