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Shrubbery behind the Hare & Sheaf ~7:40pm Sunday May 5th, 1771


Kit and Stephen Collins had been rousted out of the stables by the latter's father, who accompanied them with some urgency towards the estate, shortcutting alongside the green to cross the road higher up. Henry Ragge had armed himself with a pitchfork and offered the others a broom picked up in passing, and seemed to think 'Mouse' was giving real thought to practicing romantic endeavours (or at least the practical arts of love) when Andrew drew Maggie aside to update her in more detail on his findings accompanying her brother, so left them some steps behind to jab at suspicious bushes and patches of ground elder whenever they were seen.

Now the twilight holds deep under the riverside trees, shading all with blue and turning the cow parsley and wild garlic blooms to clustered stars with the curious luminosity of pale things at dusk. The smell of growing green and readied earth is thick and spicy once stables and tannery are left behind, their own scents the only human contribution amongst the profusion of fieldside life. Blackbirds and nightengales yell at each other over the rushing of water, proclaiming their virility and might, and on eaves elsewhere the twittering racket of settling starlings makes a distant background sound.

All three feel ancient instincts respond to the clarity of the sky and faint clinging warmth rising from the earth: it is a good night to go and gather, and a good night for things that hunt. Andrew inspects the tree where the axe was stashed, finding no new weapon. Whether that means another is hidden elsewhere or already in hand he cannot know.


[[start seeking!]]
This message was last updated by the GM at 21:34, Mon 27 Feb 2023.

Andrew has never mastered the art of concealing his emotions, knowing since his younger days that it was almost comically easy for others to know what state he was in at a glance. His mother, ever patient as she was, told him that such openness was a gift, that all who encountered him would be certain that they were addressing a man who was honest and forthright. For him, it often felt like vulnerability, it being so simple for others to understand him in an instant. At times he wondered if that was why he occasional preferred the company of lumber and tolls to that of people.

Now, as dusk washed over the country, Andrew knew that the tension of the situation had suffused him. He leaked it from every pore. Steadying himself, he sought to slow his breathing and focus entirely on the task at hand, just as he did within his shop. Seeing no sign of the killer’s weapon, he walked the surrounding area, looking for any sign of activity, or anything else that might have been concealed within the foliage, anything that might give a hint of the particular direction Jim had taken to stalk his prey.

If needed:

08:59, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 39 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden - Spot Hidden 50%.

09:00, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 65 using 1d100.  Track - Track 40%.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:23, Tue 28 Feb 2023.

Andrew spends some time investigating where he and the others pursued the Bag-Headed Man the day before, the old tracks not telling him very much at all. He casts back and forth on the path a bit, each visible trace of passers-by during the day bringing him a new twinge of excited anxiety.

Andrew sighed quietly, his mind still working to reconcile his perception of the Jim Stone he had known for years with that of the Bag Head Man, a figure that had wandered into his dreams as a scarecrow which walked.

He looked over to Henry, seeing him press far ahead, heedless of any danger that might exist. Frowning, he noticed that Ragge had overlooked an area, the spot where Goodie Westcott’s stolen property had been found. Venturing over, he studied the ground there.

09:04, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 8 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden - Spot Hidden 50%.

09:04, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 2 using 1d100.  Track - Track 40%.

The mad axeman of Scorch Norton was very little like a quiet and gentle gardener in form or aspect, but then again, a disguise should be as unlike its wearer as possible. In temperament, the Bag Head Man was a thing opaque, the will to murder stuffed in a scarecrow skin, but Jim Stone was a youth in whom loyalty and a sense of justice went untempered by other concerns, even those of his own safety.

At sixteen, Andrew had pulled a seven-year-old Jim out of the bottom of a scrum of angry older boys who'd been making entertainment by setting snails in the ruts of the rainy road. Not only had the kid hurled the collected animals into the nearest garden, but apparently set on his peers as though to break their backs like a cart wheel's steady roll. The bloody-lipped and snot-streaked child who'd struggled and nearly bitten him before realising he was an adult, that silent rage might be the link.

One of the blackbirds is near enough to be near deafening as Andrew trots up the path. With Henry's tracks close to hand, his short descent amongst the cow parsley shows a man of the same size and stride - no, surely the same man, though another with him of very similar build - had been down there before Polzeath's long feet. In all likelihood it was Will and Henry Ragge who had raided Goodie Westcott's house, and one of them that had done unspeakable things to her implement besides.

"There's nothin by there, Mouse, I poked that before," Henry calls back to him, noticing his pause or low rustling and quite possibly uneasy.

Crouched and bemused, Andrew takes a glance back along the path, seeing Maggie and the dark shadows beyond the pale of her apron. The bank side earth and growth still smells green and good.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:48, Fri 03 Mar 2023.