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At the Carpenter's Shop, ~10am Saturday May 4th, 1771


It was a bright, cool midmorning, the shop's sawdust scent mingling with the damp-earth smells of recent rain and the undefined but certain scent of late, green spring. Andrew's father would have taken his pipe outside to greet such a day, and a small part of him felt perhaps his father lingered there yet, so long as Andrew did not go round the front to see him gone. Sunlight through the window glass and hide panels alike brought the motes of dust to dance.

The carpenter leant against the bench and surveyed the young men before him during a lapse in conversation: Long Tom Bees, less fortunate still than himself, and Martin Easom, who might help in fixing the former's roof. In all likelihood the Bees siblings' visit was motivated more by hunger than being keen to cost out the project and assign a time, since it was known that though they would not leave their father's spot or Tom his father's job the orphans struggled on their own. Not for want of money, as the Fox family would pay expenses, but Tom had never learnt to cook and Lucy was still half a child, long motherless to boot.

Tom himself was somewhat listless and distracted by thoughts of Polly Durbin: not the sweet thoughts of longing and kisses and the scent of her skin mingled with apple blossom, but dark ones, of abandonment or accident or worse. He'd put this errand together mostly for Lucy's sake, though the roof did need fixed, if it could happen this summer. Some unfixed flaw of thatch he'd not known to look for had spread rot deep into three beams, leaving the plaster blooming with rings of mould and their upstairs space with a stink of rotting hay whenever hard rain passed through. Last night, feeling particularly alone in what had been his father's bed, the damp stench had invaded even his dreams.

The thatcher shifted and counted something out on his fingers, calculating. Lucy and Robin were preparing a soup of spring greens and sorrel in the kitchen, giggling over something with the easy humour of young friends. Andrew's mother came through with a platter of fresh bread and grease warmed over in the oven as though to whet appetities for soup to come, keeping up the silent pretense that Tom might have broken his fast four hours earlier, presumably on some sample of Lucy's hoplessly dense, uneven bread.

"Here's some pickings for you," Widow Sexton announced. "-and while you're gathered, I think you lads ought to know that John Collins is thinking to make a more organised search for Miss Polly, seeing as he's had no word of her from any of the coaching folk."

During the discussion of Tom’s roof, Andrew’s thoughts had gone to Robin. Seeing the Bees’ roof put right would be a good task for the young man to have a hand in. With Martin doing the thatching, his apprentice would gain a good sense of how it often took more than one craftsman to finish a proper repair. Despite the distress the foul scent of the mold had doubtlessly caused, three timbers truly wasn’t much of a hardship. A day’s task at most if they were diligent. He’d said nothing about his recompense for his efforts and did not intend to. He trusted Tom to settle with him whenever the family was able to do so.

He left Martin to his figuring for the moment, fully prepared to assist his friend in gathering the sedge and straw for the thatching. His attention was drawn to his mother as she entered and he gave her a grateful smile. ”Thank you,” he told her. Earlier in the day, his thoughts had naturally drifted to his father and the many mornings that the two of them had greeted together within this shop. But recent months had helped him understand that throughout his life, both before and after his father’s passing, it had been her who was the source of strength in the family, the unshakable foundation that had held all of it together. His mother’s was a quiet strength, still and unobtrusive, but always present.

Nodding thoughtfully, he said, “That is troubling that there’s been no sign. I’ll seek John out later today. Make certain he knows that he can call on me when he’s ready to make the search. Perhaps if enough of us go looking, we could come across something the others have missed.”

Thomas was immersed in the thought of the food and did not catch the the comment about Lucy and the search party that was being prepared. It took a few seconds for the idea to sink in before Thomas added "I will volunteer, once we are done here... I will call on him so he knows. Let us go together..."

On top of everything the roof had just been another worry to add to the already expanding pile of worry that he had to deal with.


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This message was last edited by the player at 06:10, Fri 16 July 2021.

Martin Easom stirred himself with a grateful sort of grunt and nod to the bread's arrival. "Mmh. It's a good idea, sure. They ought to have picked her up running by now - or floating, if it came to that. Best for everyone to confirm she's not in a field or a barn, lest there's somewhere was too far out to check the first or the owner's not saying. See if any horses're gone, too."

"It'll probably be even' before John calls the meet, but it's as well to let him know. I wouldn't quite blame the girl to run away, all considered, but with so little with her? I can't-"


"Wait, dON'T-!"

         "AHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! HYIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"


The cry from Robin in the kitchen was almost simultaneous with Lucy's scream; Widow Sexton turned and ran towards the sound with her skirts bunched in her fist, not even thinking to hesitate. Lucy's screams continued even when the men reached the kitchen, child-shrill and hysterical as she turned to show the newcomers her hands turned bright scarlet with fresh blood, blood that spattered her face and bodice, the chopping-board and the floor.

Robin was pointing at the gap under the sideboard, his face drained of colour. Blood smeared across the flags towards it. "Unner there! It went under there!"

Widow Sexton checked the girl's hands and middle, moving quickly. "There, now, there. You're not hurt. Where's all this come from, eh? Lamb?" Lucy looked up at her and wailed. Andrew's mother gave up and simply enfolded her into a hug, holding her close. The screams broke and shattered to sobs of shock. "Ssh ssh ssh..."

Thomas was up even as the scream echoed around the room. He burst into the room and raced to Lucy, but was not as quick as the widow with a large table in the way. Instead he made for where Robin was pointing to try and grab for the fox or badger or whatever else had managed to make its way into the house.

Thomas ended up on his side as he looked under the sideboard.



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"Right under the knife, it went!" Robin tried to explain. "In the window, and it stuck itsel' right under the knife! Like it meant to!"

Blocking the means of escape for whatever beast had vanished under there by the sheer length of his body, Tom peered under the furniture. A smell of blood and damp fur reached him before he finally spied movement.

Andrew had snatched up a length of wood at the sound of the cries, following his mother and Thomas almost without thought. Pausing only to release a breath he hadn’t known he was holding when his mother declared Lucy unharmed, he joined Tom at the sideboard. As he did, he listed to Robin’s words, nodding to the lad to assure him that he was believed.

Thomas removed the heavy gloves from his belt that he used when clearing the hives or moving them. They were his fathers and even though they are thick they are soft and supple. He then makes a grab for whatever has taken up residence under the piece of furniture.

"Andrew should it run smack it, hard."


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There was a brief scrabbling and an unnerving girl-like shriek before Tom managed to lay hold of the animal and draw it out in one big hand. The young rabbit lay in his gloved palm like something already badly butchered and discarded, no more than a huddle of bloody fur, a broad pink gash from throat to chest and a mass of dying terror, too weak to kick. It lay and quivered, struggling for painful breaths as it stained his glove deep red. Lucy hid her head against Mrs. Sexton so as not to see.

[[Spot Hidden to notice a thing, lads.]]

Thomas was quick to put the beast out of it pain and suffering and then took it outside. He used some rain water from the barrel to clean his gloves before returning them to his belt. As he worked he looked around seeing if he could spot anything that had chased the rabbit.

Thomas Bees rolled 62 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden = 45%



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19:35, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 69 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden - Spot Hidden 50%

As Tom took the rabbit outside, Andrew stepped over to Robin. ”Are you well, Robin? Hurt at all?”

He glanced back at the sideboard, then returned his attention to his apprentice. ”Can you tell me what happened? I know you’re a truthful lad. I will believe you.”

"No, not hurt...we shouldn't eat that, should we, master Andrew?" Robin asked, looking towards the door to the hall whence Tom had gone. "It was a suicide."

"Lucy, it weren't your fault, it was a suicide," he tried to reassure his friend, reaching forward to touch her shoulder. Robin looked concerned at Lucy's upset, then turned with knotted brows to his master, seeking to explain. Description, however, had never been Robin's strong point. "It come in fast by the window, sir, and it went to go under the knife, so I told Lucy stop. Only then she looked at me and...and she chopped it, right down - it jumped when the blade went in and the blood got all over. She didn't mean it any, master Andrew. How it jumped did that, and then she was screaming so, I didn't know what to do."

Martin the thatcher went to pump up water with which to mop the blood. "Best wash the herbs again, and do away with anything that's been right in the blood - some disease in that rabbit, I wot, maybe the like of scrapie in sheep. Gone mad."

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Outside, Tom laid the bedraggled little body aside and looked for the tracks of a predator. None presented themselves, though it was possible that the animal might have fled from a buzzard or been driven to a panic by wandering into the village in broad daylight unaided. Still, there were quieter lanes, and to reach the window the little rabbit had had to choose to leap onto the exposed surface of the bench there, careen off the thicker parts of the honeysuckle growing up the wall and deliberately drop through the casement from the sill. Yet there was not a stoat- or cat- or terrier print to behold.

Looking up from cautiously turning the rabbit's little head aside on its new-snapped neck to check for previous bites, Tom noticed something else.

"Ah... you might want to come and see this ...."

When those with an interest in what he had said appear Thomas will point to village green and it's very unusual guest.

"Now that can't be a good omen."

edit: formatting fix



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This message was last edited by the GM at 08:34, Wed 21 July 2021.

Martin leant up across the counter to the window Tom had spoken through. His body went still of a sudden, but he gave no report, merely motioning the others to go out. Robin looked to Andrew for permission and Lucy went quiet at this new thing, though did not let go of Andrew's mother.

”Remain here just a moment,” Andrew instructed his apprentice, uncertain what it was that Thomas and Martin saw. He approached the window, peering out at what had prompted Martin to become still.

Martin started slightly at Andrew's touch, but let himself be moved aside, going out to join Tom whilst Andrew took his spot at the window. From inside it was difficult to lean enough to see what held Tom's attention out there, but at last he got the angle that let him see past the end of Martin's house, past the village cell, and enough of the green to spot what he'd first taken to be part of the shadow under the trees at the back. He felt himself freeze in an attempt to process the sight, even as Martin had. Lucy whimpered something behind him.

Out on the village green stood a great black stag, his head up, standing still as stone in broad daylight. Flickers of distant colour suggested people not in the fields were coming out of their houses to look.

"Lucy stay in the house, I am going to take a closer look. Andrew would you come with me ?" When or if the other man joins him Thomas will begin to approach the green and the stag.

He had a mind to tell people to return to their homes as it might be safer, but that was not his job and he did not have the standing within the village to do such a thing so instead he tried to get a head of the crowds.


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Motioning for Robin to remain inside, Andrew gave his mother a concerned look, then moved to accompany Thomas. As they approached the green, Andrew took in the appearance of the stag, its dark form almost unreal to him, like a figure plucked from a dream.

"What is it?" Andrew's mother asked. "Andrew, what...?"

Seeing her son had drifted out, focused on some distant thing, she gathered the girl and the apprentice. "All right, you two, your job would be to keep smart and out of trouble. If I hear any harm come to them outside I'm going out with iron and your job will be to listen, 'case it's something that enchants by looking, all right?"

There might have been more, but Andrew was outside and away from the window by then. Martin joined them and all three went striding into the green morning, Long Tom's tousled head like a banner before them. The people were quiet. Pacing on behind there was such an air of ceremony Andrew had the feeling they lacked flower crowns, or some kind of offering.

The beast was definitely solid and alive, and seemed aware of them, antlers stark against the blue sky, flanks blending with the shadows of the green. Those coming up could smell the wet bracken and animal scent of him, warm hair and hide and brute masculinity, and some thin thread of ditch-scent, sodden rot that seemed a blasphemy around something so clearly in its prime. The stag breathed, heavy and even, and watched them come.


[[ How close do you mean to get? ]]

Thomas stopped short of the grass "Keep clear, it might be sick." was what he said to those crowding around. The small was off putting as if the stag might have something to do with the rabbit or vice versa.

He was still of the mind that this was not a good thing.



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