Knowing that his patient is at least stable, the elder Doctor roots through his bag...
"Hmm, I wonder if I packed those...", the doctor mumbles as he sifts through all the various medical supplies in his satchel.
After a short look, he realizes, silly old man, you're losing your marbles, that he didn't pack much beyond basic medical salves, bandages, and simple suture equipment.
Edward audibly cocks the shotgun so that there is no mistake what he is doing, and then aims it straight at the suspect.
"I have him covered, cousin. Let's see if you or the LCDR can find a vine or something to tie his hands. I don't trust this man any further than I can throw him."
The fog is again creeping across the moors.
Without taking his eyes or gun off the suspect, Edward scans the area, looking for anything long and fibrous that might be used to restrain their antagonist.
But it appears that the old scholar and author is not meant to multitask.
There's some ivy growing over the mossy stones of the decaying barn, but it defeats Mr. Carter's efforts to plait it into anything like a cord.
The LCDR looks futilely around, then begins laughing to himself.
LCDR Readington-Smythe : We must be the biggest fools in all of England!
Smiling Mr. Carter almost immediately realizes what the LCDR thought of; and without further ado the pair of you relieve your captives of their boot-laces.
The doctor looks into his bag to see if he has an empty syringe. .
"Perhaps this man is too far gone to be brought back cousin, commander. It appears he may be in a deep coma and death may be his only respite" Emrys says as he turns his head to his cousin and lets off a sly wink to indicate that his statement is false.
Damn you, dam you to hell! The man sputters. You will pay, ohh you most certainly will!
Edward, shaking off his embarrassment over the shoelaces, aims at their prisoner. He cocks the shotgun. "If I were you, mate, I would shut that mouth of yours straight away."
Knowing now that the man can speak, Emrys calmly turns back to the gentleman on the ground and begins to interrogate him, "What is your name and what are you doing here?"
He glares defiantly back at Mr. Carter.
Prisoner : I'm Victor MacAllan: you can die knowing my name!
Henry shakes his head. "Sir, this lout might be a bit more pleasant with less blood in him. Shall I allow a bit to escape?"
Edward leers at the man, and says out of the corner of his mouth to the LCDR, "Or if he suddenly finds himself missing a tooth... assuming he's got any to begin with."
The doctor continues along his line of questioning, "So Mr. MacAllan, what exactly were you doing out here and who is your friend over there?" Emrys gestures towards the other man laying on the ground.
The Lt Commander smiles and raises his Webley.
Victor : That's Sean. He hesitates, looking around, he seems to take confidence from what he's seeing. We came back to bury the supply canister.
Edward squints, focuses on Victor: Well, you failed in that little endeavour, didn'tcha? Just like you did in the Great War. So tell me about these 'Dwellers in the Dark Waters', why don't ya? Perhaps if you spin a good yarn the Lieutenant Commander's trigger finger won't be as itchy.
Mr. Carter is suddenly troubled by a scent he knows too well; the scent of putrifying flesh that has laid out in the November rain, just beyond the wire in no man's land.
Henry raises the pistol and sights down its barrel at the man. "Speak quickly."
There's a growing, almost electric tension, in the air.
Victor glares back defiantly at you.
"You are being supplied by Nazis. Filthy, scum-licking Huns who would see this island and everyone on it goose-stepping to Herr Hitler's every command. You, sir, are a disgrace. You clearly are the product of incest and God save your soul, for His Majesty certain will not." Henry spits this out at the man, looking to provoke him into intemperate speech.
Carter whips out a handkerchief and covers his nose and mouth. His eyes begin to water, both from the stench and the memory of trenches.
He speaks through clenched teeth: The kneecap, Lieutenant Commander. A shot to the kneecap will maximize his pain.
Suddenly, the three of you find yourself pelted with fine gravel.
Henry covers his eyes with his palm. "What the devil is causing this, sirs?"
Your prisoner smirks, as you all peer into the dense fog that has closed in around you.
Henry shoots the man in the knees, just to keep him from scuttling off in the fog.
Everyone please make a Difficulty 4 Stability Test.
There is another spray of stones.
Henry spends his points from Piloting, relying on his spatial awareness to keep him unharmed!
Edward dodges the hail stones just like he did the barrage of ball-bearings at that machine shop explosion in Sheffield back in '25.
A fog of gravel? What in the name of all that is holy is this place? We've got to find cover, gentlemen. And Victor, we'll even come back for you and have the good doctor patch your wound once we've found shelter.
Edward then makes the sign of the cross directed at Victor.
Having suffered being pelted with rocks for being the odd child during his school boy years, Emrys does his best to avoid the gravel.
Victor : Dam you! Dam you to hell! I'm going to kill you! I'm going to flay the skin off you! You'll be weeks in the dying! [/b]
The fog is suddenly very dense and all around you; so that you can barely see each other.
Victor and the other man had had a lantern. Can Edward find it in the fog? If so, he gets it and tries to use it to help himself and his comrades with visibility.
Huddle 'round my voice, gents. Don't know what this mess is, but I don't like it. Don't like it one bit.
Edward shivers and his skin breaks out in goosebumps.
Henry moves closer to the sound of Mister Carter's voice.
Emrys, with his hands out, walks towards the sound of his cousin.
He lets out a nervous joke, "A bit like playing marco polo in the pool cousin!"
LCDR, your shoot pretty much destroys your captive's right knee, and he again lapses into unconsciousness.
You huddle together, with a white blankness surrounding you. At least the dam hail of stones stopped.
So the main hazard to blundering around blind in the fog, is the steep stream bank; it probably wouldn't cause grievous physical harm, but it could still be a nasty tumble. That is of course, if there's nothing 'lurking' in the fog.
Henry grabs one of the prisoner's arms and hauls him up. "We need to stay together, sirs. No sense getting lost, right? No telling what lurks in cloud banks, sirs. No telling..." He looks rattled, but determined.
"I would suggest following the stream, but we can't risk someone falling in. In this fog we'd never find him. The trail is up that way. I suggest taking it to the left and seeing if we can find the crofter's shed. That's the only chance at protection. There could be wildcats or adders lurking about.
Or worse, he thinks.
"I'm in agreeance cousin. I can't say I would enjoy a swim in the stream this time of year." Do we have some rope we could tie about ourselves to ensure no one gets separated?"
You feel a faint, thrumming vibration, almost like a train passing by very close to a platform you're standing on.
Somebody, or something, groans out in the fog.
Henry spins toward the noise, going rigid. His hand tightens on the Webley and he begins to breathe very slowly as he was taught.