"Listen," Brutto says as they ride towards the hill, this time sitting behind Caroline. "I talk now.
"This town, this place," he begins, "it has the stink of the Devil. Bad things happen here, we agree, yes? The church bell ringing, the 'flection in the water, the women in the whorehouse looking at us like hungry boars. Even that wailing woman in the hotel... Joaquin stands guard that night, and he thinks about what the stupid old man said, and I think she dead." He lets this sink in, never occurring to him that the others may have figured this out. "We talk to these people, and they say the place brings out the bad that's inside there -" he taps Caroline in the back twice, indicating he means inside oneself - "- so, like, the Marshal, he's an a!$%&!$, so this place, it make him a big nasty a!%###@. Yes? Yes." Joaquin spits out more tobacco.
"So that's a problem, no? A problem not just for the town and the stupid people in it, but for us. Maybe it take the bad in us and it gonna make us really bad too. Like Joaquin, he's an a#+*~$@ who don't like nobody, so maybe this place, it make me a bad, bad a**~!@# who gonna kill everybody. Eh? Ehh." He shrugs, looking off a moment.
"So one," he finishes, holding up big chubby fingers and counting them off, "we gotta watch out for that in each other, amigos. So we speak soon on what we need to watch for, so we are not surprised. And two... we gotta know what each other do."
The huckster leaves that there, letting it stand.
Blinking a few times in surprise at Joaquin's uncharacteristic bout of self-awareness, Caroline takes a few moments to respond. She gives a small glance over her shoulder to acknowledge Joaquin, but otherwise she looks straight ahead as she speaks.
"Ah. Yes, well...I think that's a reasonable concern. We don't know how long the effect takes, or even if there's any sort of mechanism governing who it does or doesn't affect. It makes sense to be on guard."
She looks out over the horizon, chewing her lower lip.
"For that matter...there's the visions. We don't know if there's any sort of guiding intelligence behind all of this, or if it's just a natural phenomenon like-" She waves one hand in the air vaguely. "The way the air shimmers in the heat. It's possible the visions could be used to lead us into danger or even to try to harm each other - say, if I were to suddenly appear to be a random shambling corpse to the two of you." She allows herself a small grimace at the thought of the likely consequences.
"We should probably figure out some sort of...safeguard."
As the group approaches the rock, Caroline stiffens, tilting her head to one side. "Do you smell that?"
”Don’t smell nothing,” Joaquin offers dismissively before pressing on. ”Maybe you don’t do nothing special. But he does.” Joaquin looks at Mr. Stuthman. ”That’s what Joaquin smells.
”Now, Joaquin,” he continues proudly, ”He can do things. Big, dangerous things. Much more than shoot real good. Joaquin has - is, mebbe- a dragón. He does dragón things. No good for you, if the place comes over him. Can’t be beat. That is what we talk about, and soon.” He taps Caroline annoyingly on the back again, but his voice has sobered. He speaks into her ear as if to show he means what he says.
”Like Il Brutto say before... we have things to kill together. Best to know what guns your compadres bring to the fight... and what to expect if this place make us bad too.”
Withdrawing his grotesque face, Ramirez slides off the back of her horse and walks between the two as they approach the summit.
Mr. Stuthman shifts uncomfortably in his saddle, mumbling something about not being special: ”*hehem* Yes! We ha-have to purge the sickness fruh- *uhhuuhh* from the land, before we t-too are overhuh-wel-*heheuhuccch* overwhelmed.”
As they reach the top of the hill, Stuthman looks down into the hole, eyebrows raised: ”Huh! I was not expecting that... What d’ypu suppose is down there?”
Caroline bites back an irritated comment, shifting away from Joaquin's touch almost reflexively. Taking a moment to master her emotions, she says curtly, "I smelled smoke...something earthy. Not wood - more, ah, pungent.
Her gaze drifts towards the rock, her forehead creasing in mild concern.
"...we really should have some sort of method to safeguard against deception. Unless..." Her voice trails off as she loses herself in thought.
Unless, of course, the cause of the illusions is causing them with intent, and then, who's to say it wouldn't be able to pervert even those safeguards to its own ends?
"Ah. Well. Yes, anyway. I suppose we should investigate."
She slings her camera over her shoulder, grabs her shotgun, and prepares to make for the foreboding rock.
Caroline's vision leads her in one direction - up, and getting to the top of this damn thing looks like it'll be a lot of work. It's mostly bare rock at a steep angle that'll involve plenty of using your hands as well as your feet. You're going to need to leave your horses behind for this one, amigos.
Stuthman ties up his horse, grumbling all the while about horse thieves. Slinging his canteen and rifle over his shoulders, he looks up at the steep climb doubtfully, before grimly looking back at the ground and slouching forward.
Coughing and panting, stopping frequently for sips of water, Mr. Stuthman attacks the slope up Coffin Rock with quiet determination. Finally at the top, lungs burning and head pounding, he gazes out at the town and surrounding area.
Spots float in front of his eyes and, feeling slightly dizzy, Stuthman sits for a minute on the stone.
Caroline grabs a rope from her saddlebag and briefly considers how she might rig it up to aid in her ascent. After a few moments, though, she settles on tackling the climb the old fashioned way. She sighs, looping the rope over her shoulder as she begins to scale the rock.
Reaching the top, she takes a moment to wipe the sweat from her forehead as she looks around. In particular, she keeps an eye out for anything to secure the rope to.
Even Stuthman's less-than-hale condition is no issue as you all tackle the side of the rock with gusto. The ground is stable and the handholds are sound as you climb your way up before finally coming to the small plateau at the top.
The view around the area should be spectacular but the sense of a sickness in the land is palpable. The trees all seem a little bent, the sunlight has a hue to it that feels a little more orange and unwholesome than it should be, and the dust tastes off.
However, Caroline's flash of a vision seems to have granted her something - there's a hole in the top of this rock, and pleasant but heady herbal smoke is wafting out of it. A ladder leads down into the rock below.
Caroline blinks a few times as she notices the hole, trying to clear her sight and ensure this isn't another "vision".
"Wait, how did-" She quickly cuts herself off. "That hole there, with the ladder - you see it, right?
She approaches the edge of the hole cautiously and, taking care to ensure her balance, slowly leans over the edge to peer down inside.
Crouching at the edge of the hole, Stuthman drops a pebble over the side. Frowning, he mutters: "I still think dynamite would have been the better way to deal with this. We're going to have to go down there, aren't we...?"
Mr. Stuthman leans over the hole, trying to get a gander on what's going on down there. It sure does give one a funny feeling - but rather than the grim horror of the blood man you just fought or the decay of Coffin Rock, instead you feel a sense of.. welcome? Seems cozy down there.
Joaquin doesn't like the responses he receives from either one of his companions, and he makes this fact known by stomping loudly up the side of the hill. Along the way he comes to the hasty decision that, since he doesn't know what they're capable of, he'll just shoot them in the face early should they go bad here.
At the top, he lies down over the hole and cups his hands over his mouth. "HEY! ANYONE INSIDE THIS STOOPID ROCK?"
Mr. Stuthman listens intently for a response to Joaquin's shout, before swinging a leg over the edge and grabbing hold of the ladder: "This'll be a first for me - usually I'm the one sealing people into the coffin..."
Caroline stares at the hole, her brow still furrowed.
”I -knew- this was going to be here. Why-“ She gives a vexed little exhalation, shaking her head.
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, she draws her revolver as she watches Stuthman descend the ladder.
”Hopefully this won’t be nearly so permanent,” she offers moodily in response to his comment.
Rich, delighted laughter echoes out from the hole in the top of the rock, bordering on a cackle. A voice calls out. "I have been calling for you, and you are late. Come. We must smoke and speak."
Caroline looks from the hole to Il Brutto, briefly making eye contact with him before turning her attention back to the hole. She shifts her grip on her revolver, briefly weighing the relative merits of letting Il Brutto go first or bringing up the rear. Imagining the large man descending the ladder above her, she opts to go last.
"After you, I suppose," she sighs, giving a small jerk of her head in the direction of the ladder.
The large man considers Caroline for a brief moment, face his unreadable now as the childlike petulance he has displayed begins to slowly leak away. Audibly clucking his tongue inside his cheek once, Il Brutto heads down the ladder.
Descending rapidly, Joaquin takes a hard look around regardless.
You start climbing down the rope ladder into the rock. After a short distance, it ends in a small, cozy-looking room. A stone bench lines the inside wall, and a fire burns at the centre of the room, filling the chamber with pungent herb-scented smoke.
A native man stands there, smiling brightly with white teeth as you descend into the room. He is bare-chested and dressed in white and red garb and spreads his hands peacefully.
"Please, come. I have been calling for you - it can be difficult, for this is a bad place. I am Alo, and this is my kiva."
The garb and accent of this man identifies him as Hopi - an Indigenous group mostly situated in Arizona territory. He's a long ways from home.
"Ah, yes, well. Hello," Caroline says with deliberate, if distant, courtesy, descending the last few rungs of the ladder. Her ingrained manners nearly compel her to make introductions, but the strangeness of finding a bare-chested man in a hole in a giant rock, one who had apparently been waiting for them no less, allows caution to win out.
"We've certainly had some experience of this place being bad. What can you tell us about that? And...you say you've been calling us? How? -Why-?"
She doesn't yet sit, standing near the ladder with her arms folded.
Brutto seems generally comfortable with the man's presence, having met the Peaceful People in his travels up from Mexico. Though he dislikes everyone in general, he disliked this native tribe significantly less than most other people he'd ever met. He moseys over to the bench and plops his frame down on it.
"Il Brutto, he has good ears," he says to the man on the heels of Caroline's question. "He don't hear nobody calling." He begins fumbling for an old cigar in his pockets. "Maybe you call from Arizona, eh? Ehh. Too far to hear you. Or you from one of the Colorado tribes? Not too many of those."
Not trusting his voice in the smoke, Stuthman coughs, sips at water, and stays silent. He takes a moment to look about the room before sitting on the bench with Joaquin.
The smoke stings Stuthman's eyes, and they blur with tears.
Alo shrugs. "I... have a knack for the matters of the spiritual, I call for allies, ask them to come here. You are here, so it must have worked, yes? Here it is safe. Outside? Very bad. I am traveling to the Ghost Dance gathering in Sioux territory but stay here for some time for prayer and rest. It's no longer safe to travel. Bad things attacking good men on the roads."
He points at you. "You... you have answered the calling. You do not know it, but the town below this rock, it is a skirmish in a far greater war. In this war, you have been chosen as champions against a great evil. My prayers have told me that I have a role to play, and that is to give you, the champions, the tools you need to succeed. A foul spirit has taken this land, turned it and its people sour."
Alo's voice lowers, and becomes dangerous as he speaks. "To receive this gift, you must pass a test. It is dangerous. You may refuse this test and I will think no less, it has humbled the proud before."
At the words "humbled the proud", Caroline can't help but discreetly glance sideways towards Joaquin. Forcing herself to focus, she returns her attention to Alo, her eyes narrowing. While she isn't about to refuse help or information, all this talk of dangerous tests and spiritual wars against evil makes her uncomfortable.
"What kind of test?" she asks slowly. "For that matter, why this town? Why here? What caused all this?"
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Joaquin considers this for the briefest of moments.. or at least appears to. From the way his head is tilted up as if profiling his face against an unseen sun majestically, he's already made up his mind. Champion against a great evil? Of course he is.
His hands slap his knees firmly. "Okay," he responds simply. "Il Brutto, he take your test. We get started, eh? My amigos first... right after me."
He rises to his feet and looks at Alo expectantly.
Mr. Stuthman's face takes on an expression that requires a moment to interpret - is it eagerness? Alo's words ring true to Stuthman's soul and he leans forward to take all of it in.
Straining to maintain his voice past the smoke and perpetual tightness: "Wh-What is this evil? Where did it come from? How do we overcome it? TELL ME!"
[ooc]"Champion against a great evil? Of course he is." I love this.[/ooc[
Alo lets out a high-pitched cackle as Stuthman leans in, almost feverish with his intense questions. "Ah you are the people I knew I must meet. One so proud, one so inquisitive, one desperate." He grins wickedly at Stuthman. "You smell like death, friend - not everyone gets to help bring babies to the world. Some others like you and I, we help on the other side."
Leaning back he looks between Stuthman and Caroline. "I do not have all the answers you need, but my test may. Your faith is what I require first of all though. It is like a death, no? Accept that what you cannot control."
Caroline grimaces, looking around the small chamber as if seeking some sort of escape. She takes a moment to eye Joaquin and Stuthman, then gives a tense sigh.
There's no -guarantee- that this man isn't somehow involved with what's going on, or even -responsible-, and this is all a terribly bad idea. But what other choice do we have?
"Yes, well, I'm afraid 'faith' isn't really my strong suit, but...oh, very well."
Water gathering in the corners of his eyes , Stuthman draws in a long, slow breath: "I am ready for your test."
Alo lets out another long, joyous laugh before he grabs a bundle of herbs and throws them on the fire. The fire flares up and the flames turn mauve. Smoke pours out into the chamber, and the last thing you see is his white teeth in a cheshire cat grin.
"You have passed the test."
Total Vigour = 9
Total Spirit = 23
The floor collapses within the kiva and Alo's cackling laughter becomes deafening. Down and down you fall, your shotguns falling free of their holsters, leaving you defenseless. Up above, you see Caroline and Stuthman ascending somewhere better. Finally, you see something coming up blow you, fast. Mud. Hot, boiling mud.
You plunge down into the mud and pain like nothing you've ever reckoned floods every sense. The searing heat sloughs off your flesh, cooking you and warping you, making you one with the heat. The pain never leaves, but neither do you die. Your consciousness clings on, and you feel the mud become a part of you, infusing your body. Slowly, you begin to move as you find bottom in the mud pit, and start to stalk out.
A man wearing robes stands at the pit, raising his hands high as he calls you out. You tower over him and start to stalk through dark hallways. Mud pours from your body, ever renewing. Today, you slay Caroline and Stuthman. This is why you are here.
As you inhale the smoke you feel elated. Seeing the both of each other, you fly upwards as you see Il Brutto fall downwards. You travel, as if flying, well over the land before plunging down into an open copper mine. A sign standing beside it reads Crooked Earth.
Down, deep into the mine you come before a massive puma. The creature looks ancient and holy, with innumerable scars and dark eyes. Blood-red, glowing chains fly from the dark earth to bind it, and you feel its pain. It rasps out in a voice that comes from the earth itself.
"I must ask for your help. The land around this place is under my protection. I have been here since the earth was young. Some time ago the thing you call a mine was begun, and deep wounds were dug into the earth. Then a man came with magic unfamiliar to me. I do not know how he found me but he called upon the magic of the sky, my nemesis, and trapped me. I cannot touch the earth and so I only have a fraction of my power. The man drains my power and uses it for his own dark purposes. I know not what they are but I ask you, please, find me beneath this mine of yours and free me. Do not let one of your kind twist my power so. Help me and I will be generous in my reward."
You all awaken with the sun low in the sky. You lie on the roadside on the outskirts of that miserable town Coffin Rock. Whatever vision you experienced, you are now very much yourselves and in one piece with your minds as solid as they've ever been. Stuthman and Caroline feel elated and powerful while Il Brutto has the worst headache of his g#% d@%n life.
Mr. Stuthman sits up - his breath comes easily, his joints don't ache, his eyes shine with renewed purpose. He feels elated, buoyant - so much so that he doesn't even think about how much he'll likely regret this feeling in an hour when the pain returns.
His voice, clearer than it's ever been, is soft: "Joaquin? Where did you go? Did you see? Did the Puma speak to you, wherever you went? No matter - we understand now; we have a purpose. We have to free him from the mine."
”Ah, yes, what -did- you see? Either of you, for that matter.” Caroline begins dusting herself off and checking to make sure that her possessions are intact and accounted for.
”To be honest, I’m not certain that strange men in holes and talking cats are the soundest basis for a plan of action, but I suppose it’s the best we’ve got. Somehow, I KNEW it was all going to come back around to that mine.”
Speaking somewhat fervently: "You were there with me! You saw - the Puma, chained in the mine, unable to touch the earth, and therefore weakened..."
Frowning slightly as he considers what he's just said: "I... I assume that's an allegory of some kind. Like Jesus walking on water? But yes, the mine - I suppose it always had to be the mine."
Whispering to himself: "... I was almost expecting to find that Daly had delved too greedily and too deep, and had awakened some creature of shadow and flame..."
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"Nurrrrrrgggghhhhhh...."
Il Brutto is miserable, sitting up and holding his head. At first it is the headache; as his companions speak, the greater pain becomes about that he has clearly failed where they succeeded. He tries to process their excited words to one another and finds that he can only take in that they are the champions... and he is not. Jealousy rages immediately in that ample stomach alongside pain, anger and despair. How many people have wondered if the mettle they hoped to have when the moment came someday would hold them fast? What did they do when it became clear they did not, when it counted, possess it?
The clarity of these thoughts are not so vivid to Joaquin Diego Rigoberto Santiago Ramírez, but the feeling that accompany them could not be sharper. He rolls to his hands and knees slowly, bleary eyes staring at the dirt beneath him and sweat rolling off his fat, broken nose. They are invigorated, joyous, happy; he is a loser, a lout, a good-for-nothing. He has always known this, and he has embraced it wholly as the only path that was open to him. In his nearly-broken mind, he imagines playing soccer as a child and watching the team celebrate without him after a great victory. That it never happened is of no consequence.
And so, how to play this now - or whether or not to play it at all - is what fills the part of his mind not consumed by fatigue. He hates them. Their victory is his failure. He tries to think. He tries very hard.
The dragon inside is deathly quiet about the matter.
From his place on his hands and knees, Joaquin's dark, ruddy eyes - or perhaps Il Brutto's eyes - look up from under the brim of his sombrero at Caroline Caldwell and Mr. Stuthman.
And a decision is made.
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Heartbeat.
The Mexican's fingers clasp the dirt. His eyes fall to them. He rises to his knees, wiping them off on his his filthy poncho. They fall slowly to his sides, where his guns rest in their oiled leather homes.
Heartbeat.
Those same fingers twitch ever-so-slightly.
Heartbeat.
The eyes raise again. The mouth opens and speaks.
"I failed," Joaquin Diego Rigoberto Santiago Ramírez croaks in a voice that does not want your pity. "Joaquin, he failed."
Joaquin forces himself to his feet, turning a stumble into a reeling motion. He crashes into Stuthman's horse, falling again, and growling off all attempts at aid as he forces himself up again. He leans hard against Caroline's horse and fumbles at his canteen, drowning his head in the water after a long pull. He shakes his stringy hair apart and screams, long, loud and full of anger.
In the aftermath, Joaquin looks at them each in turn. He points at them, as if to make one.
"Joaquin," he says in an odd combination of pure misery and absolute determination, "he will not fail again."
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Mr. Stuthman watches Il Brutto; sees the aspects of rage and jealousy clench across his face; is unsurprised, yet knows from a distant part of his mind, that he should be afraid when the Latino's hand grips his pistol. The elation he felt following the vision chills.
Stuthman knows a bit about this man he's travelled with for the past few weeks: knows that he isn't right; that sometimes he fights for control of himself. Il Brutto doesn't fit into Stuthman's ordered world, where parts of the body connect logically to others, where dead folks stay dead. Joaquin, on the other hand, might be a friend, and Stuthman isn't entirely certain he himself fits into an ordered world any more.
And, like two tectonic plates, the halves of Stuthman's mind grind against one another again. Oh - It won't be long before they slip again. Seismic waves along the fault line of his psyche.
Hoarseness creeping backing into his voice, Mr. Stuthman stands shakily: "Success, failure... *ahem* unimportant. Wh- What matters is we move forward, or hehhh ... or we die."
Il Brutto peers at Stuthman, and after a moment, nods noncommittally. Reeling away, he slumps against a nearby rock and begins to recant his story.
"Joaquin, he sees you rise up to the angels as he falls down with the devils." His voice denotes bitterness and he looks at the ground. "He falls for a long time, and finally he lands in boiling mud. Can't see, no guns. Cannot find his feet. It burns, it boils, it kills Il Brutto... but he don't die. Finally he finds his feet on the bottom and crawls out." Joaquin finishes his canteen.
"There is a.. dark padre of sorts there. Maybe this priest we look for, I don't know. He calls Joaquin out, who is a mud-man now, like the kind I kill." He mimes a gun to the face at the recent memory. "And me, but mud-Joaquin, you know? He knows he serves this man now, and he has one job: kill Senorita Caldwell and Senor Stuthman. Kill them now, kill them today." Joaquin makes no drama of this, pausing only to plug each nostril in turn while he blows out the other. He looks up at them, incredibly weary but determined.
"So Joaquin failed, and so that is what they tell him will happen. But they don't know Joaquin. They don't know about his vow. Me, I don't kill nobody on my side. No, no." He brings forth his shotguns, checking them out, and speaking as he looks down at them.
"I don't lie down with the dead and the dark. No. Them that do this? Joaquin is going to kill every last one of those m~$*~@##*@#@s."
Caroline seems somewhat taken aback by this conversation, finding herself uncharacteristically at a loss for words.
”Ah. *ahem* Yes, well. I’m not certain I’d put too much stock in visions. All the same, I admire your enthusiasm and your, ah, focus.”
She awkwardly averts her gaze, looking off into the distance instead. ”I’m not entirely sure what to make of all these...visions, and I wish we had more to go on when it comes to this...dark man, or whoever it is. But at least we have somewhere to look.”
She pauses. ”Do you suppose we should try to enlist those women from before - the rather generously-armed ones? If the issue were put to them properly, perhaps leaving out the talking animals and whatnot but emphasizing the lifting of the town’s curse, they might be open to providing some assistance.” She shrugs. ”Or perhaps not. It’s just a thought. It’s simply that we really don’t know WHAT we’ll find in those mines, even if we wait until morning.”
Noticing the setting sun, and seeing that Joaquin can barely stand: "Think we can make it to the Pearl Gang's camp before dark? It's probably the safest of our options right now."
Joaquin puts his weapons away, trying to stand. "If we go, we go now. Me, I have to ride. No strength. Need sleep. Help me on a horse, amigos."