Maggie ambles along the path. It's been a long day of exertion and she's looking forward to her supper, tries to remember whether she had a midday dinner. She stops where Andrew is looking through the cow parsley and such, crouching to look over the ground with him.

Anything, Andrew?" she asks quietly.


Margaret Yendale rolled 27 for Spot Hidden 35.
Margaret Yendale rolled 18 for Track 65.

Looking at Andrew for a bit, Maggie remembers that she'd stormed away from Sunday lunch on being embarrassed by her brother's coltish thoughtlessness - a pity, too, as Widow Sexton had more of a way with herbs and the subtleties of fat and bulk than Kate had ever managed so far, passable cook though she was. She might chew the cow parsley for passtime, of course, or handfuls of bitterish hawthorn leaves or jack-by-the-hedge, brought up to know the difference between gather-greens and poison like the difference between cow and bull.

Looking at the ground she sees that no recent tracks mark it, though it seems Henry and/or his brother went down there over a day ago, when the ground was wetter, and some long-footed fellow also went over and back, attending some disturbance lower down around an object no longer present. Looking up, she sees Henry's attention reverted to the path ahead.

"Here, I think that's the Squire and my brother passing up top with...some Babcock," he remarks, squinting through the trees. "We ought make haste n' look along here so's we can join 'em on the way down the main road an' tell 'em what we're about, come on with yez."

Maggie spots the nearer blackbird perched in an elder, too: he cocks his head, his bright eye and orange beak the clearest things about him in the gloom. Seeing neither Andrew nor Maggie are scraping up worms at present, he returns to yelling his merits at the twilight.



[[props dept. - did neither of you take the broom offered, in the end?

There's an optional Listen, too, if you catch up to Henry.]]

”Nothing of Jim or Mister Fox,” he answers, his gaze momentarily drawn to the nearby hare, which he points out to Mistress Yendale.

”We might come back here, later on,” he can’t resist calling out to Henry, ”There might be some clues to be found regarding those who took Goodie Westcott’s property.” He allowed himself a secretive grin as he stood.

At Henry’s announcement of finding signs of the Squire’s passage, Andrew made haste to follow, a tightness suddenly entering his throat, fearful of what they might discover, even as he knew that had no choice but to press onward.

OOC:Andrew would have accepted the broom as a makeshift weapon, if no one else was in need of it.

"Huh? It's the inn lads are up after Jim, an' didn't I but tell ye that's Master Fox up goen yonder?" Henry points with his fork.

"We're asearch for this murtherer, ye tallow-headed ninny-" Andrew's mention of burglary and misdeeds throws him into complete confusion awhile, burly brows drawn together until he makes the decision to turn about and hasten on.

"Well, if anything was took from 'er...well, who knows but that she's in league with this Bag Head Man, or the Wood, or worse, I don't, for sure..." he trails off into muttering.

Henry’s muttering only added to Andrew’s momentary amusement, a brief, but welcome, relief from the terrible tension of seeking out a killer.

Returning his mind to the task at hand, Andrew set out to follow Henry. As he went, he scanned the trail for any further signs of prior passage, or for any hares that might be keeping watch on them.

OOC: Please let me know if any further rolls are required.

Edit: 14:02, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 67 using 1d100.  Listen -Listen 20%.

https://youtu.be/YR82_cpW9Dc

[[counterpoint: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EB1lgjg9e4Y ]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:53, Wed 08 Mar 2023.

The significance of the tracks isn't lost on Maggie, but she goes along with Andrew's subterfuge toward Henry. When he mentions the hare, Maggie turns her head slowly to look at it and--she doesn't know why--winks before turning her attention back to the trail. She follows along with Andrew up toward where Henry says Squire Fox is to be found.


At these words from Henry, Maggie growls softly.

Margaret Yendale rolled 69 using 1d100.  for Listen 20%.

The trio hasten out of the wooded path and onto the Beacon Hill road running past the estate, not without a wary glance back at a hare - or a wary glance back at a woman in Henry's case, not at all sure what Maggie's growling at him for and staying well ahead. The men from the estate are already over the bridge towards the crossroads, John Ragge and whichever identical Babcock brother is heading for the inn walking as amiable witnesses and company to their master in the middle.

Besides a stout stick carried by John, Master Fox is also going armed at present, a rapier hung at his side. Tonight's coat is a copper-green just darker than the twilight fading from the sky, light enough to lend him a luminosity like the ground elder blooms and the pathside daisies just folded to sleep, embroidery glittering at his cuffs and hem. He's waving off some concern from John and makes some half-apologetic joke to his companions. The Babcock twin idly lets his stride take him a half-pace ahead, his outline dark against the road. None seem aware of the sudden company behind them or anything terribly wrong at all.


[[some Spot Hiddens, please.]]

Andrew has long felt a certain amount of disquiet in the company of the squire, Mister Fox’s authority and the respect he commanded always serving to unsettle him somewhat. Now, with all that had been learned, the feeling increased to dread, an emotion redoubled by the weapon at Mister Fox’s side and the company who surrounded him.

15:38, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 35 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden - Spot Hidden 50%.

Margaret Yendale rolled 12 for Spot Hidden 35.

Catching something of Andrew’s uncertainty, Maggie slows her steps. She is awash with an unsettled feeling that something dire is about to occur, something that will require her strength.

Here’s Master Fox all fancy outfitted and with a sword at his side, in company with two men. She’s uneasy where Henry Ragge’s loyalties would lie between her and Andrew or his brother and the rich man with the authority over all of them. She thinks she knows where Henry would come down.

Just yesterday she’d thought of Nathan Fox as a roistering companion, and one that could pay for all. But with what she’d heard that afternoon and all the happenings that twined about him and his holdings…

Well, it gives a body pause.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:18, Fri 10 Mar 2023.

Nathan Fox continues to stroll down to the crossroads with his companions, oblivious to the snares of darkness his observers envision around him. Bats flit over the river with the soft thrum of things thrown, taking over from the swallows and martins of the day. Henry Ragge stops and looks back, confused at the others' lagging, and fails to speak a moment on picking up something wrong. His grip tightens on the pitchfork in readiness.

Andrew sees a disturbance amongst the trees to their right and begins to hear voices raised back there, too far off to sound like any more than the cries and yelps of hounds, coming on as fast as men might. Indeed, it's possible the head gamekeeper has rousted out a dog, the better to seek out the threat to the common livelihood. Maggie spots the quarry some moments before the carpenter, hurtling like a hurled spear through shrub and ditchside greenery,  all spearpoint intent and living weight.

The Bag Head Man breasts the tallest umbellifers like a plunging beast, the dark weight of a billhook smashing through incidental stems with a rapid snap of living plants as he throws himself onto the main road, pursuit closing in. Master Fox has heard him now, is turning with hand on hilt, perhaps even that too slow, John tensing beside his bright body, the other youth not yet understanding the commotion as threat.


[[So! CON roll to get in mêlée range of anyone from a standing start (failure just gets you close), shouting is free, any creative action is encouraged and have at!]]

Her musing on the nature and purpose of Nathan Fox vanishes in this moment of threat to one she has counted friend and the position she has been reared since infancy to respect.

"No No No No!!" Maggie yells as she hurries along the path. Her days' exertions and lack of food tell on her and she cannot seem to move fast enough. All her attention and intention are focused on that terrible heavy blade.

Margaret Yendale rolled 82 for CON 30.

Andrew spoke the same words as Mistress Yendale, a repeated talisman against a disaster he feared he could do nothing to halt, his feet carrying him toward the unfolding scene regardless.

15:35, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 94 using 1d100.  CON - CON 45.

Time runs slow: the masked killer comes on, heeding neither set of negatives barked at him nor any other hail, head low and billhook swinging up to strike. John Ragge makes a decision and springs up in front of his master; another "No!" breaks from Nathan Fox's throat and he abandons the drawing of his sword to shove his man aside; the billhook bites down through the edge of that tangle of bodies, tearing an anguished "Agh!" from Master Fox.

Then Henry has bulled past the runners, instinctively casting his pitchfork down and making to catch the would-be murderer. There is an impact, and the Bag Head Man is shoved aside in the crook of his mighty arm but not held, momentum sending them both stumbling away to the side. The brief knot of men unravels into a confused and panting group into which Maggie and Andrew run, noting the long glimmer of drawn steel from Fox's pain-bent form and John Ragge turning about to yell:

"Pip! Go for help!"

Pip Babcock gulps like a fish, pale at the sudden violence and the red spreading on his master's back, hesitates just a heartbeat and hares off. For a split-second, those on the road only breathe, a moment of thoughtless, threatened, living beasts before the will to slaughter crushes in once more.

Horrified, Maggie knows she is no help at mending people. Instead, she leaps to Henry's aid, grabbing for the Bag Head Man and his billhook.

Margaret Yendale rolled 32 for Fighting 50.

More by luck and the hectic desperation of a cornered beast, the Bag Head Man struggles in a surge from the attempt to catch and hold him. Shoving his left forearm flat against the big woman with a push that can no more move Maggie than a mountain, he levers himself away, the lethal chunk of bladed metal horribly close, the smell of him a mix of sweet grass and living leaves beneath the sharper stink of a man who's recently left boyhood behind, and been running. He spares her no more than a grunt, attention fixed on Master Fox with singular and bloody purpose.

Andrew knew that he possessed some strength, his wiry frame having inescapably developed muscle as he practiced his trade of shaping wood to serve a needed purpose. But he doubted that he possessed the power needed to wrestle Jim Stone down, especially not in the state of madness the young man was in. Instead, he tried to interject himself between the would-be killer and his prey, hoping that Jim was not so bloodthirsty as to cut him down to reach Mister Fox.

”WAIT! WAIT!” he cried, ”This isn’t the way! We all wish justice for Mistress Durbin. We all sought to find her when we thought she was lost. But this isn’t the way. Let others find the truth and then make a measured decision. A just decision.”

“Please!”

OOC: I wasn’t sure what might be needed for Andrew to maneuver his way into the melee, so I went with DEX.

07:53, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 68 using 1d100.  DEX - DEX 70.

[[we'll treat it as a nonstandard grapple-type roll, since Andrew's trying to do a bit more than just stand in a specific spot.
15:03, Today: James Stone rolled 31 using 1d100.  DEX. ... Somehow Jimbo and his 35 Brawl are carrying it today.]]

Pursued and with reasons that within the bindings of his oath would not survive court nor power now spoken, the youth is galvanised by the awareness that vengeance is now or never: he does not falter a step, simply drops his shoulder and thumps the top of the joint into Andrew's side, forcing past by sheer thrown weight. The wound torn by antler burns anew and Andrew lacks even time to cough before the youth has pushed on, the billhook's edge a bright gleam in the gloom.

Master Fox makes the best of his would-be killer's staggered stance to make a clumsy and constrained thrust at the lad's ribcage as he rises: only Andrew is close enough to hear the 'Hhh-' of a hit, the youth's darker clothing telling nothing. Still, it seems the attacker's ribs did as they were meant to, or else he doesn't know he's dead; Master Fox steps back, in balance and perfect fencing form now it means his life. John Ragge takes a swipe, is evaded, the monstrous blade coming up in threat...

Henry Ragge heaves back past Maggie and almost hurls Andrew aside in his need to help his brother, moving perhaps as fast as either have ever seen him. "Out the way, Mouse, ye couldn't fight a goose with the legs off-" he mutters in passing, as though not shoving him away from harm, and takes the Bag Head Man out bodily in a high tackle, ploughing them both into the road. The billhook sticks upright in the road surface where it was dropped.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:22, Mon 13 Mar 2023.

There had been too many lives broken of late; Polly Durbin, Thomas Bees, Jim Stone, perhaps the entire village if one considered it, all touched by tragedy, the kind of pain that one hoped never visited those they knew and cared for, the place they called their home. It had left Andrew raw, injured enough that part of him wanted answer Henry with the same kind of poison and disdain that Ragge normally tossed about without thought. But as he found his balance, grimacing from the pain surging through his flank, he found he didn’t have the callousness to respond to Henry in kind, to tell him that he had no care for the opinions of a thief. So, he simply remained silent, accepting the other’s disdain without a word.

Instead, his attention feel to the squire, the familiar fear he felt in Mister Fox’s presence returning twofold, strengthened by what he feared the powerful man had done to Mistress Durbin. But it was not something that he could bow to. Not now.

Approaching Mister Fox, still conscious of the squire’s weapon, he asked, ”Are you injured, sir?”

The light is deep into twilight now, but since their eyes have had time to adjust Andrew makes out the brief, fear-riled temptation to sarcasm his question brings, given he can feel the blood soaking over his back, dark climbing through light fabric. The young gentleman forces himself to composure, however.

"Flesh wound, though I think he caught a rib," he says with at least some veneer of bravado, casually flourishing out a handkerchief. He steps forward, wiping the blood from his blade in an easy motion. Men are running up from behind now, those from the inn and Jim's father and brother-in-law. His sister trails behind but seems determined not to be left, skirts bunched in her fist.

"Was that an accusation, Master Sexton?" Master Fox asks quietly, tone neutral save for the way the attack has shaken him, quite serious.

Confident that the Ragges have hold of the Bag Head Man, Maggie snatches up the billhook from the road. She stands tall and broad, holding it across her body like an Amazon on guard, watching for any new threat.

Andrew considers his words carefully, having only spoken to the squire in passing previously. Mister Fox’s authority still unnerves him, but despite his unease, the carpenter is constrained by his own convictions to speak the truth.

Nodding in the direction of the now restrained attacker, he says, ”It is what Jim Stone there believed, Mister Fox. He was convinced enough of it to attempt to do what he did. I had hoped he would see reason, but I believe he was in too much anguish to think clearly. He was in love with Mistress Durbin.”

He shook his head. ”I am a carpenter, Mister Fox. Nothing more. I’ve no means to know who is speaking the truth and who is not. And I know that you, sir, have no obligation to answer a single question one such as me might pose to you. Or anyone else in Scorch Norton, for that matter. But there are some at The Hare and Sheaf who would appreciate the opportunity to speak to you about what’s been thought and said.”

“If nothing else, sir, it might avert further tragedy.” He glanced back at Jim, his heart weighed with sadness and uncertainty.

Master Fox does not smell like the villagers Andrew is used to: no scent of beasts or trade or sweat and woollens, rather jasmine and agarwood, fruits of the Empire. Peoples as strange to Andrew as ancient giants had been beaten down by a thousand flashing blades for such bounties to adorn an English son. The Squire looks over at the held-down lad whilst sheathing his sword, then back to Andrew for some moments, and turns abruptly away.

"Get him on his feet," he tells the Ragges, who were about to report with wonderment that this madman was Jim Stone, the sack in John's hand. Jim lies neither limp nor actively resisting, simply radiating the whole-body tension of tusked, hoofed, horned prey ready to become a piercing weapon the moment the wolf's grip might slacken before all life is gone.

The two haul him up as those running after catch up with a jumble of confused chatter and breathless explanation:

     "...just dropped out the window and ran-"

"What's 'e done, Squire? What's 'e done?"

                             "Gave us the runaround, for sure...hey, what's the billhook for, Maggie?"


Master Fox waves them to silence and waits for the landlord to walk up, though John Collins' steps seem heavy with dread. Jim hangs pinned, unmasked and silent between his captors. Master Fox looks at him, and Jim stares back. Whatever passes between them in that moment, it's enough to sharpen shaken fear to scarce-bridled anger, and the Squire rummages in his coat pocket for gloves, takes them into his hands and balls the left into his fist, belting Jim across the face with his right. It takes John Ragge a moment to work out what's happened.

"Oh, but sir, he's simple!"

"Not so much as he doesn't understand what he's done," Master Fox replies thickly. "Legally, I should have him sent to the colonies. Well, Stone?"

Jim has not stopped staring. When he speaks, he struggles with his words as though having to force sound from his throat. "Pistols," he manages at length.

"Very well," Master Fox nods. "Take him to the village cell: I'll send the doctor once I'm bandaged, and we can commence to blowing holes in each other in best health tomorrow morning."



[[going to let you both get a post of reaction here/give others a chance to look in elsewhere, then move y'all back to the inn thread.]]
This message was last edited by the player at 23:07, Thu 16 Mar 2023.

Maggie shakes her head in bewilderment, letting the billhook slip from her grasp as someone takes hold of it. The young woman knows little of the ways of the world outside Scorch Norton, especially the ways of those above her station, but she's heard enough of customs to know that Squires don't fight duels with common laborers.

She is confused and vaguely disquieted. Young Jim is not likely to know much of pistols, despite his choice of weapon, and the outcome of this meeting is unlikely to leave him less dead than simply stringing him up to a nearby tree. Still, why would Master Fox expose himself to even a hint of peril?

She needs to put this before the doctor!

"I'll fetch doctor to th' Hall," she blurts. And seizing up her hems with both hands, she gallops away toward the village to bring the matter--and her misgivings--to that worthy gentleman.

"I'm-" Master Fox begins, but then just watches Maggie's powerful form forge away into the dark. "No matter, belike Pip has him anyway, and we'll meet on the road."

He gestures for all to move towards the inn, the crowd forming themselves into a trailing mass about him. Jim says nothing to his relatives' entreaties and will not look at them; the inn folk clump up in conference, and Andrew is left to pick his place among them.

Andrew had held the brief hope that the squire would listen to reason, but shock had overtaken him when Mister Fox had pulled on his glove and struck Jim, a disbelief that was redoubled when the squire readily agreed to meet the young man with pistols.

Mistress Yendale’s announcement about fetching Doctor Lovelace shakes the carpenter from his stunned state, prompting him to follow the group as they begin to move toward the inn. It is only as the buildings of Scorch Norton come into view that the truth, cold and choking, seizes Andrew’s mind, making his mouth dry as it settles into his thoughts.

Mister Fox had no obligation to agree to Jim’s request for a duel. None. But just as with fencing, the squire had doubtlessly learned to shoot from an early age, and was likely a far better shot than Jim Stone could hope to be. Andrew was sure that when the morrow arrived, Mister Fox would shoot Jim dead.

And in doing so, he would kill the one man who knew what he had done. And all in Scorch Norton would only see it as the squire honoring the request of a foolish, angry young man.

Andrew’s pace quickens, a sudden desperation to find John Collins and the vicar seizing him.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:51, Sat 18 Mar 2023.