"I didn't mean to make an obligation, Master Sexton - there isn't so much need if the doctor and vicar mean to go by anyway. I just thought you might be doing less work this noontide with the injury and that Mrs. Durbin thinks well of you, no more than that. More searchers will make faster work of-"

At this point he was interrupted by a little "oh no!" from Georgie, who'd put his hands over his eyes in anticipation of the doctor ending their interaction with the pretty bird the way adults ended interactions with most fowl brought indoors.

"Miss Yendale, if you don't mind, I'd like your opinion on something," he called over to the woman. Now that she was done regaling a few dumbfounded oafs with tales of a more mundane nature than they had hoped for. With her, he was polite.

"You two as well, please," he said to the Ragge brothers, still polite, though a bit more firmly.

He pointed out the strange thing he had observed - a very dark, slightly greenish substance at the corner of the pheasant's beak and its eye.

"Have either of you witnessed any sort of similar phenomenon when it comes to animals? My primary domain is in the human realm, and my limited experience with beasts betrays me a bit here, but I'm not inherently familiar with any such condition that would cause a secretion of this nature, or the accompanying odor."

The vicar, although not being able to offer any expertise, still stepped closer, out of curiosity if nothing else.

"What do you make of it, Vicar? In a metaphysical sense, I mean. Is this the Devil in a herd of pigs or somesuch?" Master Fox asked as Cecil leant in front of his leaning.

Will Ragge nudged his brother, who gave Martin a look like 'oh, now you want my opinion' and pulled at Maggie's elbow to get her up like they were playing the chain game.

"C'mon, Maggie, not like you to keep a fancy man waitin, him cock in hand," he said, grinning.

Will bulled in close, setting a hand on the doctor's shoulder to keep steady as the others crowded in with a general smell of sweated skin and byre. "Let's see, then...no, not like that on a bird. Would say he's infected, though. Don't really seem animal exactly, that smell, more like an old pond."

"Rotten turnips," Henry suggested.

Maggie stands but wrenches her elbow out of Will's grasp, thumping him on the chest, not gently.

Approaching the doctor, she bobs a curtsey, coloring a bit at Will's innuendo and at being in such proximity to a proper gentleman.

"An it please yer honour, sir, I can-not say I have ever seen a bird nor beast behave just so, though they'll get a bit mazy when a body stuns 'em with rock or stick and don't struggle much when ye take ‘em up." She leans in to have a good sniff at the pheasant.

"It don't--doesn't smell a-rotted like as if it had a wound gone sour. Smell's more like it's been a-roostin' 'mongst some wet bracken or such." She bobs again and steps back, "Thank ye, sir."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:04, Wed 15 Sept 2021.

Thomas breaks his stare from the bird, "Break its neck and have a look inside. Seems that what it wants..." He waves an arm towards the bird.


-

”I promise, I’ll endeavor not slow the party down too greatly,” Andrew told the tavern keeper, “Though it might be helpful to have someone a bit further back, looking for sign that others might have missed.”

His attention moved to the pheasant, momentarily transfixed by its odd behavior. ”I know it isn’t much help, Doctor, but I’ve never seen any of the animals in the woods near the Fox Estate afflicted in such a way, ” he said.

”Perhaps it came out of the Wyzenwood?”

The reverend shook his head.
"The Lord acts in mysterious ways, but the Adversary... not so much. If he himself is involved, it would already be raining fire and brimstone. No", he vigorously shook his head, "But it could be a servant of him. Someone who made a deal if not with the Devil himself, then a spawn of Hell, perhaps. A demon, a lesser one, I think. I don't think a Duke of Hell would come here when he could cause more mayham in London."

He remembered the stories he had read about the Great Fire of London in 1666.

At the unexpected physical contact, he tensed up slightly, and had to take a moment to suppress his fight or flight response. His free hand gripped the mug of ale, perhaps a bit more tightly than was necessary and he took a drink from it as if to cover up what otherwise might be happening.

"I thank you for your opinion, Miss Yendale. On this subject, it is more informed than my own, and confirms some suspicions I've had. And you lads as well - you see, you've observed something and made a conclusion. It's much better than wild speculation. Also, when engaging in crude banter around the pub owner's daughter, best to keep your voices down a bit. I think you've made the young thing blush." He lowered his voice at the end, just for the few of them gathered closest in examining the bird.

He then raised it again as he discussed the bird.

"Between the strange behavior, the unusual secretions, and the odor, I'd be willing to wager that - of course, barring demonic possession of a pheasant - there is some type of malady at play that we're not familiar with. That said," he turned to address those who had brought the bird.

"Please take this out back, put it out of its misery, and burn it. I'd advise we do the same to any we find, lest some pestilence pass from animal to man."

If Margaret Yendale felt slighted that Doctor Lovelace would defend Hessie’s virtue and sensibilities from the likes of the Ragges yet not her own, she didn’t show it. She had long since given up the hope that anyone in the village would stand up for her or take her part. She figured she was big enough to fight her own battles that needed fighting.

"We've observed plenty before, we have," Will said, not quite following, though he looked concerned to have helped fluster Hessie, who only flushed the more when he leant back to see her. "Oh." He clearly considered some comment about hearing it all before from Maggie, but a glance at the landlord's proximity hushed that thought.

"Ar, 'twas all in fun," Henry said, not entirely repentant, but likewise reminded of the maidens' presence.

"She thumped me, not you, an' all-" Will mock-complained, and reached to take the pheasant seeing young Beth's hesitation after the doctor's pronouncement. "All right, Beth, I'll take the bird and go out to the green. Won't scare the horses any. Georgie, you want to say goodbye to Master Pheasant?"

George, who had been peeking through his finger shield, bit his lip then leant to pet the bird now groggily kicking in William's grip. "'bye fezzunt," he said.

"One of you get a log and the other kindling," Will nodded to his brother and Maggie, automatically taking charge as the eldest present. He took a short swipe at Henry with his free hand as they stepped away from the bar.

"Ow! What-?"

"Just passin that on, is all," Will said cheerfully, and wandered out with the pheasant dangling.

In reply to Reverend Palmer (msg # 41):

"Mmm...well, I bow to your expertise on that matter. Do you think it's connected to Mistress Durbin's disappearance?" Master Fox asked, watching goings-on with the pheasant with some curiousity.

"...and this demon, do you think it's perhaps the one that resides in the Wyzenwood?"



"Familiar with my gamefowl, are you, Master Sexton?" Master Fox asked, grinning. "A disease out of the Wyzenwood...well, it's possible, but what beast would go in to drink there? This...stag? was it, that you were talking about? Did it have this affliction, too? -or the hare, Doctor. Was that dumb and willing for the axe?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:44, Thu 16 Sept 2021.

"Um...if they're possessed, should we be doing what they want?" Hessie asked. "It would be what the witch or the Devil would want, surely?"

Maggie follows the brothers to the door.

"Not yer servant, not yer mammy, not yer wife (thanks be given). Ye'll tote yer own kindling, Will Ragge, or do without." She turns about and marches back into the taproom.

Maggie's vexed turning round proved irresistible to Will in a slapping humour and with one hand free; Henry gave her a brief lamped rabbit look of genuine terror as the sting of a passing slap swept up from her backside. He ducked out of the door he'd been holding at least as hastily as his elder brother.

[[attack of opportunity!]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:00, Fri 17 Sept 2021.

Even as he flushed slightly with embarrassment at Fox’s good natured comment, Andrew couldn’t help briefly wondering what it was to be a man in his position, to be well thought of by many, to be educated, well read and well spoken.

“The stag…it didn’t seem as if it was eager to die. Not at all. But it carried that same scent that the bird has. The smell of the marsh and brackish water,” he replied.

Hessie’s comment brought a frown to the carpenter’s face. A verse from Peter’s first letter entered his mind, unbidden. ”Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.”

He swallowed, then spoke again. “Perhaps Miss Collins is right. I’m certain I have an old crate about, or could fashion a enclosed pen in a short time. We could keep the bird in it safely. See if its condition worsens, or if it recovers. I’m sure we could spare some bread to keep it fed.”

Maggie arches away from the slap, eyes round with outrage. She quells her instinct to reciprocate, thinking I'll pay you back for that Will Ragge, see if I don't. Wouldn't do to start brawling in the taproom with gentry about and it not yet noon.

Goodie Westcott came into the room amongst the general 'ooo's and supressed alarm or snickering, unaware of what they were about.

"Master Bees, if I might see you a moment in the kitchen," she asked, Nancy behind her and Kit Meaker by her side, both looking concerned at where the fuss was.

The vicar, who had evaded the questions posed directly at him about how to go about a possessed animal, by carefully tilting his head and turning about, as if deeply lost in thought, brightened at this new distraction.

"The kitchen? What is now?"

"Just need a more private word with 'im than out here, Vicar," Goodie Westcott replied, "-though you're welcome to stand witness if you will."

"That might be handy indeed. My man Polzeath trapped a rabbit and three partridge alive under a box in the scullery, all also behaving peculiarly. You could have those if you want to, kept somewhere for observation, though perhaps a bit away. That said, if four animals made their way into my home, I'm sure I'm not alone there. Anyone else here have an incident with local animals in their homes?" he asked.

"Arnie and Widow Sawyer were banging about chasing a thrush this morning, though I thought little enough on't," Bart spoke up. "It's Arnie's superstitious about such things, not me."

"The coveys never got in our house, though they tried some," Mrs. Criddle added.

Sam hesitated, but ventured to share: "Hedgehog. The wife an' I thought it was tryin to keep warm on the coals, curled up in the ashes, but it could've been easy roasted alive."

Various present gave accounts of birds, rabbits, and in one case a panful of frogs; it seemed the phenomenon was general. Master Fox drank his beer with bemusement.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 23:01, Mon 20 Sept 2021.

"How about you, Mister Fox? Did any weasels try to sneak up your chimney or some such?"

The young noble in question raised his tankard as though in toast. "I'm afraid I haven't yet been home to check, Doctor. Last night rather got away from me."