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The Doctor's House, ~3:40pm Saturday May 4th, 1771


Andrew slipped out of the buzz of organisation and witchcraft-based rumours at the inn and followed the Doctor home, Polzeath trying to stay unobtrusively near the carpenter in case the day's strain caused him any need to lean on someone. They slipped around the side to come in at the back and nearer their goal: a brick arch and a welcoming floral plaque with the date of construction in clay relief stood above the garden gate where it was set into the alley wall. Beyond it were as many plants as Andrew had seen collected with no more use than beauty: roses, lupins and hollyhocks were well in bud or shoot with such shelter, the daffodils just giving over, tulips and fist-sized ruffles of flowers he had no name for stretching up their leaves to the passing sun.

There were familiar herbs, of course, and sprouting beans, but also a stretch of plain and perfect grass heading down to the trees above the river, studded only by daisies and clover at the further edge. It was like a carpet laid outdoors, lusher than the common wold hard-grazed by rabbits, and perhaps mown so by hand rather than the teeth of beasts. Flowers even climbed the privy and screened the midden-heap. Bees thrummed in such a place, providing a lazy background as they passed from the brief flush of sunlight into the scullery through the servants' door.
The crate of animals stood starkly before them, weighed down with an iron pot. Polzeath sidled into the line of sight towards his bed in case that was improper for anyone to behold and waited to be handed his master's bag, if the master wanted his hands free.

Andrew was silently grateful for Polzeath’s concern for him, the effects of the long hike, the terror inflicted by the Wyzenwood, and his injury all suddenly finding him at once, fatigue settling upon him like a long shouldered burden. Gazing down at the collection of captured animals wrested him from his weariness, at least momentarily, the questions about what had brought about their strange state once again filling his mind.

”My apprentice told me that a rabbit with this same affliction threw itself under a knife that was being used to chop vegetables , as if it yearned for death,” the carpenter told Doctor Lovelace and his assistant, ”I’ve done my share of hunting since I was a boy, so I feel I know the country in Somerset well enough, but I have never seen a malady like this one among any of animals before.”


[[GM edit: significant leporid distinction!]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:41, Fri 13 May 2022.

He handed Polzeath his medical bag as the man seemed to expect, perfunctorily, his mind in truth elsewhere. He simply stared at the situation until Sexton spoke, which seemed to rouse him from a stupor.

"Yes, the behavior is quite unusual to say the least, in that it violates the most fundamental natures of creatures to seek the furtherance of life and avoid death at all costs. Of course, some creatures do by instinct behave in ways that inevitably leads to their deaths, though this is usually in furtherance of other life affirming activities such as reproduction. The behavior of these animals is not like that case. There is no benefit to putting itself under a knife," he said.

"Moreover, that an animal would put itself in such a position knowingly requires an assumption that it understands the human use of tools, what a knife is specifically, and the outcomes that might follow placing itself in that path. It is all a bit much, to be honest.

I think the most direct line of reasoning shows that these animals are acting out of accordance with their natures, as if in a state of delirium. This behavior, in conjunction with the uncharacteristic secretions observed on the creatures indicates a sickness that is perhaps impacting their ability to see and think clearly. That they all have come from the Wyzenwood tells me that the source of miasma which has created this illness is found therein. Additionally, the rapid change in behavior of those who entered the dread forest informs me that this miasma effects humans as well.

That much can be avoided by not going into the forest, but I cannot tell what will happen if these animals remain alive and capable of spreading this disease while among people. As you were attacked by the stag, as a dog with rabies might attack its owner, this is something that could be dangerous if the problem is not addressed. Normally, I would suggest addressing the problem at its source - it is likely not advisable as the miasma is sufficiently potent as to render that solution not viable.

Instead, I believe putting an end to these creatures and them disposing of them in a manner that will not enable their secretions to spread further is wise."

OOC:

Is this a slatted crate, that we might see inside and insert narrow objects through said slats?

"Would you like me to stoke up the kitchen stove, sir, or make a fire out by the midden? 'Less you were thinking to look at their insides first, I mean." Polzeath seemed to be forcing himself to stillness, uncomfortable with the situation in general or the wasted meat.

[[The holes between slats aren't broad, but it's possible to see inside if one gets down there and looks. As a reminder, you have two partridges and a rabbit in there, at least in theory.]]

Careful not to draw too close to the crates, Andrew knelt down, trying to peer through the gaps in the slats to see what the trapped animals’ present condition might be.

His hand moving to his wound, Andrew asked, ”Do you have any sense of how easily this affliction might spread?”

There was a muffled scrabbling from the crate as Andrew passed between it and the light in the doorway. The pot atop it wobbled fractionally and was still.

"My suspicion is that it requires prolonged exposure. The individuals who were mildly exposed to the miasma experienced a temporary but dangerous state of delirium, which soon after resolved itself. If a person were to have suffered prolonged exposure, it is possible they would be as badly afflicted as these poor creatures here. However, a spike of significant and very direct concentration might allow these creatures to serve as a vector for whatever foulness is in that place. Best to be safe and be done with them."

He considered Polzeath's offer. "Definitely not anywhere in the house. If we find a good spot, a bit out of the main town, we could begin to gradually burn the remains of these things. Not just these three but any in the village."

Polzeath bowed slightly. "I'll take them off in the crate when you've done with them, sir," he replied, still a little hesitant.

Cautiously, Andrew stooped down closer to see if he could get a better sense of the animals’ condition, his nose alert for any hint of the scent of damp decay, a smell that was now imprinted on his memory.

There was further scuffling and a muffled grunt from the crate as Andrew got almost up against it. Polzeath tensed despite himself.

Andrew stood to his feet and frowned. Looking to Doctor Lovelace, he said, ”One of the partridges is still running about in there, seeking a way to freedom. The rabbit is in a corner. It made a few angry noises at me when I drew close.”

“The other partridge is dead. It’s already reduced to bones, like it had been left out in the sun for days on end. That unpleasant smell of the bog seems to be coming from it, more than anything else. There are also leaves scattered about inside there, but I don’t know where they might have come from.”

"Well, we'll need to kill them both and then have them burned. Do you want the rabbit or the partridge?"

Seeing the carpenter's hesitation, Polzeath gently cleared his throat to offer: "If it would be better on your wound, sir, to spare it some scrabbling about on the floor, you might come back here with a blanket to throw on anything that might escape. They do seem lively and willing to save themselves now, save that one gone to bones an' all."

He went and took up his blanket and held it up in a loose bunch to demonstrate. The improvised net would certainly cover a larger space in all dimensions should a small fleeing bird or beast escape the hand that grasped for it.

"A good notion, my man. Mister Sexton, take that blanket and stand at the ready. Polzeath, you and I shall do the scrabbling about as needed. Capture the animal and bring it quickly to a swift death. Harden your heart against this task, for it is a kindness that we do here."

When everyone was ready, he tipped the crate back slightly from one end and waited for one of them to come out at which time he would attempt to grab it, and hopefully drop the crate down over the other so they could do this one at a time. If both escaped, he would hope to rely on either the blanket method or the wily Polzeath's catlike reflexes.

11:36, Today: Martin Lovelace rolled 13 using 1d100.

DEX vs 80. That's a critical success right?
This message was last edited by the player at 16:37, Fri 03 June 2022.

"It's not the killing so much as not eating 'em after, sir," Polzeath said with regret. "Seems more like murder that way."

Nonetheless, he stood ready to take charge of any errant beast. Martin gave a count of three, jerked the crate up and siezed the quick blur of movement that darted free, feeling the urgent little blunt pecks all over his forefinger before tightening his grip and wringing the bird's neck with his other hand. Another precise manipulation of the now-unweighted crate delivered the rabbit into the deft broad hands of Polzeath. It screamed, but only briefly. Polzeath held the dead animal over the righted crate until the sudden slackening of its bladder ceased to leak. The seemingly blackened and shrivelled partridge remained on the floor where the crate had been, a little broken up by its companions but not contributing anything.

The still-warm partridge lay in Martin's hand, perfect and ordinary. Polzeath looked over, trying to ignore the room's fresh stink of the terror of wild things, the corpse in his hand swaying a little. "Were you going to cut into them, sir, or should I take them off somewheres, as you were saying?"