Seeing the bear bite down on Cole, Henry's ire explodes, and aiming once more at the bear's back, fires his rifle hoping to bring it down or slow it down so it does not bite or claw anyone else.
As Thistle tries to sneak out, the doctor throws a rock and Cole takes a stab. Cole misses and Wilkens isn't sure his shot did any good. Then Cole decides to try to retreat, but catches a swift paw from the bear.
His tough armor lets him shrug off the blow as he finds a more strategic position. Finally, Richardson decides he's had enough of this bear and shoots it right in the back of the skull. It falls with a heavy crash to the floor, though it can hardly be heard for the ringing sound in everyone's ears.
Good shot, Henry! Quite a kill, boys. Hey Doc, can ya do anything about these wounds?
The ringing in Henry's ears was an annoyance, necessary but still, it left him feeling on edge. He shook his head attempting to clear the din.
In a voice louder than he intended (though he wasn't entirely aware of the volume), Henry addressed the men, "Bloody bear finally went down! It put up a good fight. Cole? Thistle? How are your injuries?"
Henry wondered how the others' hearing fared -- perhaps worse than his for he was at least used to the sound. He did not enjoy firing indoors but the situation required it, for better or worse.
"My ears are ringing! Speak up!"
Henry surveyed the upper cave they were standing in, looking at the dead bear and around, hoping to spy any new dangers which now may be lurking since his hearing was impaired.
Everything appeared calm, almost dead, as if the world had simply held its breath, but for too long. Unable to determine if it is the deafness or something else, the stillness is almost oppressive to Henry and the group.
Breathing heavy, back flush against the wall, Zachariah takes a few moments to compose himself.
"Is it dead?" he yells.
Hearing Thistle's question, Henry makes his way cautiously over to the bear and pushes the butt of his rifle against the prone bear. If it does not move, he will bend down slightly and attempt to see if it is breathing or not.
The ongoing stillness made Henry nervous -- it wasn't just the silence (due to the temporary deafness from the gunfire) but it was like a heavy cloud had fallen down upon him, all around him. Henry did not like the feeling.
"Does anyone else feel that?" Henry shouts to the others. "Like the place is too quiet, too still?"
Looking about the space some more, Henry's eyes fall on Doc Wilkens. He yells across to the man, "Doc? Doc! Go see to Cole's injuries now. We need to get out of this place!"
Henry steps back away from the seemingly dead bear, closer to his companions, his rifle lifted and ready for the unexpected.
"Thistle, the bear looks still enough. Doc can confirm if its dead - he is the one with the medical expertise."
Wilkens strains to hear the muffled voices of his companions. Catching the gist of Richardson's words, he nods and heads over to Cole. He whispers a short prayer, once again feeling the healing presence inside.
After tending to the wounded he examines the downed bear, watching it closely for movement.
Wilkens is able to determine that the bear is dead. In fact, he is also able to determine that it was not entirely well in life. It seemed to have been afflicted by some kind of disease, but such a quick examination could not readily tell the exact nature.
Wilkens turns back to the others using hand motions to support his speech.
"The bear is quite dead! But it appears to have contracted a disease! You should all keep your distance! I should examine it further to determine the cause of the affliction before we continue! In case this disease has spread further through the cave!"
He then turns back to the bear unpacking the surgeon's kit from his shoulder bag. Carefully wrapping his hands and face he dives in with his scapel to probe it further.
Cole nods in thanks to Doc.
Thanks Doc! I could use some more o'that healin' when ya get a chance. Any notion if the disease is contagious for Thistle and me?
After some time, Wilkens unfortunately realizes he will need at least a few days' study with his books and probably the bear's body to identify what might have sickened the creature.
Wilkens discards his bloodied hand wraps and uses the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his brow. He uses a bit of alcohol to sterilize his scalpel and wipes it clean. Heading back over to the group he examines the party's wounds still shouting into the muffled air.
"This is a disease I am unfamiliar with! I need access to my books to learn more! For the time being we should quaratine this area as best we can! I believe Mr. Younger and Mr. Thistle are safely out of harm's way for the moment, though I should examine them further back in town!"
Wilkens pauses for a moment as a rasp starts to set into his voice. With another burst of soothing energy () his throat clears. "Suffice it to say if there any other infected here, they are well aware of our presence!"
Thanks again, Doc!
"My pleasure, Mr. Younger. We may well need your strengths again before this day is over."
Having watched Doc work meticulously on the body of the deceased bear, Henry attempts to clear his still ringing ears but to no avail. Least he could hear a little sound, if his companions spoke loudly enough.
Once more speaking in loud voice to his present companions, "I understand what you are saying, Doc. However, the hunters are a rather contrary lot and I cannot see how we can keep them out of their lodge for too long. I could make a general announcement once we are back in town, hoping they will heed the warning, but I cannot guarantee they will abide by my word alone. I will do my best, however. Once you determine the true nature of this illness, I will require information as to the length of time the quarantine will be in effect so I can inform the hunters."
"Now, if Cole and Thistle are healed well enough, we should get moving. Doc, do you require the entire bear carcass or have you taken samples to work on back in town? If the entire body is unnecessary, I say we burn it lest other creatures come in and feast on the diseased remains."
If you take the whole thing, I will be wantin' to mount that head in the bar!
I doubt there's anything mote of use to be found here. It seems pretty clear to me that this sick bear did that fellow in. Though I supose there's still the matter of a body. It wouldnt have eayen him whole, now would it?
Ahem.
Regardless. Perhaps we should get out of this cave?
"Cole, having the head of a diseased bear up in your establishment does not sound sanitary to me."
To Thistle, "I am all for leaving this place, but we must ensure Doc has all he needs and we dispose of the rest."
Addressing Doc again, "So Doc, what do you say? The whole bear is coming to Devil's Fork or just your samples?"
"The more of the bear's body, the better chance I'll have to determine the cause of this disease. I am concerned of further infection as we move it, though. We need to take great care not to touch the eyes, mouth, claws, teeth, and any open wounds or stray blood."
Wilkens stares at the bear's body a moment thoughtfully. "Perhaps if we had a cart and bind up the bear carefully."
After some deliberation, the party works together to bring the bear back to town for Wilkens to study. Avoiding the main roads through town, they deposit the bear in the cellar under Wilkens' house. By the time the job is done everyone can hear quite clearly again.
Once back upstairs, Wilkens breaks out his medical gear and examines Thistle and Cole. He cleans their wounds and looks for signs of infection.
Richardson heads to the Crusty Cup to warn the other hunters to stay away from the caves. Most seem dismissive.
As Richardson leaves, Thistle enters the Crusty Cup and takes a seat in the corner. While the Cup is not especially well-lit, Thistle almost seems to disappear in the shadows as he takes a seat. He ends up having to say something to a passing serving girl to be noticed. A few words are exchanged, two rounds are put away, and Thistle vanishes into the sunset. Cole, who arrived to work the bar an hour or so prior, hears whispers about this "new" fellow in town and questions about if he might be behind strange happenings lately.
Richardson returns to his house, cleans his weapons, practices his quickdraw and knife skills, then retires early to be awake before dawn and rally the others to the Crusty Cup for a meeting.
Cole closes the bar that night, brings up some new stock from the cellar, then turns in. Before going to bed, he takes a few moments in the dim lantern light to imagine where the head of that bear would fit best on the Cup's walls.
Wilkens spends most of the night examining the bear and barely gets any sleep. Strange symptoms like internal bleeding and foul-smelling fluids seem to have plagued this bear. By his estimation, it shouldn't have even been able to walk correctly, much less put up such a fight. Further examination reveals a swollen brain, indicating it may have attacked out of some kind of dementia. Wilkens finally can't keep his eyes open and decides to get a few hours rest before Richardson undoubtedly would come knocking in the morning.
Thistle suddenly finds himself in the middle of the small town of Devil's Fork, but the town is gone. The roads are there, and a clearing, but no buildings or houses remain. The night is as black as pitch, without a star in the sky to light the scene before him. Yet somehow he sees. Cold wind moves too silently across the ground, rustling the trees to make sounds like whispers. Away through the trees to the West, a heaviness seems to approach that presses down on everything. Trees sag, and even Thistle himself can barely will his chest to continue breathing. Shadows from deep in the woods seem to burst from the tree line, ghostly forms filling the clearing where Devil's Fork should have been. For a moment, Thistle feared they were coming for him. But soon it became apparent that they were fleeing the heaviness passing through the woods. As Thistle himself turned to move, he found no amount of strength could pick up his feet. As the shadows fled, their presence in the trees was replaced by gnashing teeth and hideous, ravenous laughter. A strong stench swept across Thistle as he looked North and saw--
Suddenly he awoke in his old quarters in the church tower. Smith had apparently cleaned the place and taken the locks off the doors. There was even a straw mattress. Not sure of the time of night or what had just happened, Thistle did what any proper madman would do and simply fell back asleep.
Smith had hardly emerged from his cabin the previous day, not even responding to Richardson's annoying rapping at his door. That evening, however, he finished cleaning and preparing Thistle's old quarters as he couldn't help but notice Thistle seemed to keep finding his way back there, apparently in some kind of sleepwalk. The next morning, as they all met at the Crusty Cup, Smith gave some of that week's church offering to Richardson as was customary.
Perception:
Cole tends to his duties in the evening at the Cup, then after a good nights sleep he awakens to his friends showing up at the Cup for some breakfast fare that he serves. Eggs and fried ham.
So, are we disease free, Doc?
Profession (Barkeep):
Richardson heads to the Crusty Cup to warn the other hunters to stay away from the caves. Most seem dismissive.
As Richardson leaves, Thistle enters the Crusty Cup and takes a seat in the corner.
----------------------------------------------------
Thistle wakes in a cold sweat, breathing heavy and arches his back abruptly, rising a few inches off the worn straw mattress. Taking a labor and extremely deep breath, he sighs and lays down again. He folds his hands gently on his chest and stares at the ceiling, his gaze fixated on a simple knothole in the board above him and the rusty nail next to it that is ever-so-slightly bent and with just a touch of rust.
After contemplating what may or may not have been a dream, he dresses himself and walks down the stairs, his footsteps creaking every floorboard, making far more noise than they should. He holds back a wince with each sound, and finally through the door, cups his hand over his eyes and looks towards the sun just coming over the horizon.
Methodically, he paces a full circle around the church 3 times, and then makes his way to the Crusty Cup. Nodding at Cole as he enters, he forces a tight smile and sits down at the bar,
"If it wouldn't trouble you too much. A whiskey."
Taking a gulp of the liquid,
"Any news from the others yet?"
Then, noticing Richardson there as well, he straightens his glasses and asks,
"What now?"
So the warnings mostly fell on deaf ears. At least Henry had made the attempt, and any repercussions which befell them thereafter would be their own fault.
The rest of the day had been spent cleaning his weapons, practicing his knife skills and draws and going about usual sheriff business as the townsfolk of Devil's Fork still required his attention and mediation.
The morning had come too soon and Henry was up bright and early, dressing, collecting his weapons and walking down to the Crusty Cup to meet with the others.
Once all the men are congregated in the tavern, Henry begins by advising them of his success with the warnings. "Well, I spoke to the local group of hunters and advised them of the disease which may be in their lodge cave, however they did not seem overly disturbed or interested. Doc, I am afraid there may be new cases of illness if they disregard the warnings."
Scratching at the light blonde stubble on his chin, Henry's lifts his serious brown eyes to them, "Anyone learn anything new last night? Cole? Thistle? Doc, can you give us a rundown of your medical findings on the bear? "
Nothin' of note. Just some whispers 'bout the new guy in town, Thistle here. Folks are wonderin' if he had anythin' to do with the trouble. Some mutterings 'bout whispers in the night and somethin' 'bout the Toxaway I didn't catch.
The fever was coming more often now. It must be his age. The day before Smith could barely do more than lay in bed, shaking and sweating. When Richardson was knocking at his door, he couldn't even muster the strength to tell him to go to hell. He'd thought of telling Doc Wilkins about it, but the quack would probably have him just buy some expensive medicine that wouldn't do any good.
The fever broke some time in the night. He'd staggered out to the well and drew a bucket of water which he'd alternately drank and poured over his head. Despite his deep sleep the rest of the night, he'd awoken sore and weak. He choked down some corn dodgers and tea then staggered out towards the Crusty Cup for the hair of the dog. Along the way, Mrs. Montgomery spied him staggering along and shook her head in disapproval, "Drunk again."
He bit back on his curses. Better she think him on a tear than the town think him sick and weak.
Cole had eggs and fried ham waiting, and Smith thanked him for some whiskey in his coffee. He gulped down his food without manners and few words except thanks to his host, all the while taking in what the others were saying about the previous day's events.
Profession (carpentry) (upkeep to church): d20 = 1; +4 profession; TOTAL = +5
Not really having any "marketable" skills, and only having been playing the fiddle in his spare time, Zachariah spends the day talking to folks and generally trying to dismiss the oddity of his new presence. Some unconscious urge finds him sweeping up stray coins with a free hand though, and he (maybe) finds himself with a bit extra when the day ends.
Wilkens peers through heavy eyes as he details the strange symptoms and difficulties of the work, often using terms and citing conditions that don't sound familiar to anyone else. What he seems to be saying is that he will need more time to research, and perhaps some outside sources such as a proper library.
Wilkens found early signs of infection in Cole but thinks he was able to cure it.
While everyone discussed the previous day's events, the town started to awaken. A light drizzle couldn't quite keep the sun from coming out, and for a late August morning in Devil's Fork, it's actually somewhat warm. Just cresting the hill to the east, what appears to be some sort of caravan rolls into town. Since almost nobody who isn't lost ever comes to Devil's Fork, the town is quickly abuzz with related excitement.
Cole stands in the doorway of the Cup, apron on, and surveys the caravan coming into to town. He constantly keeps an eye on the patrons inside the bar, but gives a warm smile (as warm as is possible for his gruff mannerisms) to the new arrivals.
Could be a quick increase in business, but still may slow us down in solving this town's mysteries.
he looks at Henry.
Well, Sheriff, care to welcome the newcomers?
Smith listened to the doctor carefully. Words like "acute encephalitis" and "necrotic tissue" were lost on him, but he thought he understood the gist of it.
So, ya sayin' it ain't rabies?
He poured out another cup of coffee for the exhausted physician before returning to his own cup. Smith had torn a slice of crusty bread into strips and was now dunking it into his own cup. When the doc finished, Smith was silent, turning over in his mind what might happen if there were more infected animals out there.
The commotion outside snapped him out of his reverie.
Well, Sheriff, care to welcome the newcomers?
Great, now we got strangers in town to stir things up even more.
Henry picked up his rifle and moved with Cole to the doorway, peering up the semi-dusty road leading into town. The recent rain had made the earth muddy but the day's heat was remedying that.
It cannot be a coincidence that travellers come into town at this strange moment in time. They must be connected. No one travels through Devil's Fork. But Henry kept his thoughts to himself.
"Come on, let us provide a warm reception for these folk. It isn't everyday that we get travellers through these parts." Henry gives Cole a knowing look. Henry was generally wary of strangers and did not trust them. He would ask them questions, of course, as was his duty as Sheriff. If they did not satisfy his queries, he would give them a night in time and then ask them to be on their way.
Henry stepped out of the Crusty Cup and began walking up the road toward the caravan. He did not want them to get too far into town until he could speak with them.
Cole strips off his apron, and checks his Short Sword in its sheath before following Henry down the road to the new arrivals.
Right behind ya.
As the caravan draws closer, Henry surveys the wagons and the people. It never hurt to be prepared.
A relatively small caravan, it seems to have just one merchant wagon. The rest seem plain. From what Henry can tell, they are honest folk here for an honest purpose.
Henry was relieved that it was only a small caravan with only a single merchant wagon among them. Before the wagons were within earshot, Henry turned to Cole and nodded, muttering quietly, "Seem like honest folk. What do you think?"
Henry lifted his free hand to halt the caravan. The other was holding his rifle just in case there was trouble. Once they had stopped, Henry approached the first wagon. Tipping his hat, Henry addresses the driver of the wagon.
"Good day to you. Welcome to Devil's Fork. We don't see many travellers come through these parts." Henry looks to the other wagons now waiting just on the outer edge of the town. He takes in their numbers and faces.
"My name is Henry Richardson and I am the Sheriff, here. These gentlemen behind me are my deputies."
"May I ask what brings you to our town?"
Henry's voice was steady, relatively cordial but with the brevity of authority.
Smith followed the others outside the Crusty Cup. While the sheriff approached the lead wagon, Smith took a seat on a bench by the door and began filling his pipe. All the while his eyes were on the newcomers.
In response to Henry's question, Cole simply shrugs and examines the group more carefully.
Perception:
After Henry finishes his introductions, Cole adds.
If ya have a thirst, the Crusty Cup can take care of that. I would be Cole, deputy and local barkeep.
He thrusts his thumb over his shoulder towards the Cup when he references the establishment.
The lead driver, a short stocky man with a thick mustache and an old hat, looks relieved. The person next to him looks asleep. "Devil's Fork you say? Thank the heavens. We thought we were lost. This little hole isn't even on our map!" He says, shaking a small worn paper map of South Carolina. "We're here for some business for--" he stops and rummages through his pockets, finding a slip of paper. "For Mr. Abendroth. Big job. Brought as many carpenters as I could find, but might need some woodsmen. Many able-bodied woodsmen in these parts?" he asks hopefully. "And any place we could take a rest? We traveled through the night for fear of thieves. These are some spooky woods you've got here."
Smith had gotten up and walked over when the driver mentioned carpenters.
There's some shacks here and there that ain't got no one to claim them. They're a bit tumbledown but if your men know their trade, that shouldn't be a problem.
"I know every woodsman in town. At this time of day, you will find them in Cole's establishment, the Crusty Cup yonder, eating their fill of breakfast. You can try to catch them now or else they will be gone until dusk."
Henry scratches his chin and then remembers something, addressing the lead driver, "I did not catch your name..."