The Hun pilot had tied his seaplane to a stone carving of a very stylized cat; probably a jaguar, to judge from the teeth and claws.  He nodded to McCurdy in his amiable fashion.

The two pirates were next ashore, Hornsby looking notably relieved, though Hawksmoore was unperturbed - if a bit pale.  Liza Waters was helped onto the rough wooden dock by Hornsby, who also offered a hand to Marianne.  Ahead, through the thick emerald leaves and vines of jungle, through the steam rising from the sun's oppressive heat, some small huts could just be glimpsed.  A few steps further showed a village, whose inhabitants wore little by way of clothes.  They were small of stature and dark-skinned, with big brown eyes and cheerful white smiles, with their black hair combed straight and bound into carved wood and shell ornaments. What little clothing they wore - loincloths, mostly, for women and men, was brightly coloured.  Already a man with parrot feather jewellery was walking toward them, both hands raised, jabbering in a loud and musical language, to which Hornsby - and to his surprise, Liza Waters - responded, with waves of their own.

"Portuguese," Liza said, with a smile. "They're speaking Portuguese and they're friendly. I'll tell them we need travelling supplies.  This man is Geeya, he's apparently a businessman of sorts."
"As you wish, marm," Hornsby replied.  "Rope, dry manioc, waterskins and suchlike."  He  turned towards the heavy jungle behind the village, where the shadows seemed to thicken. "And spears, too, if he can spare any," he added, in a thoughtful manner.

In less than a hour, the required equipment was produced and paid for by a ring of Liza's, and the party was ready to move along a path cut by machete, up into the dark jungle.

McCurdy checked his weapons and ammunition. He didn't have much to waste so he looked for a machete and scabbard to use for utility as well as weapon. He wasn't sure what the primitives would have as far as useful supplies and he didn't really want to bother with it. Not until he knew how long they would be in the jungle.

"How long of a trip are we settin' out for?" he asked of Hawksmoore.

"It's not time as you know it," Hawksmoore replied, armed to the teeth as always, though the ammunition belt was now empty.

The troupe settled their gear, and headed towards the jungle, Hornsby leading.  Hawksmoore seemed perfectly accepting of his old Captain leading him, and even seemed somewhat cheerful.  Liza Waters, carrying a handsomely woven bag of supplies in addition to her pocketbook, followed Hornsby, and Marianne, Brother Clary and McCurdy were left to sort themselves out.  The deep emerald greens, the rich smell of loam and strange plants, and the cluckings of birds up in the treetops....it was as if they were stepping into another world.

The path had to be cut; in short order, Hornsby and Hawksmoore were using machetes to clear it, but there was definitely a path there, marked here and there by gleaming chunks of black stone.  They walked, and McCurdy noted that his watch wasn't reading the correct time; it read that it was noon.  A long time later, he read it again, and it was also noon.  They stopped to rest; it was still noon.

The jungle had enfolded them completely, though this didn't seem to trouble the two old pirates much.  At least, until Hawkmoore decided to gnaw on some meat jerky, and a bird whipped out of the trees and stole it from him, landing on a fallen trunk about fifteen feet away to eat the filched prize.  Hawksmoore cursed at it, and the bird snapped at him.  Its bill was lined with teeth, and its head was shaped like a lizard's, though the feathers were green and red like a parrot's.  There were little claws at the wrist of the bird's wings, claws that flexed as the bird hissed at Hawksmoore.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:20, Sun 04 Dec 2005.

Marianne followed along behind the two pirates, looking around with fascination. Her keen eyes didn't miss any detail. As the thick green foliage closed behind and around them, the sense of being in a story beyond all stories grew palpable.

The sight of a dinosaur-like bird creature snapping at Hawksmoore confirmed it, and brought a grin to her face. Anything could happen in this place, for good or for evil. The air was thick with possibility, and Marianne was very careful to keep the others in view and give the wildlife a wide berth.

Brother Clary's eyes narrowed grimly as he followed closely behind Hornsby and the youngster. He held his shotgun at a 'ready' position, as if half-expecting something to jump out at them in this steamy environment.

When they finally stopped for a moment, he carefully checked his magazine once again, loading new shells to ensure a full clip.  At the sight of the weird bird, he reflexively brought the shotgun to bear, but then relazed when he saw Hawksmoore wasn't in any danger.  He lowered his gun with a small grin.  "Looks ya made a friend, there, pardner."

McCurdy tapped his watch again for the second time and wondered at it. He knew it wasn’t broken.

Not time as you know it...

He narrowed his eyes at Hawksmoore as he recalled his words and it was at about the same moment the “bird” snatched his snack. McCurdy was no his feet, machete in hand, before he realized what he was doing. Instinctively he was looking around for more of the flying lizards with the sharp teeth. Seeing no others in the immediate vicinity seeking someone else for a snack, he turned back to look at it again. He slowly sat back down since no one else was going crackers over it, but he was still uncomfortable. Whether it was the bird or what it meant was not exactly clear.

“Anyone else find that thing... strange?”

Brother Clary tipped his hat back and regarded the Arkie PI for a moment.  "Brother, this whole trip has been strange.  Maybe I'm just a gittin' used to it all."

"Don't stray from the path," Hornsby said tersely, pausing to drink from his canteen. "Tis a creature of Gula, a creature of hers.  There are others...."
"Big ones with teeth," Hawksmoore said, still glaring at the marauding creature.

As if in answer to this comment, there was a sharp coughing cry far off in the darkness ahead of them, where the emerald heart of the jungle seemed to swallow all light, and a flock of the lizard-birds burst from the bushes and headed AWAY, at top speed.  The effect this had on the two pirates was immediate; both suddenly bristled with weapons.  There was a screech, and the sound of breaking greenery, far ahead, and then a sharp cry suddenly cut off.  Something had just met a sticky end.

"Haste, I think, boy," Hornsby said, and set off at a good rate of speed.  "Lest we become the next meal !"  Hawksmoore followed, but, to their surprise, paused to see that Liza Waters was going along at a good enough pace.  The little old lady seemed to be holding her own, and had kilted up her skirts to show a knobbly but firm knee and give her legs more ease of movement.  The machetes chopped, and they were heading down an incline, into some mists, the smell of loam and strange plants strong in the air.  Hooting cries and skittering sounds were heard in the overhead foliage, and McCurdy found himself staring back at a beady-eyed squirrel-creature, which was hanging upside down from a nearby branch.  It had a pattern of spots in black and grey, and also scales along the legs and long prehensile tail.

Another one, smaller, decided Brother Clary was scary and threw a half-eaten fruit at him, and then there was a general hail of fruit and leaves.  Marianne ducked and hurried along, only to suddenly receive a heavy weight on her head - one of the creatures had jumped onto her head and was clinging !
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:14, Thu 08 Dec 2005.

In one swift, smoth motion the black-clad Texas preacher levered a round into the chamber, and followed the example set by his "guides."



As they moved on, others could hear a faint muttering coming from Brother Clary, and they could just make out the words "through the valley of the shadow..."



"No thanks, I don't believe I'm hungry jest yet."

 

"Ma'am, it looks t'me like you might need a little assistance, there.  Or are you lookin' to take home a souvenir?"

Marianne unconsciously let out a shriek as the creature jumped onto her head, but quickly stifled it. They really couldn't draw any more attention than they already had. She glared at the preacher. "A squirrel-skin muff," she snapped, wincing as the creature held on. "Just get it off my head!"

McCurdy grinned at the sight, but only after ensuring it was doing the woman no harm. He walked over to her after picking up a piece of the fruit and holding it out to the “squirrel”, hoping to bait its attention away from Marianne. “There now, little fella,” he said in a bold but soothing tone. “You probably like red hair too, but I reckon you’ll have a hard time getting those locks away from her.” He moved closer with the fruit and his other hand out as if beckoning the thing to jump on to him. “Come on down from there. You might catch cold or something...”

The lizard-squirrel clung to Marianne.  As one limb was prised away, the rest clung tighter, and the big dark eyes viewed its assailants with alarm.  It did not try to bite, but did try to hide in her hair, behind her head, under her chin - all ineffectually, of course.  The fur was soft and fluffy, and the patches along the head and legs where it was not were warm and leathery scales.  Its claws, clearly intended for climbing trees, were prickly but it did not harm her.  It did indeed sample Marianne's hair, and decided that it wasn't tasty with a snorting "PTAH !" sound.

Brother Clary looked to be of assistance, and McCurdy tempted the thing with a piece of fruit as Hawksmoore made impatient - but silent gestures to 'hurry on'.  It looked at him for a moment, then sprang onto his arm, wrapping itself securely around his forearm and grabbing the fruit in one 'hand'. Then it guzzled it, dripping fruit pulp liberally onto his hand and sleeve.  Even holding it upside down and shaking didn't dislodge it - just made it hold on tighter - and chew idly on his shirt-sleeve, where the fruit juice had dripped.

The adventurers pushed on into the jungle, with Hornsby hacking at the greenery and Hawksmoore on guard against come-what-may.   Brother Clary looked down as he stumbled, and in the soft loam, saw a deep footprint.  It was three feet long, two feet wide and bore the marks of three clawed toes pointing forward - and it was notably deep in the soft earth.

McCurdy looked at Marianne and grinned crookedly. “Seems it ain’t just me.” He chuckled and started after the others, looking at the animal thing again. He held it as far from him as he could. Shaking it loose wasn’t an option apparently, and he was most worried about the thing taking his hand for another piece of fruit, what with all the dried juice on it. Since the thing didn’t seem to be leaving any time soon, he kept his hand clenched in a fist so as not to lose a finger or two to its teeth.

He studied the thing as they moved on and despite his initial reservations, it seemed it wasn’t as bad as he imagined. It was still a bit too strange though. As he walked on, he wondered how long it would be before it decided to go home...

“Hey, Hawksmoore,” he said in a low hiss. “What do ya call this furry-lizard-leech thing?”

At McCurdy's remark, Marianne simply glared at him. The man was up to something... Still, he had helped get the squirrel to let go of her head. The furry creature soon drew her attention, and her expression lightened into a grin. It did seem rather harmless, munching on McCurdy's sleeve like that.

"He's a cute little thing," she said softly, chuckling. She briefly debated touching the soft fur, but wasn't quite sure the creature wouldn't jump right back onto her head.

"Thank you," she added airily. The remark wasn't obviously directed at McCurdy, but at some point midway between them.

McCurdy re-examined the lizard-squirrel and nodded his head. “Yeah... I suppose he is kinda cute at that. Even if he can’t make up his mind what kind of animal he wants to be.” McCurdy looked sideways at Marianne and smiled crookedly. It wasn’t clear if he was acknowledging her thanks or if he was finishing his remark about the squirrel. He started looking around for some more fruit to give the thing...

"I call it 'dinner'," Hawksmoore replied heartlessly, wielding his machete against the greenery.

The creature seemed perfectly content to ride along on McCurdy's arm, and accepted another offering of fruit with great eagerness.  It did not try to bite, either on purpose or by accident, and actually examined the fruit for a moment before settling in to chew it sloppily, dripping more on his sleeve and arm.  When the fruit was gone this time, it climbed up McCurdy's arm to his shoulders and crouched there like a bizarre wrap, using the prehensile scaly tail to steady itself by wrapping it around his throat.  Then it tasted his hat brim.  "PTAH !"

Something quick and greeny-yellow scampered across the path, bobbing like a strange bird, about the size of a chicken.  It was a lizard, running on two legs, and took off even faster as it realized that the path was being used by much larger creatures than itself.  They had all seen things like it....in museums, usually in the fossils section.

Remembering that he used to hunt squirrels with his father and brother back home, Brother Clary eyed the thing on McCurdy's arm.  Then he decided that since there was only one, there probably wouldn't be enough meat for all of them.

Then the chicken-lizard thing scampered across their path.  'Hmmm,' he thought.  'A few more of those might do the trick...'

Sidling up close enough to Hornsby to whisper in his ear, the preacher said, "I don't mean to be a pest, but how much further before we take care o' the business we came here fer?"

Marianne's eyes lit up wonderingly as the creature appeared, and she looked disappointed as it darted quickly across the path. She would have liked to get a closer look at it. But if it seemed strange to them, like something out of a different time, they must seem so much more strange to it.

"Goolah's refuge...," she said suddenly in awed tones, looking around with new eyes. "This was what he was talking about. The home of the first creatures that ever walked the earth." There was a thread of apprehension in her words, but even more, there was a sense of wonder and anticipation.

"Giant dinosaurs and pink dolphins with teeth," she said softly.

Hornsby gave a slight frown. "Tis long enough to test us, yet never so far to keep us from it," he replied to Brother Clary, and slashed with his machete at a thick green plant.  Hawksmoore's expression was grimly unreadable, and sweat had matted the short-cut hair to his forehead.

Another green lizard darted across the path and into the brush on the other side, snapping a bug out of the air enroute.  Then Something roared, a fierce gutteral sound close at hand, and sent another flurry of strange birds into the air.  The squirrel-lizard squeaked in fright and dove into McCurdy's shirt through the collar, wriggling frantically to find cover, no matter how it scrabbled and choked him.

The trees moved, wood creaking, as Something shouldered its way towards them, heading toward the path; Liza Waters kilted up her skirts and lit off at a run, nearly catching up with Hornsby, who was also running, though Hawksmoore had stayed to wave frantically at the other three travellers to follow, before heading up-trail at top speed.

The roar came out of nowhere, making Marianne jump and look around anxiously. Something was coming - something big from the sound of it. While Marianne had wanted to see a dinosaur, this one sounded particularly fearsome, and much too close for her comfort. She followed behind the others at a run.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:46, Mon 19 Dec 2005.

McCurdy didn’t waste any time either except to ensure Brother Clary had gotten the obvious message. He grabbed hold of the squirrel with one hand to keep its claws from digging in his face at the sudden burst of speed. He took off like a shot after Marianne...

Believing in safety in numbers and believing that he had a personal responsibility, maybe even a divine commission, to see this task through, brother Clary followed the group as closely as possible, shotgun at the ready.  Although, he wondered to himself, it might be like usin' a pea shooter agin' an elephant...

Fleeing headlong through the jungle, on a path so overgrown that tripping and being slashed by the greenery was the only way, the travellers rushed onwards.  Only the flash of blue ahead of them that was Liza Water's dress led them, as the darkness got deeper and the roaring got louder.  They could only hope that Hornsby and Hawksmoore were up ahead, and that they were still on the path.  Finally, just as their lungs were ready to burst, they staggered into a clearing, lit by brilliant sunlight through a break in the canopy of dense green.  Liza Waters was doubled over, panting, Hornsby was in not much better shape, and even Hawksmoore was short of breath.  They had the sense that something very big was behind them...then, simply gone on, in a manner in which it seemed both far away...or long ago.

The squirrel-lizard stuck its head out of McCurdy's shirt and blinked at the sunlight, but did not choose to leave its new den.  Brother Clary's grip on his shotgun relaxed; that feeling of being hunted had left them.

"The big ones...are troublesome," Hornsby gasped, "One ate three of my crew. Only the boy got away."
"This path covers more than distance," Hawksmoore elaborated, and unstoppered his canteen, taking a mouthful and then handing it to Liza Waters.  He was standing beside a meter-tall black stone stele, carved in the form of a stylized jolly fat woman, holding up a sun.

Marianne recognised a waypoint on the map, designated with a sun.  They were a third of the way there.

Brother Clary moved closer to the stele.  He looked it over with an expression that alternated between fascination and disdain, but he found himself compelled by his deep and abiding curiosity to examine the monument.

McCurdy made it into the clearing and stopped with the rest of the group. He had handled the run fairly well - readily conscious about fitness, not only for his hobbies, but for his work.  He looked at Hornsby and shook his head. Man should have taken better care of himself considering his “condition.”

McCurdy let the squirrel-thing adjust and get settled into place, trying to reassure it so it wouldn’t go rabid on him. Then he paced a short span along the wall of the clearing where they had just emerged and studied it carefully. He had a vivid imagination considering his country upbringing. He blamed it on his mother and her insistence he spend some time at the county library with her just about every day. She had been an avid reader, and it rolled over onto him. He fell into the world of the brilliant detective stories and the authors that penned them including... “Anyone here a fan of Conan Doyle?” he asked, still looking at the wall.

He turned away from it finally and looked at Hawksmoore. “Any more of these jaunts through time we gonna have to make?”

His mind was still swimming with all that they had seen, and if not for his being in the middle of it – and if not for the lizard-rodent attached to his shoulder - he would have dismissed it all as the ramblings of a kook that had spent far too much time lost in the jungle. He was actually quite excited about it all, but wasn’t going to let that cat out of the bag around these blokes. He had to keep his edge and his wits about him among this group...

Brother Clary notices McCurdy looking over their suroundings.  "What do y' make of it, brother?" he drawled, still trying to get a handle on what it was he was looking at.

McCurdy saw a flash of the wariness Hawksmoore seemed to live with, and could even understand it a little now, as well as the youth's apparent fitness.  Even the wound in his side didn't seem to slow him down, much, though he caught the lad wincing. "Yes," Hawksmoore replied then, with a moue of annoyance. "Two more.  The next is the worst.  Or the last is worst, should you think it so.  This was the easy part.  The next waypoint is the place of the ghosts."

Sharp teeth sampled McCurdy's shirt button, making a crackling sound on the shell button, which broke.  The creature spit out the pieces,  "PTAH !" and crawled out to loop itself around his shoulders and tug at his hair in a thoughtful manner, searching through it with nimble little fingers and knocking off his hat.   It chirped in an amiable fashion, jumped off his shoulder and started playing with the hat.

Brother Clary peered closer at the happily smiling stele, and perhaps it was a trick of the sunlight, but she winked at him.  The carving was skilled, and the stele showed signs of weathering, the rays of the sun somewhat worn.  The woman was plump and well-endowed, and her stubby toes rested on a short pedestal of the same black stone.

"Doyle ? Aye, I've shared a pint or two with him," Hornsby said, with a low laugh, at McCurdy's words.  "Writer fellow.  Fancies himself an adventurer."

Hornsby dragged a pewter flask from a hidden pocket and took a pull from it; it doubtless was not water.  "Don't waste that," Hawksmoore said with uncharacteristic sharpness, for he had shown Hornsby a lot of deference previously. "My pack's lost. I don't have any rum."  Hornsby hastily stoppered it.  It was becoming clearer that Hornsby relied on Hawksmoore a lot more than Hawksmoore relied on anyone.

McCurdy glanced at Clary as he took his eyes away from the rodent tossing his hat around. He absently fiddled with the empty space left by the broken button and said, “Don’t reckon I make much of it but what it is. Just reminded me of a story I read once.” He looked at Hornsby and added, “And if you told Doyle the tale of this place I figure I know where he got his idea from now.”

McCurdy shook his head and walked up to Hawksmoore. “Anything we need to do to get ready for these next two? What exactly are these ghosts, and what is waitin’ for us in the last one?” The detective had gone numb long ago and he didn’t figure there was much more that Hawksmoore could tell him that would surprise him at this point. Even if he mentioned that club wielding Cyclopes or the bull-headed Minotaur was waiting for them down the road.

It was one thing to face something real, deadly though it might be. But what the next part of the journey might entail was beyond the grasp of even her considerable imagination. Marianne listened intently for the pirates' answer.

Hornsby chuckled at McCurdy's comment, a warm sound.  "Aye, laddie, I've told a tale or two.  Hard to keep a secret so long, is't not ?"

Hawksmoore was looking somewhat pale, under his tan.  "They're ghosts.  Every one of the dead that you could ever think to meet, Yankee, every one of them.  All the ones you put into Hell, and your friends and family, and angels and demons besides, all one and the same."  The sharp hazel eyes glared back at McCurdy.  "The last one is heaven or hell, depending.  What do you want to believe is there ?"
"The lad's not meaning to affright you," Hornsby said, with a soothing tone, and a nervous glance at the two women.  Liza Waters responded with a casual wave and a gentle smile, apparently unperturbed.  Hornsby went on, "There's a grand lot of evil ahead, in the place where the ghosts are, and ghastly they be.  Keep to the path.  Heed them not.  There's powerful magic there."
"So...you are saying that -all- the dead are there ?"  Liza Waters asked, a sharp tone to her voice. "Everyone ?"
"Aye, Marm," Hornsby replied. "And there's a way of calling them forth, but it's not a way that's good, if you follow me."

McCurdy eyed Liza carefully. "Don't be gettin any ideas about talkin to dead relatives to fill those gaps in your notebook... cousin." He smirked at her and moved over to pick up his hat from the squirrel. He didn't know what was gonna happen to the creature, but he figured it would keep itself from harm at any rate.

Marianne thought she had a good idea who Liza wanted to see on the other side, and her sympathetic expression turned into an angry glare at McCurdy. Sensitivity was a word that just wasn't in the man's vocabulary.

"What kind of magic?" she questioned Hornsby, pressing the subject. She felt very uneasy about the whole thing, but at the same time, she couldn't deny that a part of her was drawn by the idea of glimpsing what lay beyond.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:06, Thu 05 Jan 2006.

"The dark kind, miss," Hornsby replied to Marianne, in a soft tone, and settled his gear back onto his shoulders, as Hawksmoore put away the water flask and prepared to head onwards.

Liza merely returned a cool gaze to McCurdy.  But as he went to pick up the hat, the lizard-squirrel took that for an invitation and swarmed up his arm to coil itself around his neck again, sticking a cold, wet little nose in his ear and sniffing a couple of times before settling down into a strange-looking collar.

Brother Clary reviewed the statuette, which seemed to smile all the more at his perusal, the dark stone picking up and reflecting light like some kind of black diamond, sunlight glinting off the worn rays of the sun she was either holding up...or descending from.

"The Good Book tells us in Psalms that we need not fear the 'arrow that flies by day,' nor the 'terror that flies by night.'"  Brother Clary looked back at the group.  "What's keepin' us from proceedin' on with our quest?"

"I think we're ready to move on," Marianne ventured, looking at Hawksmoore and Hornsby shouldering their packs. Thanks -- or not -- to Basil, she had no luggage, so it was considerably easier for her to move around.

McCurdy didn’t mind when the lizard-rodent scrambled up onto his arm, he didn’t even mind when the thing gave him the wet nose, but he didn’t particularly care for the teeth marks on the brim of his hat. He smirked in mock-irritation as he dusted the Fedora and snugged it atop his head again. “You keep hangin around like a mink stole and I’m gonna have to give you a name. Maybe I’ll name you after a certain red-head in our midst.” He grinned at some unspoken ending to that suggestion and started after the others.

The pirates led the way again, moving into the jungle that seemed to consist of dark green shadows and sounds...sounds of things moving in the underbrush, moving around them, moving behind them.  But as they turned to look, there was nothing that could be seen.  It was eerie, and raised prickles of alarm on their consciences.  Even Hornsby, who seemed unperturbable, got jumpy, and Hawksmoore merely became more so.  The lizard-squirrel settled in to sleep and was soon snoring, draped over McCurdy's shoulders like some erzatz stole.

The shadows seemed to close in then, and darkness so complete fell that Hornsby lit a lantern to guide their way, pulled from his pack, and Hawksmoore lit a torch.  It made little difference in the inky blackness, but they were careful to keep along the marked path.

Then the whispers began....

Voices heard, remembered from the past, and calling to them, half-heard pleas and calls, and the shadows were shifting around them in a very unsettling way...as if disturbed by phantasms half-glimpsed.  A warning chitter came from the awakened beast that had adopted McCurdy, and it was tensely clutching his shoulder now, the bottle-brush tail bristling.

Among the whispers, the group could hear the black-clad preacher from Texas muttering another prayer, or was it a passage from his missing Bible that he remembered?

What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?
He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?
Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God's elect? It is God that justifieth.
Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us.
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?
As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.
Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.
For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,
Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Looking over, they noticed Brother Clary gripping the stock of his shotgun a little more tightly than usual...

McCurdy gently moved the tail out of his ear, the gesture slow and careful, an indication of the tenseness in him. His every sense was alert and listening, seeing, feeling... Always a vision at the corner of his eye, a familiar voice whispering at his cheek, yet gone from him whenever he dared to look. He shouldn’t have asked what it was that would be whispering to them in the dark; the ghosts. He should have chosen oblivious ignorance instead. Then he might not have believed he was hearing his mother calling to him. Or his father. And worse... Voices from the war drifted through him and around him; friends he had watched die, men he had killed; all bringing to the fore of his mind the image of each one, in life as well as death.

McCurdy swallowed, trying to ignore the haunting voices of his past, but he could feel the temperature growing cold, his skin becoming clammy. He reached up to stroke the fur of the monster-squirrel at his neck and the gesture served to calm him better than anything else could have at that moment. It was something tangible to touch that was as frightened as he knew he would be if he had been alone in this darkness. He found his mind beginning to clear and he began to drift closer to Liza and Marianne, still cautious, still wary, thinking that perhaps they too might feel comfort in the proximity of another living being...

Each of the adventurers were seeing distinctly different visions...and had their own issues to handle.

"Tarnation!  We got to move, NOW!"

Brother Clary cut loose with a thunderous shotgun blast into the air, hoping to clear the cobwebs and visions from his own mind as much as from everyone elses'.  He immediately moves to help McCurdy up to his feet, hustling him along the path, trying to herd the others as well.

Mrs. Brown, the sweet woman next door, Cousin Elizabeth, even Dr. Kirk, her old history professor - she felt them all there, standing just outside of reach, calling to her in low whispers. But when she turned to look for them, there was only the jungle and the shifting shadows. She proceeded onwards, looking back from time to time, wanting to catch a glimpse of the people who were calling her -- until the vision appeared.

She had no idea if what she was seeing was real or simply an illusion, but fear overwhelmed those considerations. She reacted instinctively, kicking and screaming and struggling to get away from her phantoms and follow the others.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:02, Tue 17 Jan 2006.

McCurdy didn’t know what was going on... “Pete?” He was looking to his left at nothing. “Pete!” McCurdy’s skin shone pale in the gloom and his eyes looked wild and haunted. He didn’t seem to notice the preacher and his loud shotgun.

“Dammit, Pete, why’d you do it? It should have been me... You had a family...”

McCurdy felt himself grabbed roughly and vaguely heard someone yelling. He instinctively braced to rid himself of whatever it was that had hold of him, but when he saw it was the preacher, he kept his fists to himself. “What the hell, padre?”

And then it struck him what was happening. “Holy s---! What the f--- is that?!” He was looking toward the ground now and what he saw there made his blood run cold. He could feel his limbs stiffening and felt something he thought he could never feel again; something he thought the war had used up enough for two lifetimes. McCurdy had faced many life threatening situations since returning from France; he’d braced many a man threatening him with gun or fist too many times to count since coming home. And never once had he felt even the slightest twinge of fear; it just wasn’t in him any more after what the war had shown him.

But this was not a man with a gun shooting at him from a speeding car... this was not human at all!

McCurdy let out a string of cussing that his mama would have slapped him into the next decade for and started moving like he was a young boy again. The fear shocked his senses back into his head and he began to get a grip on what was happening. Instinct took over and he immediately started looking for the others; looking to see if anyone else was in trouble. He pushed Clary ahead of him as he looked for Marianne and Liza.

“The women!” he shouted to Clary, “Help Liza!” McCurdy immediately shot for the redhead intending to do exactly that; help her and Liza out of the mire. As he struggled to get free of his demons, he turned to give a last look back at Pete, knowing the man had saved his life once again...

That’s two I owe you, buddy...

The strange visions continue !

"Liza!" Marianne screamed, and ran to the other woman's side, trying to pull her away while their nemesis was engaged. The sound of the shotgun rang in her ears as she looked around desperately. "Preacher! McCurdy! Help!"

While he was helping McCurdy, Brother Clary looked around at the weird scene as it unfolded before his disbelieving eyes.  "Wh-h-h?" he sputtered.  He hesitated for a moment, torn within himself to respond to one scene and then another.

He heard the redhead scream, and with the Arkie PI, he rushed to the women's sides to help them move further down the path, as he vaguely sensed he was supposed to do.  He was no longer muttering his prayers.  The others could hear him full voiced:  "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name..."

McCurdy didn’t hesitate, not even as the thunder exploded in his ears setting them to ringing like a chime stuck in constant tone. He went straight for the older man in khaki’s, doubling over charge in with an upper cut meant to send the guys lungs clear into his brain...

"McCurdy, NO!  We got to get out of here!"  Brother Clary wasn't sure the men in khakis were real or not, but something about the warning he received convinced him that they didn't need to stay put.

McCurdy paid no heed - he couldn’t if he had wanted to. He was committed, and he flew at the man fighting with the lizard-squirrel. If the man was a ghost then the ghost could feel. And McCurdy was going to make sure he felt something right then and there!

The roiling mass of monsters and shadows crowded over the path, grotesques half-glimpsed, with whispers and promises coming from them in the voices of loved ones long gone.

McCurdy plowed into the older man, who jerked his head out of the way of the fist and planted a very hard fist of his own into McCurdy's left kidney.  The lizard-squirrel went flying off the man's kicking leg, chittering in rage.  At last he could see the whole tableau; he could hear Brother Clary's voice in loud prayer, and see Marianne trying to drag the stunned Liza Waters away.  Hornsby had Hawksmoore in a choke hold and was trying his best to knock the boy out, and looked as if he had taken some lumps of his own trying it.  Ringrose and McCurdy went down, hitting the hard stony path, and McCurdy realised that he had a real battle on his hands - the old man was tougher than he looked, as promised. (McCurdy: roll a d20, and a d100 please.  There's a dice roller at the top of the screen)

Brother Clary prayed, and saw the things clearly.  A half-rotted woman in beautiful bridal robes was weeping in front of him, her skeletal hand extended as if begging for his attention.  A frog with the top half of a child appended to its body flopped and flailed.  A black rooster with human eyes laughed at him, and a huge bubbling mass of protoplasm lurched forward, trying to reach him with pseudopods of stinking goo.  A tangle of intestines with eyes on their ends floated above these, also reaching for him.  The old priest's voice was lost in the din.  He could see everyone...and everything, in horrible detail.  McCurdy was on the ground battling the old man who had stolen Brother Clary's cross and bible, Marianne was trying to move Liza along, and the two pirates were struggling.  The other man, with the eyepatch, was moving slightly, as if he might awaken. (Brother Clary, roll d100 please)

Marianne grabbed Liza's arm, and the stunned woman didn't respond.  She did allow herself to be led aside, in a stumbling slow walk.  (Marianne: roll a d100 please)

McCurdy rolled and struggled with the man with all of his strength. There wasn’t a man left alive he was afraid of and this man was no different. He was just another in a long line he’d put behind him. And he’d put this fellow behind him or he wouldn’t get up. As the detective struggled with the older man, he kept him close in a brawler’s hug, punching at his floating ribs until he could roll atop him. He wanted the man right against him when he put a bullet through his heart...

Marianne led Liza a little distance up on the path and turned back to the others. "Preacher! A little help!" she said sharply, suddenly annoyed as she saw Brother Clary standing around while they were all struggling for their lives. She marched over to where Hornsby had Hawsmoore in a chokehold.

Marianne dragged Liza along towards Hornsby and Hawksmoore; Hawksmoore was limp now, and being gently dropped to the ground.  But the older pirate had no time for her, and drew his cutlass, running towards Basil Ringrose with intent, apparently, to kill.  The horrors were something she could ignore now; they were not able to cross the path.  She knew that now.

McCurdy punched at the lower ribs, and received a hard fist to his ear, knocking him aside with a ringing in his head and flashes in his vision.  There was a hot burning pain in his side, and suddenly he realised he'd been stabbed.

Then the old bastard nutted McCurdy, smashing his forehead into McCurdy's face and nearly breaking his nose, and kicked himself free.  A small knife was in Ringrose's hand, blood dripping from it, and McCurdy's left side was a riot of agony.  Only when a howl of battle came across the clearing, and Hornsby was charging forward with drawn sword, did the old man break off the battle, rolling to his feet against this new threat.  The things encroaching on the path were the least of his worries though !

(Brother Clary: still need that d100 roll please)

Hawksmoore was apparently out cold, Liza was immobilized, and now McCurdy might be seriously injured. Marianne's glare at Basil as he got to his feet, blood dripping from his knife, was positively murderous. She hurried to Hawksmoore's side to see what shape he was in and if he had weapons on him that they could use.

McCurdy growled at the pain. He tried to blink his eyes clear, but the pain at the bridge of his nose effectively shut his eyes like a trap closing on a bear’s leg. He slapped a hand on his side, feeling the hot, stickiness of his own blood and growled some more. Then the pain from his groin burned through him worse than all of the rest. He yelled then; yelled as loud as he could. A deep, guttural roar to clear his head and force his body to quit crying like a spayed calf; to get up, pull his gun, and shoot the son-of-a-bitch!

"Land sakes, woman," the preacher growled, half to himself.  "I cain't help it if I'm tryin' to get everybody down this path and nobody wants to listen.  It's worse than sheep -- it's like herdin' a mess o' wet cats!"

Even still, he moved to where he could get a better angle on the large man wrestling with McCurdy.  When the two separated, with McCurdy villainously stabbed, Brother Clary looked first at the PI, then at the big man with the knife.  "Aw, now you shouldn't-a gone and done that," he said raising his shotgun.  Calmly levering a shell into the chamber, he said "You need to apologize to Mr. McCurdy.  And I want my cross and Bible back."

Brother Clary brought his shotgun to bear as McCurdy levelled a shaking gun on Basil Ringrose.  Marianne wrested the ugly machete from Hawksmoore's tight grasp and turned toward them, with Liza simply standing there like a mannequin.

"Not today, preacher," sneered Basil Ringrose, seizing the scruff of his unconscious henchman's canvas shirt in his free hand.  He was easily able to drag Carson along.  Brother Clary's shotgun boomed again, sending the wraiths and monsters skittering back, knocking Ringrose backwards off the path - and McCurdy's pistol barked, spinning the man and sending him into a heap of shadows and muck, and the two assailants were quickly covered over by the creatures of the darkness, to the chittering, howling glee of the nightmares of the dead.
Hornsby stopped by McCurdy, swore horrifically at the sight of the wound, and then said, in a voice of command, "Let's go."  He offered McCurdy a shoulder to lean on, and then shouted at the stirring Hawksmoore.  "BOY - MOVE YER ARSE !"

Hawksmoore scrambled to his feet, shaking his head, and stumbled onwards.  Liza had to be pulled along; it was as if she was unable to do anything for herself, but went where she was led.  Hornsby assisted McCurdy and proved to be another tough old man. "Sad part is, that won't kill him," Hornsby muttered, mostly to himself, then seemed to consider McCurdy's problem. "Patch you right up, mate...but not here.  Not now."  He practically marched McCurdy along the path. glaring at Hawksmoore, who did not argue but scurried ahead.

Bounding after them was the lizard-squirrel, in its funny lolloping gallop.

  Something rolled from the horrible shadows, fetching up along Brother Clary's foot; something roundish and dark brown, half-covered with grey-green moss.

McCurdy leaned into Hornsby for balance, trying not to put too much of his weight on him; he wasn’t very heavy, but he didn't want to risk a stumble anyway. He'd been cut before but never stabbed. He'd been shot before, but never stabbed. It was a different kind of pain altogether. He just hoped the knife hadn't hit anything vital. The look on Hornsby’s face made him think otherwise though. The image of Ringrose burned into his mind and he held it there. That was one face he would never forget. Ever. Ringrose was a dead man, immortal or not.

"That might not kill him," McCurdy hissed through gritting teeth to Hornsby. "It might not, but he is going to die. I’ll see to it. If'n I'da got my hands on him then he'd be crawlin' around with these ghosts right now. Crawlin' around lookin' for his head!"

It all happened so fast. One moment Basil was sitting on her couch, a cup of tea in one hand and that damned book in the other. The next moment, he had disappeared into the hungry, waiting shadows. As gleeful cries arose from the creatures, Marianne turned away, shocked and sickened by Basil's death and the manner in which it had come about. So it was with relief that she heard Hornsby tell McCurdy that Basil probably wasn't dead.

"You really think he's alive?" she confirmed anxiously, looking back to where her erstwhile companion had been just moments ago. "But those - those ghosts... He fell right into them." She knew they weren't out of the woods yet and moved quickly along the path, grasping the machete tightly in one hand for moral support and helping Liza with the other.

Brother Clary watched warily as the others began their trek down the path.  He kept his still-smoking shotgun ready for anything else that might jump out at them.  The grim sight of that Ringrose character being blasted off the path and carried away was not one he would forget.  Nor were the words of Hornsby confidently explaining that even still he would be coming back.

He fully planned to take the reargurd, but then, he felt something nudge his leg.  At first, he thought it was another critter like McCurdy's new 'pet.'  As he looked, he saw it was something inanimate, and something...old.  He looked up, as if he were listening to something, and then bent down to pick up the small, round object.  He looked at it for a moment, and then followed the patchwork group of adventurers he found himself a part of.

Brother Clary picked up the thing, noting its weight - it was hollow - and the soft moss that was growing on it.  It was indeed a skull, the bone a dark mottled brown from age, the jawbone missing, and the few teeth left in the upper jaw also stained dark with age.  He kept to the back, but none of the horrors were following them.  The path merely showed more dark jungle.

McCurdy's each step was painful, and stars were dancing in his vision as blood continued to leak from the wound.  Hornsby proved to be a tough old man, easily able to help him stand and walk, at least for a while.  "Ah, then, dinna fash y'self so," he said, trying to sound soothing, but there was a worried edge to his voice.  The squirrel creature stopped to sniff at a splash of blood on the path, then trotted after McCurdy.

Liza Waters was merely stumbling along, without any will of her own, going where Marianne pulled her.  She had not spoken since the battle.

"Alive ?  Aye, when his lwa was there !"  Hawksmoore snapped, retrieving a machete from Hornsby since Marianne had appropriated his (and he did not ask for it back, she noted).  "Didst not see the rooster ?"  He hacked at the greenery blocking the path as if he had a great grudge against it, and was scowling evilly as he went.  Marianne had another sense; that when Hawksmoore was worried, he got...nastier.  Then the young man stumbled and fell, clutching his side, and swore horribly, starting with Satan's bollocks and ending much worse.

"That's it, s'truth," Hornsby said, now panting with the effort of keeping McCurdy up on his feet.  "We'll have to stop along the path and see to the bloke here, and thou needst respite as well.  Bastian, canst aid me ?"

McCurdy could barely move his own feet. He was losing too much blood; he could feel it. “Put me down,” he said. “Let me go. I need to plug this hole.” He grimaced as a shot of pain sliced through him worse than the first time.

Marianne helped Liza to a corner to rest for a while, and looked on worriedly as McCurdy struggled to put one foot ahead of another. The situation was grim. As Hornsby and Hawksmoore worked to patch up the P.I, Marianne kept her eyes open for trouble. She paused briefly to scoop up the squirrelly thing and find some fruit to give the brave little creature that had saved her from Basil's clutches.

At McCurdy's demand to be set down, Hornsby obeyed, laying the man gently down on the thick loam of the path.  "Smartly, lad," Hornsby said to Hawksmoore, who indeed hurried along to McCurdy's side.  They peeled back the shirt and then looked at each other, as if both coming to the same conclusion, which was not a good one.

Liza Waters stopped when Marianne stopped leading her, and sat down when pushed to do so.  She had not lost the blank look in her eyes, and had not spoken.

The little strange beast allowed itself to be picked up and flopped in Marianne's grasp, unafraid of her, but there was no fruit to be found here.  The greenery seemed thick and dark, and what light there was gave it a strange twilight glow.  Something flittered across the path, moving like a bat, but uttering a screetchy cry more like a hawk.  Its ears perked up, then subsided, and the big jewel-like eyes were watching McCurdy.

Brother McCurdy saw nothing following them, but did hear...or rather feel...a vibration in the ground.  Then a few heartbeats later, another one, as if something very large was moving along at a slow pace, not far away...just in the shadows, to the left.

"Look'ee," Hornsby addressed McCurdy, "Y're hurt in a bad spot.  Maylike we can heal ye, but ye must have faith that we can do, or twill be useless.  Do ye trust us ?"

McCurdy just looked at him. He was beyond reason now. The things he had seen in the past few days...

He nodded at Hornsby, his thoughts reflected in his pained, grey eyes. He would believe anything about now... even the old pirate’s voodoo...

As Hornsby and Hawsmoore commenced their magic, Marianne returned to sit by Liza, holding the creature close and running her fingers through the soft fur. The older woman showed no signs that she was even conscious of what was happening around her and the glazed look in Liza's eyes was even more alarming than McCurdy's injury. "Liza," Marianne called and gently shook her, trying catching her attention.

While the others were variously preoccupied, Hornsby and Hawksmoore with McCurdy, Marianne with Liza, Brother Clary took a position where we could keep watch over the group, shotgun at the ready.

He looked over the group, silently aching for these folks who were not quite friends, and yet certainly not quite strangers after all that they had been through.

He added his own whispered prayers.

Marianne tried to speak to Liza, but the woman was unresponsive.  She just stared blankly off into space, awake but completely unaware, and uncaring of her circumstances.  It was very strange.  The little lizard-squirrel was a warm, soft weight in Marianne's arms, the large eyes taking in everything, but settled in apparent contentment.

Brother Clary prayed, keeping watch on the dark shadows that obscured the way that they had come from.  It was well he did this, for there was someone coming along the path - he could hear something moving, stealthy footsteps.

Jack McCurdy gave up a nod, and relinquished himself to a hope he had never imagined he might be holding.  The two pirates quickly got to work.  Hornsby rummaged into his belt pouch, pulling out a dull silvery stone and laying it on McCurdy's head, and took out a tiny bag of white dust and sprinkled it liberally on the site of the wound.  Hawksmoore pulled out a knife, well-honed and old, and sliced open his own hand, then clenched the fist over the cut and let the blood drip onto McCurdy's puncture wound.  They were humming, singing perhaps, in low voices, words that made no sense.  As he watched, the pain and loss of blood rendering him weak and dizzy, the blood from Hawksmoore's hand became clear, clear as water.  A blazing cold ripped through his body, and he had the sensation of floating in icy water, with singing all around him, voices of many pitches, in many tongues, but all in one rhythm...he even heard Brother Clary's voice, in prayer, among them.  Then, as his lungs demanded he get to the surface and breathe, he took in a deep breath.  The pain had gone away, leaving only a fading ache, and though he felt tired, he knew he would be all right.

"Pardners,"  Brother Clary spoke softly, when he heard McCurdy's breathing become more or less regular again.  "It sounds like me might have some company..."  He never took his eyes off the path and calmly levered another shell into the chamber.

McCurdy tried to raise his head to see what Clary was talking about, but he could barely hold it for a few seconds even though he could feel the urgency in the padre’s voice. He blinked and rolled his eyes around, slowly rocking his head from side to side trying to force the dizziness away. Whatever it was they had done, it had been something powerful. He could still feel it lingering.

He flopped one arm onto his chest as if he couldn’t control it, but when he lifted it again, he had one of his pistols in his hand. “Hep me up,” he groaned, still blinking the cobwebs from his head. “Hep me up,” he repeated as he rolled to his side, struggling through the fatigue to his feet. The exhaustion was leaving him at every flex of a muscle...

Marianne watched intently as the two men worked their magic, taking careful note of what they did. At Brother Clary's warning, she carefully deposited the little creature on  Liza's shoulder and stood up, her machete at the ready. She had had quite enough of this for one day, and the next person who attempted to get within a few feet of her would make an excellent target for her frustration.

Hornsby stood and offered his hand to McCurdy, hauling the detective to his feet.  Stars danced in McCurdy's vision, but his feet stayed under him, and when he blinked a few times, the stars cleared.  A patch of blood on his clothes showed where the wound had been; the wound itself was a white, puckered scar.

The squirrel-beast flopped on Liza's shoulder, then decided to bat at her earring, which sparkled in an intriguing way for the animal.  There was no response from Liza.  Marianne stood, machete in hand, ready for battle.

The walking figure resolved itself into a slim figure swinging a machete at the greenery.  It was man, dressed in leather trousers, a leather vest, and a heavy canvas shirt, ripped on one sleeve, and tall leather boots.  He had long hair, a golden brown, and alert blue eyes.  He paused, free hand automatically drifting towards the Thompson sub-machine gun slung over his shoulder, but did not make any further moves as Brother Clary gestured with the shotgun.

"You do realise you're standing on the Path," the man said, in English accented strangely, the cadence suggesting he was not used to speaking it.  Perhaps French.  "I have no quarrel with you, I wish to move past."

Hornsby's eyes had narrowed with suspicion. "Don't know who you are, boy-o."
"I was not aware I needed to introduce myself to a pirate," the man replied, with a touch of ire, and sounding much more French in origin.  But he turned to address Marianne.  "Enchante, Mademoiselle," and swept a bow so very courtly, it could not have come from this century.

McCurdy raised his 45 and put it right level with the man's heart. "Well, I ain't no pirate, pretty boy. How about you answer the man. I ain't in no mood and I'm feelin' the need to kill somebody." McCurdy was still pale and he looked fragile as a kitten about then, but his eyes were burning blue steel and his hand was as steady as a rock. He certainly didn't look like he was joking.

"Enchante, Monsieur," Marianne replied with a smile, quite charmed by the courtly, old-world gesture. All the same, she didn't seem to be in a hurry to relinquish her machete.

"You understand, we must be careful," she said, looking distastefully at McCurdy, who seemed hell-bent on killing someone today. "Whose company do we have the pleasure of?"

"Oh...an American," the Frenchman said, with a disdainful sniff at McCurdy, though he seemed warm enough towards Marianne. "Very well, I will attempt to bring civilisation to you.  You may call me Jean-Pierre de Veine.  What, may I ask, are you doing with two English pirates ?"

McCurdy didn’t move his gun. “You seem to know who these fella’s are... How so?”

"I wouldn't have the Spanish one," Marianne replied with a grin. "You seem to have traveled this path many times before, Monsieur?" she asked curiously.

Brother Clary stands, shotgun at the ready, watching against any false move.  He is content to let others do the negotiating.  The black-clad preacher has no taste for killing another person, but will not hesitate to protect these folks he has thrown his lot in with.

The Frenchman smiled at Marianne.  "As well you know, milady," he replied, in courteous tones, and was going to reply to McCurdy when Hornsby interrupted.

"'e's just a bloody Frog, son-of-somebody bleedin' thing." said the old pirate sourly, though Hawksmoore said nothing.  "But this is the Path, and we have here what is termed 'neutral waters'.  Belay the weapons.  Let Bad-Luck Jean go by."

"It can be said in the long past that I have had the better of you, Capitan Hornsby...is that not the name you use now ?" the Frenchman responded archly. "At least I can walk the Path alone, without my cabin-boy and my admirers."  The alert eyes riffled over Brother Clary, and the Frenchman smirked. "Quite the entourage you have assembled."

"And how do you two know each other?" Marianne asked carefully, looking from the Captain to the Frenchman.

McCurdy didn't take his eyes from the frenchman, but he did lower his pistol. Of course, it remained in his hand, but at least it wasn't pointing at the stranger any longer.

Brother Clary followed McCurdy's lead, lowering the shotgun, but maintaining a 'ready' position while he silently eyed the stranger through narrowed eyes.

Hornsby shrugged.  "When one of us is done nigh to death, we are reborn sommat different," he said. "Go on, Lafitte, hope you enjoyed yer little jest.  Pirates indeed, as if you were one to talk !"

"Oh, come now, it was very amusing to tease you," the Frenchman responded, with an impish grin.  "The lady, I can understand her in your company, she is a lovely creature to look upon, is she not, with the hair of flame ?  And spirit to match, I am sure.  The American, well, they get everywhere, what can one do, I found that out well enough. The man of God, I am hoping he has the Cross, for I saw trouble preceed us on the path.  The xombie, I am puzzled."  He quirked an eyebrow at the silent Liza.

"Ringrose got her, methinks," Hornsby said, with Hawksmoore's silent scowl in affirmation.
"Then you must hope to find her soul, before the sun rises," the Frenchman said, with a sad smile. "I would bargain for it from him, but I have nothing he wants, except for my head on a spike.  And that is terribly ----"

He was interrupted by a loud rasping cough.  The effect on the pirates was electric - they bristled with weapons.  A twig snapped to the west and Hornsby yelped, "RUN !"

Bursting from the darkness of the jungle were lean and dreadful shapes, running on two legs - greater than the height of a man.  They ran like predators, and sharp teeth glittered in massive pointed jaws.

Following the pirates' lead, Brother Clary transferred his shotgun to one hand and sprinted up to McCurdy, Marianne, and Liza, urging them to follow.  As he ran he chanced a look over his shoulder in order to get another view of what had terrorized these hardened, worldly men.

Marianne rolled her eyes at the Frenchman's jest and his compliment, but his words about Liza alarmed her. She was about to question him about it further, when the pirates snapped to attention as one, and began running.

Even the short time she had spent in this jungle had taught Marianne to run first and ask questions later. She hefted her machete over her shoulder and ran for her life, dragging Liza along behind her.

"God, I'm tired of running!" McCurdy actually hesitated for an instant, debating whether to try to stand his ground with his two pistols, but he gave in to what little rational mind he had and started after the others, ensuring Liza was capable of going as well as the little lizard-minx...

Marianne had to seize onto Liza's hands and drag the woman along.  The lizard-squirrel squeaked in alarm and leapt onto McCurdy's shoulders, slapping him in the face with the half-fluffy, half-scaly tail, its claws digging into his shirt and hide.   The two of them hurried after the pirates, who were running for all they were worth.  Save one; Hawksmoore paused on the edge of the path, letting the others go past him.

Brother Clary saw the creatures hunting them, running along the path, teeth and eyes gleaming in the twilight.  They were monsters of a lean and hungry make, with claws on small forearms and more on their large feet.  Their hides were scaly, patterned with stripes in gold and green, enough to render them well-hidden in such a venue as the jungle.  As the one he did not see lunged towards him from the side, he heard a loud thumping sound; it bowled over, hissing like a teakettle and flailing its small arms and long legs, having been victim to a flying kick from Hawksmoore.

"Shoot the big one !"  Hawksmoore said, hacking at the snapping jaws with the machete and managing to cut the thing's nose.  There was little time to aim...but they all looked huge.  Brother Clary was forced to settle on the next one rushing towards them, firing the shotgun at its vicious-toothed face, and then there was a sudden stampede at about knee-level.  A huge number of the little green chicken-like things were flooding the path, and the much larger predators didn't know what to do first - but settled on snapping at the easily available food, the stuff that didn't put up a fight.   Hawksmoore again kicked the downed one that wanted to bag a preacher for dessert, and the two men ran off down the path, following the rest of the party at top speed.

The path shifted again; as Hornsby and Lafitte rushed onwards, the heavy loam became sand, then gravel, then set stones, in a zigzag pattern of red and white, and the jungle receeded, the sunlight coming through the heavy greenery at last.  The path led into a courtyard of paved stones, set in a pattern like the sun, and at the centre of it was a small fountain, with bristly-looking dull green bushes growing around it.

Marianne came to a stop, trying to catch her breath. Liza was a lot heavier than she looked. She looked around, first with relief and then with growing interest.

"Is... that... the fountain?" she gasped.

Coming out of the jungle, face-to-face with this area that was so obviously a sacred shrine of some sort, Brother Clary slowed his pace and looked around at the sights, trying to absorb it all.

He finally settled on the fountain, and began a slow walk toward it, lowering his shotgun and holding it in one hand.  The other hand he reached into his jacket to pull out the skull that had come to him so mysteriously only a few moments earlier.

McCurdy burst into the sunlight and immediately squinted against the brightness. Slowing but not stopping, he darted to the left side of the courtyard, spinning as he did so, his back to the fountain, his pistols pointing back toward the wall of jungle. He was conscious of the lizard-squirrel but thought it would be less of a distraction than if the dinosaurs came roaring out of the jungle. He slowed to a backward walk, pistols still leveled at the wall of green and waited. Nobody wass running any longer so this was Last Stand Hill, he told himself as a queer thought flashed through his mind.

Why was he thinking of Zane Grey at a time like this...

"Careful - sometimes it is not what it seems," Hornsby said, and indeed, all three of the pirates were looking around very suspiciously.  And then, suddenly, it was as if they had turned to stone, then mist, blowing away into a sudden sharp cold breeze that carried with it the smell of glaciers.

The three travellers heard only the muttering splash of the small fountain, and the pitter-patter of the small claws on the lizard squirrel after it leapt to the stones and trotted around, pausing to widdle on one of the trees.  The light here was strange; it was impossible to tell if it was early morning, or sometime late in the day, when the sun had an angle that made perception difficult.  The dark jungle behind them seemed far away, somehow recessed, and shrouded in shadows and fog.

Something was rustling in Brother Clary's pack...

At the suddent disappearance of the pirates, Brother Clary started toward where they had just been standing a moment ago.  "Tarnation!" was all he could manage to sputter.

Just then, he looked round over his shoulder at his pack.  Easing off his body and down onto the ground, he stepped back a few paces.  With the barrel of his shotgun, he began to prod at the opening, attempting to loosen the fastenings.

Not looking at the others, he nonetheless murmured, "You folks might want to git ready fer a little more action..."

McCurdy groaned as the pirates disappeared, leaving them alone in this strange, mystical place. That was all that came out of his open mouth as she stood frozen, mild shock stilling him. If it had been the first miracle he had ever seen recently, he most likely would have been gawking more appropriately, but after what he had been through, he was beginning to feel numb to it all.

If not for Brother Clary, he might have remained in his daze. His eyes cut to the preacher and then his pack lying on the ground. He broke free of the ice holding his legs and walked over to the fumbling bag as if it was just another part of the weird day. “Don’t clip me off at the knees,” he quipped to the preacher as he casually reached down for the pack. With a pistol in one hand, he aimed at the pack, reached down with his other and undid the straps. Then he lifted it by the bottom to dump the contents onto the ground as if he didn’t care that it might have been full of the chicken lizards...

Apparently this wasn't anywhere near the fountain. In fact, if she recalled correctly, this was probably Hawksmoore's hell. Marianne scowled. How like a group of pirates to abandon them like this. She steeled herself for whatever horror of the jungle might have gotten itself into the preacher's bag.

A cool breeze rippled the tops of the trees, and ruffled their hair and clothes. The pirates were gone, as if they were never there.  The little lizard-squirrel scampered over to McCurdy's boot and sat on it, clinging to his ankle as if debating this as a mode of transport, or possible dinner.  Brother Clary and McCurdy went into the preacher's pack, and found that the old brown skull was actually squirming, as if trying to get out of the pack.  Once it faced the open air, the eye sockets blazed with a cool blue light.

From the wind, as it blew over the skull, came a hoarse whisper, English with a Spanish accent.  "You are in great peril !  Take me.  Throw me at the fountain !  And pray !"

And, as Marianne watched the tableau, of the two men and the talking skull, bony fingers wrapped around her neck.  Liza Waters, her eyes blank as death, was trying to throttle her !

Brother Clary looked down at the skull and then back to McCurdy.  When the PI's eye's met his, he he growled, "Go help Miss Trevors.  I'll take care of this!"

At this, he wheeled around and sprinted toward the fountain, the animated skull in his right hand, shotgun in his left.

McCurdy was already moving before Clary even finished. Without a thought for the fountain or the skull or the furry gecko, he was charging to help Marianne, the only thoughts running through his mind was that he wished he wasn't right all the time.

The detective scrambled to grab Liza from behind in a close hug, his hands grabbing her wrists and pulling...

McCurdy rushed to tussle with the strangely silent and deadly Liza Waters, grappling with the lady to try to prise her hands from Marianne's throat.  It was a struggle - the old lady was tougher than she looked, and Marianne was clearly choking.

Brother Clary rushed to the fountain, to dash the skull into it.  As soon as it hit, he saw, very clearly, that they were on the edge of a swamp, and the fountain was actually a bubbling pit of tar that would have meant their doom. The skull splashed down into the tar and the rest of the illusion was gone - and one of the very big lizards, taller than a three-storey building, was peering at them as if trying to figure out which one would be tastiest, first.  Its mouth was a study in ivory knives, though its forelegs were ridiculously small, waving in the air.  It was the long whiplike tail and the heavy hindlegs that it stood on that was the business part - that and the jawful of teeth.

McCurdy, spinning around as he wrestled, also saw this monstrosity.  They were indeed in grave peril.

The Texas preacher looked up in a horrified stupor for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only probably a handful of seconds.  "God help us all," he muttered, then tried to move to a position between the beast and the other three, all the while levering another shell into the chamber.  'Number four,' he thought to himself, noting that a long battle would requre him to reload at some point.

"McCurdy!" He shouted over his shoulder, never thaking his eyes off the monstrosity.  "How're ya doin'?  You're gonna have to git them outta here, pronto!"  He moved his shotgun into a position to fire as close to the gaping jaws as possible.

McCurdy let loose with a string of expletives that would most likely have made Marianne blush if she wasn't already turning red. Time was up!

With boxing speed, he jabbed a punch at Liza to knock her out and yelled at Brother Clary to put the tar pit between him and the dinosaur. Which is what he intended to do if he had any luck...

McCurdy swung at Liza, who didn't bat an eye as his fist connected with her dainty little jaw.  But the blow was enough to knock her loose from Marianne, and reel away, to collapse on the ground.

Both of the men were yelling, causing a momentary confusion in the giant predator, who gnashed its teeth and responded with a gut-shaking, carrion-breath roar of its own.  The little lizard-squirrel's hair was puffed out and it was chittering, but it quickly lost its nerve and clambered up onto McCurdy again, to hide inside his shirt.

Brother Clary fired right into the toothy maw of the monster, provoking a bellow, the creature shaking its head and spattering blood all over them.  It  gave them enough time to haul the gasping Marianne along, trying to skirt the tar pit and put some distance between them.  The ground was swampy, making running near impossible...but for a heavier creature, such as the monster starting after them, it was even worse footing.  The giant beast foundered at its first step, nearly toppling over.  And all the adventurers could see before them was more swamp...tricky terrain, stretches of black mud of unknown depths, and darkness.

GM:  Anyone trying to rescue Liza ?

Brother Clary shoved the staring, unresponsive Liza ahead of him and behind McCurdy and Marianne.  As he ran, he began to reload his shotgun.  'That was close,' he thought.  'Down to only two shells left.  Don't think I woulda had time...'

Letting McCurdy and Marianne take the lead, he moved Liza along, dividing his attention between her and their rear, to make sure they weren't being followed.



Me:  How's that?

Much as she wanted to just collapse and gulp in lungfuls of sweet air, through slightly blurry vision Marianne could make out the jawful of teeth with no problem. Pirates! If she had had to do this every forty years for centuries, she would certainly have found another way by now.

She stumbled along with the others, careful to stay well away from Liza and on the path, looking around for some indication of which direction they were supposed to go. Surrounded by mud, monsters, darkness and the stench of tar, how exactly was this supposed to be like heaven?

McCurdy pulled one pistol, but held off firing, favoring the option of running at the moment. It looked like he was the last to go so he put himself on the other side of the pit of tar, hoping carrion-breath would be stupid enough to try to run through it. Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't.

McCurdy wasn't going to hang around to watch though. He was content to look over his shoulder as he ran for whatever it was they could run for...

Brother Clary dragged Liza along by the scruff of her dress, noting that impassivity of the woman's face.  She went, without complaint, and did not seem to be after Marianne anymore, or indeed aware of anything in particular.

The creature huffed at them, but backed off of the muck they were picking their way through.  Oddly enough, they noticed it had long dark stripes along its sides, in a pattern not unlike a tiger's, though its base colour was a reddish brown and the whole of it was scaly.  Then it picked up its head, looking to each side of the tar, and then ran off towards the left side, apparently going to try to cut them off on the other side.  It ran swift and sure as a bird, despite its great size, and the heavy footfalls shook the earth.

McCurdy hurried along, hopping from tussock to tussock, along with Marianne. It seemed all too easy to trip, or to make a fatal misstep, and he was not helped in his efforts thanks to the lizard-squirrel, who was struggling to get out of the shirt now.  Finally a button near his belly popped off, and the little animal stuck its head out, then bounded to the ground, such as it was.

It bounced ahead, strangely scaley and bristled tail flopping, and then sat down, looking back at them.  Then it leapt again, to another patch of grass, and sat down again, looking back.  It seemed to be leading them.

McCurdy's scaly little friend had saved her life so Marianne duly followed it, testing the ground underneath her foot and finding it firm. "Coming?" she asked McCurdy cheerfully.

McCurdy puddled along behind them all, glancing at Marianne once before concentrating on his footfalls. He looked ahead now and again to see if he could discern a pattern or path through the muck. All the while he tried to keep an eye on the tiger-striped dinosaur and the other on the ground.

"I reckon I'm hereabouts somewhere..."

Following the group, Brother Clary picked his way along the trail blazed by the squirrel-thing.  "Right behind you..."

The strange lizard-squirrel hopped along from tussock to tussock, apparently able to find sure footing in the muck and mire.  The humans, less agile and of heavier weight, found the footing a little less than desirable, but nonetheless they were making their way through the mess safely.

Then something in the thick ferns on the other side brayed loudly, like a very large basso donkey, and they saw a heavy thrashing in the ferns, as if something large was there.  Bursting from the ferns, straight into the mud and slime, were heavy-bodied things like green cows, their faces flared out at the ends into large dish-shaped bony structures, which were punctuated by several thick, slightly curving horns.  They had beaks and small yellow eyes, and were in a real panic, no doubt because something nasty had just arrived at the end of the swamp - the eyes were flashing and the beaks snapping.  Two of them immediately floundered into the mire and squalled in panic, while the rest of the small herd - two small creatures the size of donkeys and the others large as buffalo - tromped along, flailing horny feet, horns, and beaks in their haste to move along.  This wasn't so good for the three adventurers, who were directly in their path.  Their guide, the little squirrel-thing, screeched and bristled up.

GM: everyone - roll a d20 on the dieroller !

Marianne had just been waiting for the other shoe to drop, determined that next time she was being chased by some monster she would be ready. She quickly tried to dodge to avoid being trampled by the incoming traffic.

"Stampede!" shouted Brother Clary, who tried to follow Marianne's lead and sidestep the frightened "animals" as much as was safely possible.

McCurdy cursed as he veered and grabbed Liza into his arms, hurling her frail weight over his shoulder as he cut a line out of the path of the stampede...

With the skill of seasoned adventurers, the three neatly sidestep the stampeding lizard-cows, who flounder their way across the swamp, losing three of their ilk in the process.  One of the smaller ones managed to free itself, and ran bawling after the small herd.  The lizard squirrel, spattered with mud from their passage, sat down on a flare of swamp grass and commenced to wash its fur and scales with fussy little paws and tongue.

There was no sound from the other side of the swamp - none at all.  No birds twittering, nothing....

Then - the crack of gunfire, and the bellow of a big creature.  McCurdy instantly recognized the sound of a M1911a being fired, and the sound of a much bigger firearm, even as his body was used as a tree and climbed up once again by a frightened lizard-squirrel.  The trees at the edge thrashed, and they caught a glimpse of the big hunter flailing among them, the jaws snapping.  Then another loud bang, from a big firearm, and a heavy thud and shaking lower in the trees, the smaller ones flattened and broken by the impact - the big creature had fallen, and was struggling to get up, despite a huge dripping red wound in its side.

Bursting from the treeline, clutching cutlass and a handgun, was a bloody, tattered Sebastian Hawksmoore.  He dodged the jaws of the monster as it reached for him, leapt like a gazelle and impaled the very eye of the beast with his cutlass, then jumped and rolled away, as the creature thrashed some more, splintering trees and sending up gouts of mud and earth.  Coming behind him was an equally tattered Hornsby, firing a flintlock pistol at the monster's bare belly.  The two pirates hurried away to reload and get their bearings, but the creature seemed to be in dire straits now, and unable to render any attacks.  Both the pirates then turned to each other with matching grins, then looked at the swamp, where the three adventurers were standing.  "Capitol !"  Hornsby said, with a whoop, "We found you !"

McCurdy held on to Liza as if she was a porcelain doll he was afraid to drop on a hard, stone floor. He stood stock still, amazed at what he was watching. And numbed by it all.

"Capitol... indeed..." McCurdy blew the fur of the lizard-squirrel's tail out from in front of his mouth and concentrated on not trying to rub his nose with his hands full. He looked at Liza in his arms and wondered what had happened to her...

Brother Clary exhaled, as if he had been holding a deep breath for an excruciatingly long time.  "Praise God!" he murmured.  Then, looking up at McCurdy and Liza, he asked "Fellers, I've seen the skill you showed on ol' McCurdy here.  Anything you can do for the lady?  She's got some powerful spell over her."

Liza Waters stared vapidly off into space, unaware of anything, mud splatters from the passing stampede standing out on her pale blue dress.  She had lost a sandal in their run through the swamp, also.  The scaly squirrel clung to McCurdy's ear, claws prickling, and sneezed noisily.

Brother Clary directed the two ragtag pirates to Liza Waters.  "The Mapmaker put a powerful 'fluence upon her," Hornsby said, his jovial tone turning serious. Hawksmoore's face, never one where a smile stayed long, lapsed into its familiar sullen scowl.  "But we're closer now, though that devil blew us far enough away and into dire straits.  Let's be going...the answer may lay at the fountain, for her and for us.  If she's been dosed with the xombie powder, it may be her only chance, and a slim one at that."
"Wait," Hawksmoore said. "They must know that nothing can be what it seems here, and they must be suspicious of us as well.  Query us, to learn if we truly are Hawksmoore and Hornsby - and we wilt do the same.  McCurdy, where did I first see thee ?"

McCurdy looked at Hawksmoore directly, Liza forgotten for the moment. "Shadows and illusion is it now? What's next? A passel of gremlins ridin a pink elephant...?" He blew out his breath in a huff and looked quite irritated. Still...

"Perfection general store," he answered, "Now I got one for you: What was the name of the woman runnin' that store?"

"Twas Chang - a man." Hawksmoore replied, with some sense of satisfaction.  "I hight you are as you seem."

"Let's be off then - tis time and time passing," Hornsby said impatiently.

"To everything there is a season..." Brother Clary muttered.  Then he shouldered his shotgun and followed the others.

"And I reckon that's why we are in this mess," McCurdy said flatly in response to Clary's quip. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his short hair. It was getting too long, he realized, despite the fact that it was barely half an inch long. He stopped rubbing his head as he touched fur. He turned his head to look at the scaly squirrel as if realizing it was still with him. It chirped as it pointed an eye at him. He held it apart from him for a moment, studying it. It looked foreign to him for some reason, of a sudden.

"You still here too, eh..." He set the little thing on his shoulder and let it go to see where it wanted to be. "Shoulda never stepped outta yur hole - or whatever it is you live in. Yur along for the long haul now, I reckon." He suddenly wondered if it could be trained and immediately dismissed the idea. No use getting attached to anything from this dream.

McCurdy looked around at Hornsby and Hawksmoore, motioning that he was ready to move on. "Any other surprises we can expect in this fairy tale, Hawksmoore? What do we have to look forward to now...?"

The lizard-squirrel responded with a merry chirrup and again stuck its wet, cold little nose into McCurdy's ear.  It seemed happy to loll around his shoulders like a strange stole.

Hornsby bristled as McCurdy directed his query at Hawksmoore, but since Hawksmoore was standing in front of Hornsby, the youth did not notice this.  The cool, calculating look returned to Hawksmoore's flinty eyes. "The Mapmaker knows his path, and has tested us the once," he said thoughtfully, "There may well be more trials yet today.  Be chary of your trust, McCurdy, give it not away easily.  There are demons here, tis dangerous for you without the Cross."

Without ado, he turned, and so did Hornsby, but they started to move off in slightly different directions.  "This way," snapped Hornsby, as Hawksmoore paused to look askance.

McCurdy looked from the one to the other, wondering exactly who knew which way to go. Demons again, he thought. That's all we need...

He adjusted the tail of the squirrel away from his nose and followed after.

Brother Clary tipped his hat back and regarded the two pirates for a moment.  "If'n we're gonna be facin' more demons, don't you think we might want to have it settled which way we're headed?"

Secretly, he was still fuming with himself over the loss of the cross and his Bible.

Hawksmoore's face betrayed only the smallest bit of surprise; then he turned on Hornsby and drew his cutlass, in a smooth move that he must have done a thousand times in his long life.  Hornsby backpedalled quickly, raising his hands and barking, "Belay that, boy !"

"I lost sight of you whilst lost in the jungle," Hawksmoore said, advancing on Hornsby. "Tell me why I am named Hawksmoore, Captain - or I will take your head."

And, just as fast, Hornsby drew a Luger and fired at Hawksmoore, sending the youth spinning back.

OOC: Marianne seems to have gone missing, so I will gently NPC her along next post.

Stunned at the sight of the two pirates squaring off at each other, and Hornsby's fast-draw on Hawksmore, the black-clad preacher raised his shotgun, smoothly levering a shell into the chamber.

"Brother," he drawled at Hornsby, "Last I checked, Demons don't need no pistols.  Mind tellin' me what's goin' on around here?"

McCurdy wasn't a preacher so he didn't have the patience to try to figure out what a person was thinking at any particular moment when guns were drawn. He quickly drew his own pistol and laid into Hornsby with .45 caliber slugs...

Hornsby had merely turned and fired at the two adventurers, while Hawksmoore was struggling to get to his feet.  Marianne yelped in surprise as once again, the dull-eyed Liza Waters once again was trying to throttle her.

McCurdy fired on Hornsby, trying to put some bullets into him.  The first nicked the pirate's arm, the second slammed solidly into the pirate's chest, knocking him down, and the third missed, and Brother Clary raised the shotgun with intent to fire.  The form of Hornsby flickered then; and became someone else.  The little creature was chittering on his shoulder, claws digging in to maintain its balance.

It was the shooter, from the boat on the river that Brother Clary had seen kill Billie, the one who was Basil Ringrose's right-hand-man.  He was clutching his chest and gasping, unable to bring the Luger to bear on anyone.

"McCurdy!  See to Marianne!"

Running up to the fallen murderer, Brother Clary kicks the luger as far away as he can.  Holding the still-cocked shotgun close by ready to use if necessary, he looks at his fallen enemy.

"Brother, it looks like you've got little time left.  How 'bout unburdening your soul right now afore'n you go to meet your Maker?  Tell me where to find the Cross and my Bible!"

McCurdy kept his gun trained on the doppleganger for a few more seconds. He wasn't quite sure the man was intent on dying here today. He hoped the preacher didn't underestimate him. He would hate to see the bible-thumper cut down like a dead oak in a tornado.

McCurdy finally let his attention move to Liza and Marianne. He put his pistol away and slid an arm between the two, facing Liza as he did so. Then he reached toward the sky with that arm and wrapped it around and down as he pivoted a half turn. Liza would have to let go. There was no two ways around it when an arm lock like this was applied. It was the best way to break a choke hold. Besides, he wasn't sure if she could stand another blow to her head like before.

He clamped his arm down over hers and tightened his hold by applying pressure with his other hand, pulling on the arm that held hers fast. He looked at Marianne sympathetically, waiting for her to recover enough to act on his suggestion. "Would you mind getting something to cinch her wrists please..."

McCurdy dashed to Marianne's assistance, prying the old lady off the redheaded woman once again.  Liza then merely stood there, trapped in McCurdy's grasp and not fighting, idly gazing off into the middle distance, while Marianne struggled to get air back into her lungs.

Brother Clary levelled the shotgun at the wounded man, whose lips were now stained crimson.  The bodyguard of Basil Ringrose was trying to speak, but it was coming out in bubbles and whispers.  "Fountain...trees.  Cut his tree...bastard...Sawney...ask...."

As Marianne recovered her breathing and Liza was content to let the detective hold her, McCurdy turned his attention to Hawksmoore. The morose swashbuckler didn't seem to be moving.

"Hawksmoore! I know I ain't never heard of anybody bein' hurt good, but are you hurt bad?"

After Marianne had recovered enough to let loose a few choice words as she glared at her friend, who was now standing docilely in McCurdy's hold and gazing off into the distance, she turned to the others.

Her expression transformed into shock and horror as she saw the man lying on the ground. It was Carson. He was bleeding badly, unable to speak and close to death.

There had been four deaths already this day. Three had happened right in front of her eyes. Two had been men she had known well - or had thought she had. The day's injuries had been too many to count. All this killing and fighting for what?

Obviously distressed, she unwound her scarf - now quite ragged-looking - and advanced slowly toward Liza, proceeding to tie her wrists with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

"Aren't you at least going to say a prayer?" she asked Brother Clary, angered by his insistence on interrogating Carson while the man lay dying.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:39, Fri 08 Dec 2006.

The Texas preacher shot Marianne a sidelong glance and gritting his teeth a little at the spitfire trying to tell him how to do his job.  Ingrate! he thought to himself.

Without moving the shotgun or taking his eyes off of the bleeding man, Brother Clary began his prayer: "Lord, You know this man done a lot of things wrong in his time here on your earth.  But now he's lyin' here bleedin' to death.  I hope you kin find it in Your heart to fergive him, and give him a safe journey to whereever he's destined to end up.  Oh, and please forgive me for not takin' off my hat when I'm addressin' You.  I kinda got my hands tied up at the moment.  Amen."

"Amen," Marianne echoed, with a glare at Brother Clary. Would it hurt the man to say a proper prayer? Not that Marianne was very religious, but she had never had to think of someone dying in a place outside of space and time before, let alone someone she knew.

She finished tying up Liza's hands and took up her machete again, turning her glare outward toward the jungle as she walked around in silence scanning the greenery for danger.

Hawksmoore did not reply to McCurdy's words; from a look at the unseeing gaze of those steely eyes, it was clear that Hawksmoore would not be responding to him.  Blood had turned the pirate's shirt a bright crimson, and had ceased to flow from a wound that looked to be straight through the heart.  The model of Peter Pan lay unmoving on the turf.

Marianne decided to bind up Liza's hands, an action which the blankly staring woman did not in the least bit object to.

Brother Clary spoke his prayer, but Carson had one last name to gasp out.  "de Leon," with a gruesome death-rattle and bubbles of blood on his lips.  Then he was gone, as well.

The adventurers were alone, with no guides this time.

(Scene Change - Gula's Curse...or Blessing)