"...ry far gone with the rain, but that would be the toe end there, and 'e goes up yonder on the grass," Arnie was saying,crouched the better to see the ground and gesturing up to where Tom and Master Fox stood on the line of the normal woodland. They were almost up level with the flank of the Wyzenwood now, its untended border cropping the horizon close like the rise of an ancient fortification.

If the one that left the traces of prints had continued the way suggested, they were making either for the lane in a very roundabout way, or over it, along the last of the wholesome trees and across the thin strip of field to stand before the place of dread. Even without close examination, Maggie could tell the state of the prints put them in roughly the right timeframe, with rain and weather, to be made that May Night.

"Ooooh," says Maggie softly, "This do look misfortunate. I fear she's gone t'th' wood, she has."

Thomas looked at the fringes of the wood as Margaret made he assessment and then her prediction. He had suspected something would be up with that place so the idea Polly wondered into it was not really that much of surprise.

"She can't of been in her right mind to go wandering in there." he said.

He rubbed his chin for second as he pondered something "We should make a call for volunteers from those collected here to go in. I will put my name in the pot first."



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This message was last edited by the player at 23:36, Mon 29 Nov 2021.

"I'll go, if we must," Master Fox called down from where Long Tom had left him.

Hessie took a gentle grip of Maggie's elbow, all shrinking nerves but determined to stay here. "Surely that's not Polly's track, though? -and why would she have gone there?"


[[Maggie (or anyone else who gets in close) can roll for Track if she likes.]]

Andrew gazed at the prints for several long moments, a twist of fear winding its way into his stomach as the truth of what the tracks likely meant settled over him. Looking up at the dark wood ahead, his mind naturally found its way to all of the dark legends that he had been privy to since childhood. Although some of the tales seemed fantastical, each one harbored a seed that felt terribly true.

Nonetheless, a young woman might be lost within those shadows, alone and in danger. There was no choice in the matter.

”I’ll go,” Andrew said simply.

19:58, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 52 using 1d100.  Track - Track 40%

Margaret Yendale rolled 60 for Track 50.

Maggie starts up from where she's studying of the impression, her eyes startled.

"Tom Bees, no, ye mustn't!" she cries, "Andrew, y'know better too!

"My Dad useta hunt th' edges o' that black-omened place an' knew its ways as well as any man hereabouts. But he'd go no deeper than ten paces in, not until he was driven to it. And even he was never seen since that day.

"If Polly went in days ago, she's gone an' won't be let t'come out. She's gone an' won't be back again."


[[GM edit: the Wyzenwood is a place for maybe finding one Appolina, not oneself.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:51, Tue 30 Nov 2021.

"Well we cannot just assume that, Mistress Yendale... Perhaps it is well past time someone took a good look around the place...kick over some stones, like, and have a look under them."


[[GM edit: terms of address that have a) been invented and b) don't imply Maggie is on the job in a certain (oldest) profession. Also grammar tweaked for clarity whilst I was here, since English is a crazy bastard language.]]
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This message was last edited by the GM at 08:58, Tue 30 Nov 2021.

"Oh, come, Maggie, your father's alive and well in Bristol or Wales: everyone knows he run oft from the judge's men," Kit said from the back of the knot of folk, sounding surprised at the outburst. Mrs. Criddle gave some dark mutter that probably wasn't complimentary.

Hessie just gripped Maggie's elbow a little tighter and took a wide-eyed look around those gathered. "Don't but rush in, sirs - wait for the vicar if no-one else. Maggie's right. If the Wood's got her..." her voice cracked and she swallowed, not finishing the thought.

Arnie had stayed carefully still both as Maggie crouched next to him and set up in a hurry. "No," he said in his slow way, catching everyone's attention, "No, I don't think it's her either - see here, this int a slip, that's a top edge of the print. Can't say as I ever looked at Mistress Durbin's feet so much, but this and the stride, it's surely someone a mite taller an' without the skirt. Some man come up from the Criddle farm, I'd say."

"Surely not from the farm itself," Master Fox said strongly, having edged closer far enough to cock an ear to listen in, "-I...well, I'd fallen in with the hands that night and we were deep in revels. Those that weren't drinking went fast to sleep. I may not have been the last awake, but I wasn't the first, either. In fact..." he scanned the lane from his higher position on seeing movement, "I think that's Sam Hartman. He'll say the same. Hoi Sam!"

He waved the distant man over and came the few paces down to the rest, tense and serious. "It couldn't be Mr. Criddle, either - even if he somehow didn't wake you, ma'am," - this to his soon-to-be mother-in-law, easing off her frown with the clear eagerness to give alibis, "-he's broader in the foot than that. Surely this is simply a poacher. There was a fair moon that night, wasn't there?"

"If people have gone in and vanished here, I am sure there is some rational explanation. If we are to go in, we best be well prepared for the occasion with adequate provisions and equipment needed to secure a proper rescue in case someone has fallen down a hole," he suggested.

"Speaking of the vicar now," he said, "lo, here he is." He waved the vicar over in case he was having trouble spotting this now growing cluster of people.

Andrew understood that Maggie was concerned for his and Thomas’ well being. He couldn’t deny that he likely harbored many of the same fears that she did. The dark wood had always commanded terror from him as long as he could recall. Even as a child, his father had cautioned him never to set foot inside it.

”But Mistress Yendale, what if it is not too late? Perhaps Mistress Durbin still lives. If there is a chance of that, we’re obliged to try and rescue her.”

Inwardly, he felt a tremor move through his chest, a cold reminder that he was not as brave as his words might suggest.

"Doctor", the vicar said, as he arrived slightly out of breath and nodded at the rest of the group. "Have you made any progress?"

The doctor paused while Andrew spoke and looked at the tracks they had located.

"The gait seems to be fairly standard, I'd say, at least eighty percent. Clearly a man, and not old, fat, or limping. But not, I think, a poacher. This doesn't indicate stalking or the like. Simply a man striding along at a reasonable pace."

As the reverend strode up, he turned his head.

"What ho, vicar!" the doctor said amiably.

"We were just discussing the situation. It depends on what you mean by progress."
He briefly summarized the present events and courses of actions being discussed for the reverend.

John Collins was about to speak, but saw Kit about to and gestured that he might go first, having being born in the Wyzenwood's shadow.

"Ah, well, I was going to say we do have a rope, and the spay bitch, and the doctor's got his bag...it's not going to get any safer for waiting, if we need go in there a ways."

"We haven't yet proof that the man went in, still less Polly Durbin," Mrs. Criddle pointed out. "If he's just a gentleman walking, he might as well but go up the lane, though why he's cut along up here I can't tell."

Maggie puts her arm round Hessie's shoulders. She's uncharacteristically quiet, though she gives Kit a hard look when he comments on her father.

"If she's in there, sir, I can't say what y'would get out, even n' it came walking," Hessie answered Andrew in Maggie's stead, gladly huddling against the big woman and giving her half a hug about the waist. Despite one being the barefoot dam to a bastard baby and the other a delicate English rose that might tremble if looked at fiercely, they were sisters, of a sort, and had been so to Polly.

Kit just continued to look confused to be glared at for stating the common story, or possibly that Fred Yendale hadn't been a man for suicide. He took Maggie's look with concern and a perplexed furrowing of the brows, then looked away. "We've a vicar, too," he pointed out, "-and weren't suggesting ladies went in, besides," then fell quiet.

"Let's track this fellow along to see if he or anyone went into the Wood, then make our decisions," Hessie's father said, touching Arnie's shoulder to indicate where his hand was to help him up. "You said you thought you a track up there, Master Fox?"

"Maybe - I tend to hire flushers, you know, so I'm not too hot on tracking as a practice."

Thomas looked back towards the horse and cart wondering if he could bring it up closer to the wood.... At this point he decided to leave it for now and follows the others in the pursuit of the "track".


-

The vicar listened to the discussion, then motioned the doctor closer, quietly talking to him.


He pulled something from his pocket.

After he had shown the item to the doctor, he took great care to hide it again in his pocket.

"I must confess that this seems all very peculiar. Should we follow the tracks along?"

Andrew looked to Mistress Collins and gave her an understanding nod. The carpenter had little doubt that she was correct and his expression showed as much. But, were they to find something that pointed to Polly Durbin setting foot inside the Wyzenwood, he earnestly believed that they were obliged to enter the accursed forest, much as he wished to do otherwise.

His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed with difficulty and moved to join Thomas, examining the ground he was studying.

17:42, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 23 using 1d100.  Track - Track 40%

After a lovely time strolling the woods with Edwin, Sam soon thought that he should go and make his way over to the field, to see what the group had found, if anything.

He leaned down when he saw the little hound, holding his hand out for the dog to sniff before petting its head.

"Have you found anything?" Sam asked as he approached Long Tom.

"No Sam nothing of note as of yet. There is a trail of sorts but I'm not convinced it is from Polly, seems to go off into the woods."


-

Dockie had been content to lead off on the animal trail Tom had picked, but bounded back on seeing Sam come up keen to talk to her, keenly sniffing his hand.

*wuf!* finding Sam's hand fascinating, she proceeded to sniff everything in reach, snorting when she hit a garlicky patch but otherwise very interested in everything he'd brought out of the woods. Her stubby half-docked tail waved as the young men talked.

He furrowed his brow a bit as he listened to the vicar, and then nodded.

"Yes, I think following the tracks along for a bit seems best." He was sure some of these folk had skill in this, but knew it wasn't him.

Andrew paused, frowning as he studied the ground. ”There are impressions in the grass here. I believe they are footprints.”

He paused, tracing the trail he could see with his gaze. ”Whoever left them, they kept on this way,” he said, pointing in the direction of the tracks, ”They were traveling to the lane, or perhaps the field. Or even…the Wyzenwood.”

“I should be able to follow them.”

In reply to Thomas Bees (msg # 106):

Sam nodded at Thomas' words, softly chuckling as the dog grew excited. "It's good that we have at least something of a trail, but to hear that it disappears isn't very good. Were we planning to head into the woods to follow the trail as far as we could, or was there another plan?"

"Master Sexton's picked it up yonder," Arnie replied, coming up with them. "We'll hope it won't go so far as that."