The Devil in Paxton Springs (Western Gothic)

[Vox Clamantis]

It's a cold night in Paxton Springs. Even with the windows of your room shuttered and closed and the cotton drapes drawn shut, the wind howling across the prairie seems to pass right through the walls and under your blankets, keeping you too chilled to sleep comfortably.

As you lay on the short, uncomfortable bed that is the kindest hospitality Paxton Springs has to offer, trying to ignore the steady wind ruffling your sheets, you can hear the mournful howling of coyotes off in the distance. Every once in awhile their high, lonesome caterwauling breaks off into a series of shrill yelps and barks, as though the trail-scavengers were being pursued across the territory. From the boarding stable across the street you can hear the intermittent nickering of the horses. Even the animals sleep poorly tonight.

Just as you become accustomed to the noise and the cold and find that perhaps you might just be drifting off, a cry cuts through the clamor of the night. High and painful in its intensity, it's not a cry of pain or a call for help. It's a scream of unashamed terror, as though a grown man were letting the voice of his childhood speak through him for a moment as he's confronted with a waking nightmare.

Two gunshots ring out, and then near total silence falls on Paxton Springs. Even the breeze falls still in the wake of this sudden disturbance.

Each of you is in a room of the Madalena Inn, the only boarding house in town. All of your rooms are on the second floor, and each has a single window facing East. Your reasons for coming to Paxton Springs are your own; your reason for staying is your only bond.

Assume that you are in bed, awakened by the scream to hear the gunshots ring out. Proceed as you see fit, and remember that your characters fear for their lives even if you don't... :smalltongue:

[Fragenstein]

The Col.'s response towards the restless night was predictable in its venom.

"Damned hooligans..." He muttered in reference to the coyotes. The man had was suffering enough difficulty in falling alseep, he wasn't sure how quickly he'd escape into dreams now.

The fact that his hackles were up wasn't going to help, either. The cold, the insane animal howlings and the general sense of a dark hellish night were all consipiring against him.

The screams and the gunshots had him wide-eyed and bolting out of bed. The partially empty bottle of rye on the nightstand was ignored, but the revolver hanging from a bedpost was not. Weapon in hand, he went to the window and glanced out over the street.

He'd already made up his mind to leave in the morning. Not only was he having trouble finding a paying audience, but now it sounded like the town was turning into some sort of new American Bedlam.

[Vox Clamantis]

The Colonel's Window
As he approaches the window, he hears the wind whistle through a space where the glass doesn't quite sit properly against the pane. It's a soft, steady noise, unnoticeable from across the room but impossible to ignore at close quarters.

Peering out through the glass and a crack in the shutters, the Colonel sees almost nothing. There are no gas street lamps in small towns like Paxton Springs, and the high rushing clouds of the prairie obscure what light the moon might have provided. Any townsfolk who had come out of their houses would have had to carry a light of their own; from the absence of such light, it's fair to assume that nobody is out on the street.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare muttered something about 'drunken shenanigans' and turned from the window. His gun was still in hand when he crossed over to the nightstand, so he tilted the open bottle clumsily with his left. A shot was poured into a dirty glass and his eyes fell onto the room's door.

Did that lock really look sturdy enough to keep out someone determined? It seemed like it wouldn't take much to force an entry, so after thowing back the small drink he moved to jam a chair underneath the knob. Only once he was certain the portal properly barred did he return to bed.

Still it wasn't easy to find sleep, even with the comforting weight of the revolver resting close by on the nightstand, right next to the rye.

[Barbarian MD]

The good reverend Westlock woke from one nightmare into another one. He rolled sideways, off the bed and away from the door, reaching to his waist to a pistol he had long since abandoned.

It took him a moment to find his bearings and realize where he was before he had the sense to stand up off the floor.

Westlock crosses his room to the window, standing well back while he pulls the curtains aside, trying to peer into the darkness.

He stares into the darkness for a minute, trying to decide what to do. After a moment, the beginnings of a decision have formed: these men and women may not be part of his flock just yet, but he'd be damned if he sat by while a man suffered and he didn't do something to investigate.

He crosses back to his saddlebags, hanging over a chair in the corner. Dressing hurriedly, he casts a sidelong glance at one pouch in particular before shaking his head and picking up his rifle. It was likely only overzealous coyotes anyway.

With that, he pokes his head out the door to his room, looking to see if anyone else had been roused.

[Levyathyn]

Will starts, flailing in surprise as he stumbles out of bed. Wide eyed and panting, he fumbles for his pistol. When he finally realizes that he left it in his belt on his nightstand, he's managed to calm down. Ignoring the window for the time being, Will throws his clothes on as quickly as possible, making sure his gun is loaded and ready. He doesn't like using it, but it wouldn't be the first time some peaceful townsfolk turned to lynching.

Once dressed, he eases the door open and checks down the hallway, making sure no one's caught on to him. He hadn't pulled anything big in the town, but that didn't mean some angry husband hadn't come calling.

If he doesn't find anything, he'll head to the window to make his escape.

[Vox Clamantis]

There's a single chair in the Colonel's room. He wedges it beneath the door handle, but neither the door not the chair inspire confidence that a strong man couldn't just kick his way in. Still, it's better than nothing.

The reverend sees the same tableau that had greeted the Colonel's inquisitive eyes only moments ago; the darkness makes the street almost impossible to make out, but the silence and the lack of street lamps can only mean that the main street is deserted.

Will and the Revered each poke their heads out of their rooms simultaneously. There is an awkward moment wherein they make eye contact.

[Fragenstein]

Sleep was beginning to descend on the man at last when something gave him a start. Perhaps it was an unfortunately timed dust of wind or something welling up inside his head as a bad dream, but the white haired man reached out with an insensate clumsiness.

He may have been reaching for his gun but that's not the first item his hand encountered. The bottle of rye took a solid blow and went tumbling off the table. There was a fairly raucous crash when it hit the floor and the room was filled with the odor of cheap booze.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock nods at the fellow inquisitor down the hall.

"You heard it, too, Mister? I reckon we've got to go see what happened."

[Levyathyn]

Swallowing, Will decides that maybe the commotion, unlike so many before it, has nothing to do with running him out of town.

"I suppose." He says, his voice curt and neutral.

[Levyathyn]

Will's none too pleased at the sight of the silver star, but he hides it well. Truth be told, the fact that she doesn't start shooting immediately tells him more about the situation than he'd like. Afraid for a different reason altogether, now, Will nods slowly. "Alright then, missus. Just you be careful out there." He says amiably before retreating into his room. He shuts the door and locks it as best he can, and then pulls out his Colt to make sure it's loaded. Nodding, he holsters it and slips on his leather jacket, heading to the window and looking out. He checks to see if it can be easily opened, just in case.

[Barbarian MD]

"Now ma'am, if you insist on going out there, I can't very well stop you. But I insist that you stay behind me."

Not to be outdone, Westlock pulls his duster open slightly, enough to reveal his white collar. With that, he passes her in the hall and takes the lead, heading downstairs and hoping to find a friendly face at this late hour.

[Fragenstein]

With the bottle now smashed and its contents irretrievable, Threadbare finds himself in a dilemma. He wasn't looking forward to facing this long night sober, even from the comfort of his bed, but he'd have to brave the darkness in order to secure more. With luck he wouldn't actually have to leave the building for that.

It was an inn, after all. There had to be at least some basics of hospitality about.

He dressed after turning the lamp back up to full brightness, having left the wick dimly glowing to keep the room from falling into pitch blackness. The only clothes he had with him at the moment were the Col.'s uniform he'd filched long ago. He'd been working late last night in attempts to drum up interest for his show and hadn't bothered to change out of them before retiring. The rest of his stuff was still in the prop wagon.

There was no chance he'd be heading out into the frightful wind just for a different pair of britches.

After having made himself presentable, he went to the door and quietly removed the obstructing chair. He then opened the way to the hall outside and carefully checked for witnesses. Unless others had been awakened by the racket and were foolishly going to investigate the disturbance, nobody should be around to see him make off with a new bottle of rye. For medicinal purposes, of course.

[Vox Clamantis]

Will -
Finds that the window consists of two hinged panes that open inward, with shutters that open out. Without actually testing the window, it would appear to be only a momentary obstacle to anyone wishing to come in or go out - not accounting for the 2nd story height, of course.

Threadbare opens the door and steps out into the interior landing just as the preacher-man and Delain are turning a corner on the stairs. The 6' difference in elevation notwithstanding, they're staring right at each other.

The tavern downstairs is quiet, but that comes as no surprise. It's nearly midnight; the owner/namesake would have thrown out the drifters and closed up hours ago.

From their position on the stairs the Reverend and DeLain detect the scent of whiskey, pungent enough to make the inside of your nose and the back of your throat tingle. Strong, but not coming from immediately nearby. There must be a considerable amount left open to the air in order for the smell to drift so far.

[Fragenstein]

The Col. brought himself up short on seeing the two on the stairs. If he'd been more careful, maybe listened for disturbances before showing himself, he'd have avoided the two. As it was, his late-night helping of himself to a gratuity would have to wait. Especially seeing as how the darlin' in the moth-eaten coat was wearing a polished, pointy star.

He'd have to come up with some explanation as to where he was heading. He couldn't very well tell them he was about to steal a bottle of liquor, but why else would he be skulking about the halls at this hour.

"Ah..." He started. "Had something of a spill in my room. Horrible mess. Would either of you know where I could find a handy bucket and mop? I'd hate to wake the proprietors on account of my jumpiness."

Making a closer examination of the woman, he noticed that the coat was not moth-eaten at all. It looked for all the world to him that those were bullet holes. An act lacking in chivalry if he'd ever heard of, shooting at a woman, but he had to wonder what she did to provoke such regular responses.

[Levyathyn]

Will slowly and carefully opens the window, letting the chill night air in. He pulls the hammer back on his Colt, watching carefully out the window.

[Barbarian MD]

As he enters the lobby, Westlock shouts, "Anybody here?" Having at least one local involved would be better than stumbling into asituation they knew nothing about.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare watched the two leave, wondering if they were actually planning on investigating the ruckus. He'd known plenty of lawmen in his life but few actually had the courage of their own tin stars. Even if public safety was their jobs they'd wait until morning before chasing down trouble. Anything more was just drawing gunfire.

Then again... maybe that'd explain the number of holes in that filly's duster.

Regardless, as soon as they headed out into the night then he'd be free to raid the inn's stock. Pausing only a moment to step back into his room after his own gun, the Col. followed closely on their heels. He winced when that fool of a preacher called out. What was he trying to do, rouse the whole house? They could go risking their skins all they liked but it'd not help Threadbare at all to have a saloon full of busy-bodies.

[Vox Clamantis]

Will -
The window opens smoothly with only the slightest creak as the shutters push open. A rush of cool air breaks over Will's face, a little damp for this time of the year. The sky is dark, clouds blocking out most of the moonlight, and the street below is deathly silent, empty. Although it's nearly invisible due to the darkness, looking down towards either end of the street Will can make out that there's a light fog rising.

The stairs wind down into the floor of the tavern, where awkwardly made wooden chairs sit around slightly lopsided round tables. A long bar graces one side of the room, with a closed door behind it that must lead into the store room. The front entrance is at the opposite side of the room from the stairs.

Cassy finds the front door wide open. The draft would go a long way towards explaining why the building is so cold. There's no sign that the door was forced, or that it was ever locked to begin with. The smell of whiskey isn't detectable on the air coming in from outside, but even ten feet from the door it becomes overpowering.

There is no answer to the reverend's call, and furthermore no sounds of movement in the silence that follows. The proprietor, a tall Mexican woman with light skin and fine hidalgo features, had informed her guests that she'd be sleeping downstairs if they need her. Surely Westlock had been loud enough to wake anyone sleeping nearby?

[Fragenstein]

"Ya' blame'd fool..." Threadbare hissed at Wesley. "Are you trying to wake the dead, or just the entire building? It's bad enough we have hooligans running amuck outside, why would we want to bring their shenanigans in here?

"Keep making noise and we'll be full to the attic with whatever drunken young bucks are running around out there. Whippersnappers or, maybe even worse, Mexicans."

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock turns and faces the man behind him on the stairs evenly.

"Yes, I am actually. There is trouble afoot."

More to himself than to the man, he speaks softly. "Where is everyone?"

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare appears to be a slightly anachronistic figure on the stairs, dressed in his Conferderate Colonel's uniform. The worn, officer's grey and faded gold piping seemed like a figure out of a recent past that the United States was quickly trying to forget.

"Probably asleep, like any decent member of society should be at this hour. Just like I should be if it hadn't been for them vandals outside. Anyone lucky enough to have slept through that deserves to stay undisturbed right about now."

[Vox Clamantis]

In the darkness outside, Cassy sees nothing but the empty street and the long shadows cast by buildings. The wind howls and kicks up dust in the night, making it even harder to see. Except...yes, there's definitely a man-shaped darker patch in the clouds' shadows, out in the middle of the street. If it were moving it might be easier to make out details, but the man - if it is a man - is standing utterly motionless, not making so much as a noise.

Inside the building, there is neither sound nor movement, only the thick stink of too much whiskey burning the backs of their throats. The longer you stand in it, the clearer it becomes that the smell emanates from behind the bar, over towards the door to the storeroom.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock, while he would have preferred to first investigate the deafening silence inside the inn, quickly follows the law-woman out the door.

He could hardly let a woman out by herself at a time like this.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare, on the other hand, wanted to check out the bar first. He still was of a mind to let those two fools step outside if they wanted, he still planned on crawling into a bottle until it was light enough to leave. With that in mind, he made his way towards the reek.

Something did make him pause, though. It was a frightening night, yes, but it didn't make sense for the inn's owner to close up without cleaning a spill. Either someone had come in after the place was locked up or...

The Col. didn't want to think about anything else right now. He drew his revolver to settle the jangly nerves and went to see what was potable.

[Vox Clamantis]

Threadbare unholsters his revolver and makes his way over to where the store-room door stands ajar behind the bar. Stepping around the end of the bar, he sees the rows of clean (albeit worn) glasses under the bar and the bottles of alcohol along the wall behind. The stink of whiskey is now overpoweringly strong as it wafts out from behind the just barely cracked door to the store-room. Now that he's closer, Threadbare can make out that there is a dim light in the room beyond.

Cassy and the reverend detect no movement from the shape out in the darkened street, except what might have been the turning of its head. There is a soft noise - a groan perhaps, or a whisper - but it is blown past by a surge of dusty wind and lost to the night.

Westlock -
On his way to the door the reverend notices that there is an oil lamp hanging on a hook a few feet from the door. It's not lit, of course.

[Fragenstein]

The Col. steps forward carefully and quietly, not sure why he was no nervous but also taking all the precaution his paranoia demanded. The night was just weird. He'd been through more than a few tense moments, both during the war and after his desertion, and for some strange reason this scene had him clenching up for trouble.

He might have even forgotten about the gun in his hand as he pushed the storeroom door open. A light on meant someone was probably inside. After all, lamp oil wasn't cheap. Only a careless fool left any of it burning through the night without reason.

That reason should be, of course, cleaning up the mess. But this was pretty late to still be at work. The keepers should have had that squared away hours ago. Plus there was no noise coming from the door. That meant whoever was inside probably didn't want to be heard.

The first thing that flashed through his head was the image of a robbery. Granted any sort of bandit should have had him heading for the security of the room, but he still refused to bed down tonight without a warm glow in his belly.

With that in mind, the southern man nudged the door open with his booted toe.

[Levyathyn]

Will

Shaking his head at the absurdity of the hour and the lack of a decent amount of intrigue, Will finally abandons his post at the window. He shuts it tight, and throws his jacket on. Can't even get a decent night's sleep in this rat-infested hole of a town. Might as well see if they have any decent gamblin'. He thinks to himself as he quietly shuts his room door behind him. Inconsiderately, he walks noisily down the wooden steps, making sure his Colt is loaded. At the bottom, he glances around for any sign of service. "Garçon? I fancy a drink." He says. "You can wake your beloved customers up at such an hour, I daresay it'd be just plain unkind to ignore their pleas for a might draught of whiskey." He finishes, smiling in the dark room.

I changed my color, since I guess mine was taken.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock

The preacher turns to the lady, male chauvinism eager to get her inside.

"Miss, why don't you step inside and get the light that was hanging just inside the door? I'll keep on eye on our friend."

[Vox Clamantis]

Threadbare -
The door to the storeroom swings open easily, creaking softly. Before the Col. can so much as breathe, a waft of whiskey fumes blows out of the closed room, making his eyes water and obscuring all other smells.

The walls of the storeroom are dominated by shelves of bottles all the same make and size, as though Madalena only stocked one kind of booze. Along one side of the room, across from the door, the shelves are broken as if by some impact and the floor is littered with glass and fresh alcohol.

In the center of the room is an already open pull-up wooden door. In the darkness the Col. can't make out any details, but it seems to be a cold cellar like you'd find in houses back East. They're uncommon out here, but not unheard of.

Cassy and Westlock -
The man - from its height it seems to be a man - standing in the darkness makes no response to Cassy's impassioned speech except to sigh again, exactly as long and low as the previous one.

Will -
Will comes downstairs to find the lamps unlit, but through the darkness he can make out the Col. standing at the entrance to the storeroom and the Reverend and the star standing just outside the front door.

There is no sign of the proprietor, or indeed anyone else.

[Fragenstein]

"By god..." Threadbare takes in the room. The whole thing seems so wrong, so out of place. Something wicked was happening in this night and he'd be damned to get caught up in it.

Not sure who was down in the cellar or what they might be doing, the Col. moves to the trap door with quick, sure steps. Never taking his gun off of the dark abyss below he pushes the trap shut.

At some point they'd probably have to check down there. Maybe some galoot on the run from the law had taken up refuge in the cold denizens or maybe some drunk was sleeping it off. Either way, Threadbare had no intention of delving downward without a steadier gun than his own directed at the darkness.

[Vox Clamantis]

The wooden trap slams down into place with a satisfying clunk, leaving the Col. alone with the heavy stink of broken whiskey bottles.

[Levyathyn]

Will

Watching the strangers with suspicion, Will reminds himself that the female is a deputy. Taking care, smiling brightly, and ignoring the man obviously raiding the store of alchohol, he approaches the woman, being sure to make enough noise so as to not startle her. "What's all this? Isn't the owner supposed to be around here somewhere?" He asks her.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare considered finding something heavy to drag over on top of the door, but that was sounded a little extreme. The night was spooking him like a colt in a thunderstorm, granted, but he hadn't really been given a good reason for that. Hopefully just having the trap shut would be enough to eventually calm his nerves.

Well, that and a bottle of whiskey, of course. He hadn't forgotten why he'd come down stairs in all of the strangeness. That drink was still on his mind and he made sure to pick out a likely looking bottle before going in search of the others.

[Barbarian MD]

Genre savvy-ness be darned. I'm tired of beating around the bush with this guy, and I want to advance the plot.

"Ma'am, why don't you step inside and get that light?"

Without another glance at the lady, Westlock sets himself and begins stalking towards the man. Wary eyes dart to and fro across shadows, and his rifle is pointed ever-so-slightly in the forward direction. Somewhere out there, a man is hurt, and he doesn't intend to waste time jumping at shadows.

[Vox Clamantis]

Col. Threadbare finds an intact bottle of whiskey readily enough. They're all much the same; thick brown glass bottles with worn labels. One seems as good as any other.

---

Cassy finds the lamp readily enough, hanging along the inside of the wall next to the door. Finding also a box of matches sitting on top of the lantern, she wastes no time in lightning the wick and stepping out of the door and raising the lantern to get a look at the figure outside.

For a split second, the light provides Cassy and Will and the Reverend a clean look at the man in the street. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, his skin is pale and blanched. Caked blood traces a path out of his ears and down to his collar, where his simple working shirt is stained and caked with the stuff.

The view lasts only for an instant, for the moment lantern light falls across the man's eyes they shift to the Reverend (who is closest). Letting out a scream of unutterable pain and loss, almost infantile in its urgency, the man staggers forward and tries to tackle the preacher, scrabbling at his clothes with tremulous hands. Westlock, although caught off his guard by the sudden movement, knocks the man's hands away and staggers back out of reach.

Opposed Strength checks for the Bull Rush. Rolling for Westlock to save time.

[roll0]
[roll1]

Used the wrong modifier for the Reverend, but he wins anyway.

Everybody roll initiative.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock, surprised, backpedals with a loud, but mild, oath, furiously trying to keep from being tackled by the man.

Welcome to Hinderstap?

Init: [roll0]

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare backs out of the room, bottle in one hand and revolver in the other, unwilling to take his eyes from the trap door. There were frightening images of an entire horde of Mexican bandits rushing out of the cellar flashing through his mind. As unlikely as that seemed, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that this entire night was plying upon his mind.

When the scream once more arose outside, he dropped the whiskey in surprise and whipped around to face the door...

ooc: Figure he'd be able to hear the ruckus, but let me know if not. I also figure he won't be able to join in for at least a turn or two.

[Vox Clamantis]

((All three of you act before the [crazed man].))

[Fragenstein]

What in the devil is wrong with this place?, the Col. thinks to himself. People screaming, broken whiskey bottles all over the place... it was like the whole town was going stir crazy. Maybe things would calm down once the sun was back up, but that was still hours away.

One thing was for sure, he wasn't going to be getting any sleep now. Not with his nerves on edge and every bottle of 'help' that he got his hands on ending up shattered on the floor. He might as well go see what the hell was happening out there.

Threadbare moved carefully and quietly to the inn's door, taking up a concealed position on the left. Careful glimpses of the street gave him a better idea of what to do.

[Vox Clamantis]

Since there's now a light source (the oil lamp), Threadbare has no trouble making out what's going on. The Reverend is recoiling from a shrieking and bleeding man who appears to be having a psychotic break, while the star stands on the steps with the lamp held high, illuminating the whole scene.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock furiously backpedals from the attack with a shout of alarm. At that moment, the light illumines his attacker, and the preacher looks in horror upon the face of his foe.

"Forgive me."

He brings the butt of his rifle into the gut of the man, trying to avoid permanent injury.

standard: attack. -4 for nonlethal.
[roll0]
modifiers to come in an edit. I'm away from books, so I'd kindly ask you to roll damage for me.

[Vox Clamantis]

The Reverend and the apparently unhinged man batter at each other ineffectually for a moment, the Reverend unable to get enough room to swing and the crazy man held at bay by the Reverend's rifle. Meanwhile, Cassy's warning falls on deaf ears. From the blood clotted down the sides of the man's head and sticky on his collar, it's entirely possible that he can't even hear her.

Startled but still slower on the draw, Will manages to get his sidearm out of its holster and levels it at the man...but doesn't fire. Instead he looks to Cassy, clearly not wanting to open fire before the law. "Dammit, he's had his chance!"

Everyone but Will acts before the [crazed man]. I'm not being particular about the order you post/act in.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare watches the scene for now. It looked like the crazed man wanted to tear into everyone, but proximity of the reverend's gun should have taken some of the fight out of him. A lone and injured man was now facing three-to-one odds. This should be over fairly soon.

He didn't fire the pistol which was ready in his hand. The others were handling things and there was still the law-dame directing the action. Threadbare wasn't needed right now.

However, the sight of the lunatic made him wonder just how many there were. What sort of injun' herb had they gotten into? What was this, some peyote gone bad?

Threadbare turned his head towards the back room once more. Was someone else responsible for the vandalism, or was he right about there being another threat underneath the now closed trap door?

I'd like to take a shot at Arcane Lore while the Col. is studying the man. This might be premature, however, as the man hasn't actually done anything supernatural. He seems to look more bloody than undead.

Still, if there's a chance at learning something about the scenario I'll throw out a roll.

[roll0]

[Barbarian MD]

As the shot rings out, Westlock shouts, "No, don't-!" and tries to foul the law woman's aim.

Nat 1, so may as well use it as a role play opportunity...

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock - Round 2

Westlock tries again, both with his words and his rifle butt.

"Mister- *oof* -these folks are going to shoot you. So knock if off and we'll get you to a doctor!"

Attack: [roll0]

[Vox Clamantis]

Cassy's lantern casts long shadows across the street, bringing into sharp relief the edges and corners of buildings that had been only suspected moments ago.

Westlock manages to land the rifle's stock right across the bleeding and crazed man's face. There is a crack as the wood lands across the man's nose, and his frenzied breathing and groaning becomes nasal and then gurgles slightly as blood begins to run back down his throat. Fortunately for him, the Reverend's rifle butt saves his leg from Cassy's bullet, which raises a poof of dust in the brightened area near his left foot.

Will shouts, clearly a bit panicky. "Goddammit, somebody shoot him!" His own hastily fired shot misses, blowing a piece of wood off a building across the street.

The blooded maniac, now unable to see clearly as the pain and adrenaline unfocus his eyes, makes an awkward grab for the Rev. Westlock and staggers past, nearly falling to the ground.

Will's shot: [roll0]
[roll1]

The [crazed man]'s touch attack: [roll2]
and grapple check [roll3]
and damage if the grapple succeeds [roll4]

Let's have some better luck with your aim, eh? :smallwink:

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare shakes his head, sadly, at the scene in the street. The whole encounter was starting to get clumsy as too many people attempted to settle the crazed man's fate. It might have been better to just shoot the damned fool in the first place since he didn't look to be the type to come along quietly.

At least one bullet could have put him down painlessly. Now it looked like they'd have to do that and continue breaking his head in at the same time.

What was worse, though, was that trouble tended to come on packs. The Col. knew that a man like this likely wouldn't have been alone. Just the fact that nobody else had yet stuck their noses into the scene was odd, so he took advantage of Cassy's errant lantern swing to look out for people hiding in the shadows.

Spot check on the briefly illuminated buildings:
[roll0]

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock - Round 3

Westlock staggers back when he sees the bloody face. He had meant to put the stock into the man's gut. If only he'd stop lunging and lurching for one moment!

And then the second shot is fired, and it's too much for the reverend. He turns, anger completely obscuring the fear on his face.

"Stop! Stop shooting! In the name of God stop shooting the poor man! And you-!" he turns back towards the crazed man. "Be still! We're not here to hurt you. We want to help. Tell us who did this to you. Is anyone else hurt?"

He stands a little straighter and takes another step back, ready to drive his rifle into the man's gut again to put him down, but hoping that the man will start showing a lick of sense.

Readying an action. If the man makes another move towards us, another melee stroke. [roll0]

[Vox Clamantis]

I have already sent Frag results for Threadbare's spot check.

The Reverend's defensive swing at the crazed man is off target, but it doesn't matter. The blast of Cassy's second shot rings out in the darkness, and a splatter of blood hits the dirt as the maniac falls on his side, shrieking and clutching at his leg. It's hard to tell, what with the movement of the lantern and the rocking of the injured man as he groans and spits on the packed dirt, but it would seem that he's been shot through the bone of his left shin.

Will, revulsion clear on his face, does not seem to be dealing well with the man's screaming and obvious insanity. "****ing hell!" Raising his pistol, he attempts to silence him with a bullet to the head, but his hand is shaking and the shot impacts the ground next to his neck instead.

Will's shot:

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Barbarian MD]

"Damn it--stop! He's down; don't kill him. He can't hurt you now. Just stay back."

Westlock glances up and down the street, looking for the response that multiple gunshots are sure to elicit.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare sees the reverend looking around and calls out some information from the doorway.

"Hey! People are over there. In that alley... right between those two buildings."

The shout is accompanied by some vigorous finger pointing, after which the Col. throws his attention back towards the stockroom and the potential cellar dweller. All this noise was bound to roust someone if they actually were skulking about down there.

[Barbarian MD]

Jonathan looks in the indicated direction, straining his ears to hear the reassuring sounds of sane people.

Spot: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]

[Vox Clamantis]

Will glances at Cassy and slowly uncocks his revolver, raising the barrel so that it's no longer pointed at the unhinged man still crying and clutching at his leg. "****, alright. You want to deal with him, that's your business. I'd just as soon put the poor bastard out of his misery, for his sake as well as ours. Now what's this about people across the street?" Will spins around and raises his pistol again uncertainly.

The crazy man with a hole in his shin is bleeding profusely into the dirt. From the angle his foot's hanging at, it's clear enough that the bone was hit, and luckily so; it seems that the pain is what brought the man's attention away from his assault on the Rev. Westlock.

From across the street: nothing. Everyone sees exactly what they've been seeing, without movement or variation. If there are people across the street, they're unresponsive to the gunshot, the yelling, or the smell of fresh blood.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock speaks under his breath to Casey, "I can see a couple of people over in that direction. Do you think you could hold the light higher? See if we can see their faces?"

This night just gets stranger and stranger. The preacher-man tries to call out to the two, but his voices chokes in his throat. Perhaps his subconscious is telling him not to attract too much attention.

"Come on out of those shadows, whoever you are! We'd like to talk, and this man needs medical care. Don't be frightened; he won't be hurting anyone else tonight."

At the same time, Westlock decides it'd be best if the crazed man stayed down, at least for a while. He whips his rifle stock up and brings it down again on the back of the man's head, making sure to deal only enough force to knock the man out.

Non-Lethal Coup de Grace?
[roll0] (+4 - 4 for nonlethal) (oops, forgot another +4 for him being prone)
Once again, you'll have to roll damage; I don't have access to a book.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare knew that he'd overstayed his welcome in the scene. Honestly, he should have high-tailed it back to the sanctuary of his room some time ago. Something about the surreal oddity of the unfolding events kept him riveted at the spot, just as they also kept his gun clear of its holster.

Like some young boy who couldn't wait to see the end of some penny dreadful, the man kept his position. It was an action he was likely to regret come morning, but the weird tension seemed to draw a fool out of his sensibilities.

[Vox Clamantis]

Darkness surrounds the center of the street where Cassy stands with her lantern raised. Whereas previous the figures in the dim alley between buildings across the street had been lit only up to their ankles, now their whole bodies are visible up to the chest. None of them are facing towards the tavern, but neither are they all aligned in any one direction. There's something haphazard about their arrangment - like dolls left on the kitchen floor by a distracted infant.

To Cassy's hails they give no acknowledgment.

The Rev. Westlock's rifle butt finds the injured man an easy target, and the blow knocks his head back to the ground hard enough to put him out. He hadn't been likely to see to his injury properly in any event, but now it's all too likely that he'll bleed to death before he regains consciousness.

Will heeds the star's advice and withdraws towards the inn, pointing his pistol first at the shadowy figures across the street and then at the crumpled form lying in the dirt. "If you want to stay and interrogate them I won't stop you, but know that I'll barricade myself inside at the first sign of trouble."

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock kneels down beside the unconscious man. Ripping a strip of his shirt tail, he begins to bandage the man's leg. ((Treat Injury: [roll0]))

"Ma'am, I don't suppose you have any handcuffs with you?"

[Fragenstein]

The Col. had flinched as the debilitating blow was delivered. It was a solid and certain hit, but he couldn't argue that the man had asked for it repeatedly. Whether he was drunk, a simpleton or just out of his own head at the moment, he'd had plenty of chances to cooperate. Some people just always want to do things the hard way.

[Barbarian MD]

Finished with his ministrations, Westlock takes a moment to take in his surroundings again. He sees the people in the alley now, and his heart takes a minute to decide if it wants to keep on beating.

"Lord, be gracious to your servant," he mutters.

"Back to the inn. Mister, will you help me carry him? We'll tie him up inside and see if we can get answers later. I don't think we need to aped any more time in the street."

[Vox Clamantis]

Westlock ties off the man's wound, but it's only going to slow the bleeding. Furthermore, the Reverend knows that even if he can stem the flow of blood, the injury will need to be cleaned if the man is to have any chance of surviving his recovery.

While the Reverend and Col. Threadbare get themselves situated to carry the inert lunatic inside, the light around them dims as Cassy moves away with the lantern. Holding it now over her head, Cassy's closer proximity and the elevation of the lantern shed its beams part-ways into the alley. Some details of the scene lying in wait there become suddenly clear.

Cassy
The heads of the closest are now discernible, and a familiar trail of blood leaks down from each of their ears. The two or three that you can make out are in varying degrees of undress; one man, at the very edge of your light and facing directly away, is clad only in his long johns, whereas another, closer and facing at an angle into one of the buildings, has on overalls and little else.

In the instant you take all of this in, the light from your lantern banishes the shadows directly in front of the closest figure, and it turns its head quickly around and opens its eyes and mouth wide as though in utmost horror.

It is a young woman. Blood is caked in her ears and down the sides of her neck, and soaking the collar of the chemise that is her only covering.

All of you start at a high, enraged shriek. It is the voice of a woman, probably young, but so unrestrained and aggressive that the sound itself more closely resembles the screech of a hawk.

Roll initiative, please. If you do not pass a Will DC 15, your initiative roll suffers a -5 penalty from the unsettling and unexpected timbre of the woman's shriek.

Cassy, being prepared, may act first in the surprise round, but everyone else may take only a move action.

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock startles, dropping the body. He whips his head around, wondering why in the world the lady walked off without saying anything.

Westlock darts after the woman, hoping she doesn't get herself killed.

Will Save: [roll0] Fail.
Initiative: [roll1] 11.

Move action to get as close to the action as possible.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare wasn't about to leave the safety of his doorway for the sake of some bloodied lunatic, but he was willing to help the Reverend should he manage to drag him to the inn. When the new shriek split the night he was thankful for the caution.

Some men might call it cowardly. He just considered it damned good sense.

Will Save: [roll0]
Initiative: [roll1]

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock has ideas about chivalry and honor.

Honor means allowing harm to come to oneself in order to protect others.

Chivalry means shooting someone in order to protect someone else.

There's a distinct difference.

The philosophical implications are not what pass through the reverend's head in that briefest of seconds that he sees the crazed people reaching for Cassy. Instead, there is drift and windage, angles and curvatures, human anatomy.

Time stands still, and then a crack rings out. Westlock works the lever on his rifle, and another crack follows the first.

[roll0] [roll1]
[roll2] [roll3]

[Vox Clamantis]

Initiative Order:
Threadbare
Cassy
[crazed woman]
Westlock
Will

There is a crack and puff of smoke as the star's startled reflex bring the revolver up before the woman can do more than scream. The lead hits her in the shoulder, knocking her off-balance and the wind out of her lungs. With a shrill snarl of rage, the young woman flails at Cassy's body with her fists, the weakness of her frail body offset by the berserk rage by which she seems gripped.

Threadbare stands at the entrance to the inn, unwilling to venture out into danger, looking on as the women tussle and the Reverend moves over to lend a hand. Will, obviously losing his cool in a bad way, fires a shot towards Cassy and the bloodied woman with apparent disregard for the star's safety. Only by the will of fortune are both women spared further injury, as his bullet continues on to impact near the feet of one of the still silent figures in the alleyway.

8 nonlethal damage to Cassy.

[roll0]
[roll1]

Next round, please, by the initiative indicated above. Westlock already posted his next actions, insofar as I can tell.

[Fragenstein]

"The whole damn town's lost its mind." Threadbare mutters. Someone needed to do something to snap the lunatics out of their madness. Perhaps a nice shower of hot lead could do the trick...

Unfortunately, considering how little ammunition he had with him, there were more targets than the Col. had bullets. Maybe he knew a little trick that could do a better job, though.

Leaving the scene for only a moment, he rushed back towards the storeroom and the unbroken bottles of whiskey. A lot of that had been spilled already and he figured a little more would be in order before the night ended. Two or three of glass containers were collected and brought back to behind the bar.

From there, he began to search out and cloth rags that he could find and stuff into the mouths of his make-shift incendiaries. Granted, just being thin alcohol and only running about ninety proof at that, it wouldn't burn very hotly or for very long. Just seeing the flames might at least return some sense to these dangerous fools.

Threadbare's actions will be to throw together a few molotov cocktails. There should be some bar rags and some matches available, but I'm not sure how many rounds this will actually take. It seems to me that simple gunplay is a bit understated for the current scene, so even though the improvised weapons might not do much damage, they should have a better spread to their effect.

Of course, this assumes he doesn't get ambushed on the way back into the storeroom...

[Vox Clamantis]

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Threadbare runs back in towards the bar as Cassy berates the wounded, frenzied woman and tries to fend her off with lamp and pistol. As with the maniac still lying in the dust of the thoroughfare with a bloodied leg, her words go unheeded as the woman flails with her good arm. By the light of the lantern swinging in her hand, Cassy can see the woman's teeth clenched so tightly that they grind visibly with each forceful movement of her head.

The Reverend, crouched over the unconscious body of the first lunatic, rises and shoulders his rifle, throwing smoke and lead into the circular area lit by Cassy's lantern. His first shot goes wide, blowing splinters off the building heavily shadowed beyond, but the second tears into the hysterical woman under the arm and kills her instantly, knocking the body over like a felled tree.

Will, pushed beyond the limits of his presence of mind, backs quickly and unsteadily towards the inn, his weapon trained on the as-yet still unmoving figures in the darkness of the alley across the way.

Threadbare moves back inside and looks for the makings of an alcohol firebomb.

Cassy's word fall on (literally) deaf ears. Both lunatics so far illuminated have been described as having dried blood caking their ears and trailing down their necks, so I think it would be obvious to Cassy (since evidence of the woman's injuries are in plain view at the moment) why the woman isn't heeding her cautions.

The crazed woman attempted a one-handed grapple (followed by a bite!), but failed miserably.

Westlock hits and kills the [crazed woman].

Will isn't a coward, but he's definitely had enough of being out in the open with the crazies.

---

Next round!

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare winces at the sound of further gunfire. It seemed like things were heating up out there, and he wondered exactly how many lunatics they were dealing with. Was it possible that the entire town was gone around the bend? Certainly he'd not witnessed any sanity since going to bed last night. If anyone besides the three strangers on the street had a brain still in their head then they were hiding it behind locked doors.

He came out of the storeroom with as many bottles as he could safely carry and lined them up on the bar. Seeing Will edging into the building, he called out.

"Hey! If you're not going to throw lead then get your simple hide back here and help me."

There had to be a bar rag close by. He'd yet seen a proper saloon that didn't have a constant use for one, along with matches for any unlit cigar or lamp.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock stands quietly, rifle raised, watching for any signs of untoward movement.

"Ma'am, I would recommend you come back into the light. Best back away from those folks slowly, now. Let's get inside."

[Barbarian MD]

"Ma'am, no. You're not going off anywhere by yourself in this dark. Come inside. If it's a doctor they need, it can wait until morning.

"Think about it this way: until we bothered them, they were fine. A little worse for wear, but alive. And now one of them is beat all to hell and another one is dead. Think how many more might die because we're trying to defend ourselves.

"If you won't listen to reason, at least let me come with you. Let's do this thing up right and make sure we don't run into any trouble we can't handle."

[NotANinja]

Cassy DeLain

“Stranger,” irritation took her tone, “there's nothing reasonable about leaving people like this.”

Cassy waved her hand towards the group, the shadows being the most conservative covering some of them had on. “For all we know, sunlight makes em go berserk anyway. I can't leave this to chance. But if you're not gonna pass my message along, do whatever you feel is right.”

Words seemingly useless in whatever way she tried using them, Cassy upholstered her small firearm again and began heading towards whatever buildings likely would hold a doctor.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock turns longingly back in the direction of safety and light, but squares his shoulders and turns to follow the lady in a huff.

"Ma'am, you're making a mistake. And if I have to kill again to protect you, I'm going to be upset."

He covers the lantern, throwing the street into darkness, and waits a moment for his eyes to adjust before catching up.

[Vox Clamantis]

It's difficult to make out much of anything in the darkened thoroughfare outside the inn. Moonlight shines down in patches through angry-looking clouds, scarcely illuminating the middle of the street and not at all the unfathomable crevasses between buildings.

Deprived of nearly all light and understandably wary of the shadows, Cassy has few options. In a small town like this, the doctor tends to double as the barber; the center of town is the best bet, straight down the street.

Of course, without shedding light on the black shapes hanging from the buildings, it'll be nearly impossible to determine which is the barbershop.

Will backs into the inn and shuts the door behind him. Crossing the room to where Col. Threadbare is tearing up bar-rags for stuffing into bottles of whiskey, he puts his gun on the counter and starts pulling out corks.

---

Cassy comes to a stop in front of the second building down from the tavern. It is the first with a sign hanging down from its porch - swaying in the chilly desert breeze - but the words are probably black paint on wood; impossible to make out in the near total darkness in the shadow of the building.

You guys have now split. Will and Threadbare seem to be back at the inn, making molotov cocktails, while the Rev and Cassy are looking for a doctor. Feel free to go your separate ways or regroup as you see fit.

[Fragenstein]

There'd been a lack of gunfire for a few heartbeats, and it didn't seem as if Will was panicking. That seemed to indicate things had calmed down outside. Had the two gunners been overrun, then he doubted the returning man would be quite so calm.

"So where did those fools 'high off to?" He asked, not wanting to interrupt his own work to check for himself.

[Barbarian MD]

Walking slowly down the street, Westlock makes an effort to reload his rifle, juggling it and the light between his good and bad hands. After a couple of fumbles, he gives up, passing the still-covered lantern to the lady.

"Ma'am," he whispers in the dark, "if there's a sign of trouble, you are going to run a hard and as fast as you can back to the inn. Do you understand me? I'll be right behind you.

"Please don't make a fuss now, ma'am. I've got a bad feeling about this."

You've got the lantern now. I'll let you make the call on how to proceed.

[Vox Clamantis]

For Threadbare:
Will fumbles with the neck of a bottle of whiskey, grip apparently too slippery to get ahold of the cork. With a sudden curse, he turns and hurls the bottle overhand against the back wall of the inn. Alcohol paints the wood as glass shards skitter across the floor.

"Hell, I don't know what they're about. Goddamn fools, is what they are. We should be barricading ourselves in here! What [bleep]ing good do they think is going to come of wandering the streets at midnight, guns at the ready? Even if they find somebody alive, they're going to blow his head off in mistaking him for one of those [bleep]ing apparitions!"

Will seems to be working himself into a frenzy, smashing his fist on the counter and kicking the stools to punctuate his rambling.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare looked to where the bottle had been thrown and then back to the overexcited Will. It occurred to him that a lot of the brown had been lost tonight, hopefully people would learn to be less wasteful.

The Col. selected the next bottle and left it opened, the neck unfettered with any sort of rag. A glass followed and he poured Will a fast shot.

"Calm down, what do you think we're doing in here? Eventually those two fools will be on their way back, and if we let this place get overrun then we're all in a world of hurt. We gotta keep this building secure. Now, you any good with a rifle?"

[Vox Clamantis]

Threadbare -
Will downs the shot and then leans his elbows on the bar, hands over his face. The alcohol seems to calm him down a little.

"I'm no Davy Crockett, but I can shoot. What about you? Is that getup for real? Were you a soldier?"

[Fragenstein]

"Hellfire and damnation I did, boy." Threadbare reveals with good humor. "Fought for the honor, the independence and the heritage of the land I loved.

"Strictly speaking, though, it just wasn't as an officer." The revelation came with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Threadbare removed placed his hat on the bar and the brown roots beneath his bleached, white hair could be seen.

"This was something of a post-war promotion I gave myself. Once I saw which way the wind was blowing it behooved me to move on to more pleasant climates. That was before any of you blue coated devils could do it for me.

"I'm not one to hold a grudge, though." He admitted. "One side lost, one side won and I managed to come through it all without getting myself shot. An', afterwards, did a bit of traveling and a lot of reading. You'd know that if you ever managed to catch my show."

He paused to wait for that glimmer of recognition he always saw when talking to a fan.

"Speaking of which..." He waved an indiscriminate towards the front of the building, indicating the recent insanity they'd watched. "Some of the stuff I've read about would turn your hair snow-white and curl it tight to your head. Makes this business seem like a bed time story."

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock waits for the lady to act, trying to watch everywhere at once for more crazed attackers and wishing she'd decide stop stop this nonsense and return to the inn.
May as well roll.
Spot: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]

[NotANinja]

Cassy DeLain

“If there's trouble, I'm not leaving you to get yourself killed.”

Glancing up at the shadowed sign, Cassy reluctantly revealed a touch more light until it could be illuminated, somewhat slow due to it being a source of odd hatred. If the sign confirmed the building to be the doctor's, and nothing attacked, she intended to dim the light again and knock on the door.

[Vox Clamantis]

Westlock and Cassy
Handled via PM.

Threadbare
Will shrugs, taking his elbows off the counter and his pistol in hand, breaking out the cylinder for reloading.

"I don't know about any of that. When that poor [censored] outside wakes up - if he doesn't bleed to death first - his yelling is going to either wake the dead or drive us all crazy. Personally, I'm hoping he does cack it."

Pouring himself another drink, Will gives every impression of having calmed down for the moment. He downs it steadily, barely flinching now as he warms to the alcohol.

"You have any kind of plan, or are we just going to wait here with fire and booze for those hoople-heads to get back from whatever hornet's nest they're stirring up?"

[Fragenstein]

"How do you plan for this?" Threadbare paused in his work. "An entire town going loco? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but 'aint one head poked down those stairs to see what all the noise is about. You'd think, at the very least, the owners would try to make sure nobody's smahing up their stock.

"No, sir. This night has me scared to the point where I don't know what to do. Maybe try to keep this place buttoned up until dawn an' everthing'll calm down by light of day. That's why I'm thinking a rifleman would be good to have on the roof, or at least one of the upper floors.

"Our only other option is to get over to the stables and make off with horses under the cover of darkness. I've got a wagon hitched up over that way we could use to get some of the injured out 'Got a shotgun in it, too. That'd mean going outside, though, and we've both seen how dangerous that can be."

He stopped to consider any other options. They could chase down the local Western Union and try sending out a telegraph. Or would they even have to go that far.

"Okay, how about this? I know a few of the fancier hotels like to keep their own wires. 'Makes it easier for the guests to keep in touch with business and whatnot. Now, this place don't look all that upscale but they might still have one. 'Should have a Morse Code sheet next to it, so if we can find one then we might get the chance to call in some help. Probably not in enough time to do anything useful, but it least it's better than sitting around with corks up our bungs

"After that? See if this shack has any kind of safe-room where they lock up valuables for people. I doubt it'll actually be any kind of vault, but at least it should be studier than them windows over there. Better yet would be to hold up in a bank. But that'd mean going out side again..."

[Vox Clamantis]

Will pours himself another shot while the Col. is talking, but he waits until the man is done before lifting it.

"Alright, let's say you're the thinking man. Me, I'm going to drink until I don't care WHAT comes through that door."

He downs the shot without grimacing. There isn't enough light to judge the pallor of his skin or the steadiness of his gaze, but he's had a few drinks now and it shows in his voice. He moves a little to look across the street at where the ostensibly still-motionless figures stand in the darkness.

"Do you suppose there's a church in this town? I didn't notice when I rode in. Enough strange [censored] has gone down tonight that I'd rather be a in cathedral than an army barracks."

[Fragenstein]

"Son, the good lord died on the 'Dixie line." Threadbare intoned. "He aint coming to help us tonight. That means we need to help ourselves, so can I count on you to shoot straight enough to save your own hide?"

The Col. took up the bottle Will had been drinking from and added it to the line of incendiary preparations.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock

The blood freezes in his veins at the sight of more unnatural folk. "Alright, miss, snuff that light and let's move on."

[Vox Clamantis]

Will snorts in disgust as his bottle is whisked away, but even he seems to recognize the wisdom in slowing down. He sighs, in deeply and out slowly.

"I won't be a burden. But speakin' only for m'self, after tonight I plan to cultivate a deep and abiding spiritual relationship with my savior, if you take my meaning."

[Fragenstein]

"One way or another, I think all of us might be a bit closer to our Lord once this is all over."

Of course, whether that was through witnessing the miracle of surviving or by standing before the pearly gates in the hereafter was anyone's guess.

"How about if you start by cultivating yourself with a long gun and a good place to shoot it from? The higher up would be better. If you see any of these bottles splash fire, it should give you enough light to pick out targets."

[Vox Clamantis]

Will shrugs and holsters his six-shooter. "I've got a Henry rifle upstairs. I'll be at my window if you need me." With that he trudges up the stairs, ever so slightly unsteady from the whiskey.

---

Cassy and the good Reverend move to the next sign, where the star repeats the process by opening her lantern a bit. This is a two-story building, so the sign proclaims proudly:

Printer
Barber

[Barbarian MD]

Before Cassy can move, Westlock steps in front of the little lady. "Stay behind me," he whispers, "and keep that lamp dark."

He steps onto the porch of the building and tries to get a look inside the windows before moving to the door, which he prods open with the end of his gun before stepping back again.

"...Hello?" he asks, not quite a whisper, but not exactly a shout either.

(Feel free to roll passive spot and listen checks for me, as needed.)

[Fragenstein]

The Col. watched his departing form and wondered if the man would even be awake when they needed him. Hopefully so, but it might be wise to not rely on those odds.

Suddenly finding himself alone, Threadbare finishes his work and takes stock of the room. There might be weapons hidden around the place and he was woefully shy of armaments. Some saloons kept sawed-off shotguns underneath the bar. Of course, those were the seedier establishments and trade didn't normally look that tough around here.

Still, it was something to keep the man occupied. He also took some time to check for a telegraph room and the safe-room he'd considered earlier. If this was to be their stronghold then it'd pay to know its strengths and weaknesses.

Of course, he took his pistol with him. As of yet they'd not really learned where everyone had gone. If a few of the patrons, or even the owners, had gone loco then he didn't want to meet them unprepared.

[Vox Clamantis]

The Col. finds the tavern to be much more spartan than he imagined. Aside from the upstairs rooms and the larder - and whatever was downstairs in the basement - there aren't any other rooms to be explored.

Under the bar he finds a long dirtless patch that could very well have been the resting place of a 12-gauge. Judging by the immaculate swath on an otherwise untended shelf, it couldn't have been removed very long ago.

--

The door to the Barber shop is locked. Without light from the lamp, the Reverend can't see through the windows at all. One thing's for certain: there aren't any lights on inside.

I had been waiting for Cassy's actions, but I realized that NotANinja may be waiting to see what happens.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare rubs at his unshaven face as he considers the missing item. Could that have been the shot heard earlier? He was only half asleep when it happened, and a few other things have layed upon his mind since then, but he couldn't remember exactly what sort of gun had caused the noise.

It was possible that somebody was carrying a shotgun around here. If they were one of the crazied townfolk then he wasn't too keen on a meeting. It didn't seem like any on the street had enough in their heads to use a weapon, but he wasn't willing to bet on that lasting all night.
He now found himself in an awkward position of not really knowing what to do next. Threadbare was alone in the bar and feeling the solitude harshly. A part of him wanted to head out after the two fools outside just for the company, but that would leave the inn undefended. If they had planned on coming back to this building then it might be better if it weren't overrun with maniacs.

So he supposed it was his time to wait. The cellar could be explored, granted, but not by him. At least, not alone.

[Barbarian MD]

"There ain't nobody home, miss. Let's get on back to the inn." He doesn't add that he wants to mourn the poor woman that he had to shoot, an act that already is beginning to haunt his mind's eye.

Westlock begins mumbling a bit to himself, and the words flow from his mouth, memorized years ago by rote. They seem to take on a rhythm of their own.

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.

"Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace.

"In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication.

"To that end keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints, and also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains, that I may declare it boldly, as I ought to speak."

Yeah, yeah, I know it would be King James, and I know that the English Standard wasn't even printed until about twenty years ago, but it's the way I learned it.

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock is surprised to finish his litany without interruption.

"Miss, look alive. It's time we ought to head on back." He lays a hand on her and gently tries to steer her away from the door.

[Vox Clamantis]

Cassy shakes off his arm firmly but not violently, ears cocked to one side. "Shh. Do you hear? That's somebody talking - sounds like Spanish." Putting her ear close to the door, Cassie tilts her head this way and that. "It doesn't sound like it's inside. Maybe upstairs?"

--

From upstairs, Threadbare hears a tinkle of broken glass and what is unmistakably Will swearing. A moment later the man himself appears at the head of the stairs, the whites of his eyes visible as they roll about anxiously in his head.

"Sweet f---ing Lord, don't go up there. Don't you go up there, don't do it!"

Running down the stairs so fast that he nearly breaks his leg landing on the last step, Will grabs for another bottle of whiskey with the look of a man who'd like to drink himself stupid.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare had gone white with the commotion and drawn his gun, hand shaking. The half-drunk fool came rushing down the steps like the devil himself lay on his heels.

"Damnation! What in the very name of hell itself has gotten into you, ya' idjit?"

Likely he'd seen a misplaced shadow and, in the state of inebriation that he'd picked up, imagined it to be something it wasn't. Either that or he just wanted an excuse to finish off the rest of the stores before daybreak.

[Vox Clamantis]

Will is for his part insensible, hands shaking so broadly that it nearly looks like he's having a seizure as he struggles to open a bottle. "Christ almighty, this goddamn bottle!" With a final tug he uncorks it and pours directly into his mouth, swallowing it down like it was water.

[Fragenstein]

Threadbare reached for the bottle and forced it back to the bar. He also looked to Will's holster to see where his gun might be. The last thing he needed was some drunken yahoo jumping at shadows.

"You want to calm down and tell me what, exactly, is going on?"

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock stops moving and muttering, straining to hear the sound.

[roll0]

"Miss, I don't know what you're getting on about, but let's get on back. Even if there is some Mexican up there, you don't reckon it'd be the doc, now do ya?"

[Vox Clamantis]

Will chokes on the bitter alcohol as the bottle is wrested away from him, and doubles over and coughs heavily, spraying the floor with spit and booze. He holds up one hand to keep Threadbare at arm's length.

"Sufferin' Jesus!" He coughs again, twice. It's clear that the alcohol has burnt his throat as well as begun to slow his wits. "There's a...a f---in' old woman up there with blood in her eye sockets. I was sittin' at the window with the long rifle and I heard her come in the door. Teeth all broken and black and blood and no eyes!" Casting about for something to do with his hands, he pounds them fruitlessly on the surface of the bar, once, and then continues. "God almighty, I've never done nothin' wrong! Why me?! WHY?!" He slumps over the bar, his body shaking with repressed emotion.

---

Cassy shushes the Reverend with her gun hand, waving it carelessly at him as though there were nothing in it. "Shh! Could be somebody's hurt up there, or maybe they know somethin'. You want to just leave them here alone while we high-tail it back to the hotel?" She tries to turn the door handle, but it's locked.

[Barbarian MD]

Vox, you're creeping me the heck out. Nicely done.

"If you want to be that way, miss, than so be it. But you're going to have to find your own entrance."

Westlock continues to hold his vigil, trying to watch the girl's back and prevent any surprises from creeping up on them at the same time.

If she should find some way to enter, he'll interpose himself in front of her and lead the way.

[Fragenstein]

Any other time, Threadbare would have just assumed the man was mking up tall tales. Something to wrangle a free drink or two, but he'd seen too much on the street outside to believe that. It sounded just like what had a hold of the other locos in this town.

Clearly the boy was useless at the moment, so allowing Will to put himself to sleep was the best thing. The Col. put the bottle back down by his head with a dull thunk, hoping he'd be unconscious in a few more minutes.

"I'm gonna need your gun, son. Someone has to take care of the trouble upstairs, and I don't think you're in any shape to do it."

Mostly, Threadbare just didn't want a lethal weapon left in the hands of someone caught up in drunken hysterics. If Will couldn't help him defend the building, then he didn't need that sidearm -- especially since the boy stood a better chance of shooting himself then anything else.

[Vox Clamantis]

Cassy pushes the Reverend away from the door with one palm, measuring the distance as she does it. After a quick look anxiously up and down the thoroughfare, the star brings up one booted heel and slams it into the door just beside the lock. The lock holds; the door doesn't. With a sharp retort, the brittle desert wood snaps away, one long piece still attached to the lock. The rest swings in on its hinges.

The interior of the barber's is utterly dark. Shadowed by solid wood on all sides, with only a high, thin window in the back to match the larger ones in front, the center of the building is black as night. Taking a step inside, Cassy opens the lantern enough to shed some light inside.

If the Reverend is looking over her shoulder, I'll need a Spot check.

---

Will retreats away from Threadbare, looking at him distrustfully with reddened eyes. "You're kidding me? Like Hell you're taking my gun. If that b---- comes down those stairs, I'm trusting that the great equalizer does its job against witches!" So saying, he takes another step back and turns his waist to keep the gun away from the Col.

[Fragenstein]

"What if she doesn't come down those stairs? What if she gets out of the building and comes in through the back? What if she comes down the dumbwaiter... or a rope ladder... or a by-damned fireman's pole to the back office?"

Threadbare kept his voice calm and level despite the urgency. Even he couldn't keep his teeth from gritting towards then end, though. If there were crazies trapped in the building with them, the last thing they wanted to do was let them run loose.

"Look." He closed his eyes and calmed himself once more. "You don't want to go upstairs, and I can understand that. We can't let 'that bi---', as you call her, move around on her own. If I have to go clean sh-- up then I will, but you're hysterical. I can't have you wandering around dangerous, yourself.

"Now, back in the storeroom, there's a trap door leading to a cellar. Go hide down there if you can't handle what's going on up here. That should keep you safe and your gun away from my personal shadow until I got it under control up here.

"Okay?"

Threadbare's Bluff roll against Will: [roll0]

[Vox Clamantis]

Will straightens and shakes his head, trying to clear it. He glances upstairs for a moment then nods. "Alright, you think I'm crazy. Can't fault you for that. I'll get in the storeroom and check out the cellar. Maybe I'll go down, maybe I won't. You hear somebody in the storeroom when you come downstairs, don't you go shooting wild-like. Maybe I won't go down there, if I don't like the look of it."

With that he turns and walks around the end of the bar, coming up around towards the storeroom. He pointedly does not look upstairs, as though afraid of what might even now be coming down those stairs towards him.

---

Over Cassy's shoulder, the Reverend see that the barber's shop is a flat open room, occupied only by a small mirror on one wall and a wooden captain's chair in front of it. At the back of the room, on the left, is a narrow staircase leading up to the printshop. At the foot foot of the stairs is a hand-operated printing press, and by the papers and ink littering the stairs it must have bounced - or been thrown - down the stairwell.

[Fragenstein]

"If you're even nervous about some dang hole in the floor, then I'll watch your back. I'll go take care of it once you're safe and out of the way.

"For the record, I don't think you're crazy. But I can't have you panicking. Not with a gun in your hand. That just leads to hot lead heading for anything that moves, maybe even me if you're not careful. Things are bad enough around here without getting shot."

Threadbare looks around the room, wondering if the lantern the other two had was the only one on this floor.

"How about getting you some light for this?"

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock interposes himself between her and the door.

"Alright, miss. If you insist on doing this, I'm going first. Now, you hold that light, and we'll go real slowly now."

He begins to make his way inside, rifle at the ready and praying fervantly that no one is here.

"Now, where did you think that Spanish was coming from?"

[Vox Clamantis]

Will fumbles around under the bar, muttering to himself. "Could have sworn I saw the lady f---ing around down here with lamps or -" With a small noise of glee, he pulls a pair of candles out from where they'd evidently been crammed back on a shelf under the bar. Putting them on the bar, he fumbles around some more and comes up with match that he hurriedly strikes and lights both candles with. Every few seconds his gaze flicks towards the top of the stairs as though certain Death itself - or something worse - would appear there.

"Alright, you've got your light. I've got mine. If you don't come find me in five minutes, I'm gonna assume you're a dead man and make for the livery."

With that Will heads into the storeroom.

---

Cassy protests silently as the Reverend shoulders past her, unable to struggle effectively with both hands full. For a moment she looks as though she'd like to pistol-whip him, but she collects her temper with gritted teeth.

"Dammit, preacher, one of us has a badge and the other is a holy man. I like to think I'm more qualified to be leadin' the charge on this one." She bites back whatever more she has to say on the matter. "Might have been upstairs. Tight staircase like that echoes real good."

[Fragenstein]

"Come find you?" Threadbare asks, as if surprised. "Hell, I'll be right behind you. Once you're a snug as a bug in a rug, I'll go clean up the top floor."

Of course, he wasn't going to be very close behind. Just far enough that he could shut the trap door on any horrifying noises that might erupt from Will's explorations. He wanted the boy to test the waters first, but he still needed to know what he found.

[Barbarian MD]

"Shine your light for a bit. Do you see any lamps we could light? It'd be good for you to have a free hand."

Another spot check:[roll0]+11
And a listen check, for good measure: [roll1]+1

[Vox Clamantis]

There aren't any lamps downstairs in the barbershop, but there is a hook on the wall near the door where one might have hung. Now that he's inside, the Reverend can hear it too; a voice muttering prayers in Latin. To the untrained ear of a frontier Protestant woman, as Cassy appears to be, it might very well have sounded like the more familiar Spanish.

It is unmistakably coming from upstairs.

--

Following Will at a respectable distance, Threadbare makes his way into the storeroom bearing his lit candle. Will eyes the bottles on the walls lustily, but mercifully manages to keep himself focused. Perhaps survival instinct is keeping him focused.

Reaching down, he gets a handhold and prepares to open the cellar. He looks up at the Col. "You stand by and be ready to shoot if God-knows-what comes boiling up out of there."

[Barbarian MD]

Westlock grimaces. "Hold the light up, now, and stay close. Try to keep the light from shining more than a few feet in front of me."

He pauses to listen closely, hoping to make out some of the words. He considers announcing his presence, but it might be best to go about things more quiet-like for now.

He starts up the stairs.

Move Silently: [roll0]

[Vox Clamantis]

Quiet as a housecat on the prowl, the Reverend pads his way upstairs. The staircase is narrow and the steps are thin, uncomfortable to climb. Cassy comes behind, lantern held as high as she can keep it. She is not so stealthy as Westlock, and her spurs jangle in the silence with every footfall.

When Westlock reaches the top floor, all is darkness. The voice in Latin is now clearly audible, but it falters as Cassy brings the lantern to bear. The light shines upon and clear through the figure of a tonsured man wearing the thick brown robes of a papist monk. Although he stands there in perfect color and seemingly as solid as the floor upon which he stands, the illumination is hindered no more by his body than by finest glass, and shines through to light the broken press behind him as though he were not there at all.

His face is a study in horror, eyes bulging and sweat upon every surface of his face. "Omnes angelos et sanctos, et vos, fratres, orare pro me ad dominum deum nostrum...
"

Even if you understand or recognize the words, I believe Westlock does not speak or read Latin.

[Barbarian MD]

If Westlock had heard the words in a different setting, he might have been able to guess some of the words, based on their similarity to Spanish.

If he had been in another setting.

But he wasn't. He was staring at a ghost.

The beginnings of an oft-repeated prayer escapes his lips: "Our Father..."

He all but shouts at the man. "Who are you? In the name of God, man, who are you and what are you doing?"