“Carnivale” the locals call it. Three days of decadence and debauchery. The city of New Oasis certainly knows how to throw down. It is sometimes jokingly known as the Last Hurrah, because west of the city, just a few days ride by train, lies the frontier -- The Big Drop. Beyond here, civilization is but a pipe dream.
Perhaps you traveled South by steamboat down the Long Dance River from somewhere in the Risen States. Or perhaps you’ve arrived by sea from The Lotus Empire, or even Hierro. Or maybe you’re a native of the Big Drop, slumming it up here in New Oasis to see how the other side lives.
But whether this is your kind of town or somewhere you wouldn’t be caught dead in, you’re ready to move on. Your reasons are your own. Your business your own. Your past lies where you left it, ready to rear its head at its most inconvenient.
During the madness of Carnivale, you heard about opportunity out West. A speck of a town called Tin Star struck a good vein of Adamantine, and over the past five years has built itself to something resembling respectable. It’s a boomtown – possibly an opportunity – but just as likely it’s a powder keg waiting to blow up in your face. You’ve doubtless by now heard how often these places go belly up.
But maybe, just maybe, it could be what you’ve always dreamed of -- a new beginning.
“Prospectors Wanted” you’ve heard. So doubtless the place is a bit rough and tumble. But maybe that’s how you like it, or maybe that’s something you want to put a stop to.
Tin Star is off the Rails, only way there is to travel by land from Outpost 13 – lovingly known as Dry City by the tough bastards willing to make that pit home. It’s hard ride to Tin Star, too. Three days by horse through a stretch of Perdition smote dry beds.
The Scorching Eye hangs high and mean, ready to drop a fool and leave him for the buzzards. And that’s to say nothing of the Orcs, scorpions, rattlers, coyotes, and other random creepy-crawlies looking to tear a piece off a feller. And, of course, there are the Elves, who are, to put it gently, less than hospitable to strangers.
But what’s life without a little risk?
The train leaves at noon – with or without you. In your possession is a ticket to Outpost 13. How you managed to scrape together the funds for this little venture -- well, that’s between you and the Gods without Names. You just make sure your sorry self is at Passenger Car 8 at the appointed time.
Mallory rolled over with a slight groan before opening her eyes and trying to figure out where she was. 'Business or pleasure?' she mused, looking around the room, before her eyes finally came to rest on the body in bed next to hers. Mallory smiled, more than a little proud that she'd been able to land someone that attractive after so long. She pulled back the covers to get a better look. 'Not bad at all.'
Her knees cracked as she quietly got up out of bed. 'Gettin' old, Mal.' she told herself bitterly. She looked back at the girl still asleep in bed, her long dark hair falling across her tattooed back. 'Ain't more'n 20' Mallory reflected. 'Won't be much longer you can keep up.'
'Shut up.' She grit her teeth, slipping into her rust-coloured pants and throwing her jacket across her shoulders. There'd be time enough to get everything sussed out later. She was running late. 'Late? For what?' From a pocket within her jacket she pulled a flask, and took a deep drink as she tried to remember. The night before came back to her in flashes. She remembered meeting the girl at Carnivale. It wasn't ordinarily her kind of scene, but the crowd was ripe for pickpocketing. Mallory reached into another pocket, but her smile quickly turned to a frown as she noticed it empty. 'Spent it already. Idjit.' She cursed herself.
Now she remembered, she'd been showing off again on account of that girl. 'Kejal.' Mallory remembered. Dark skin, slim figure. Poor, but hopeful. Her laugh had come easily and was airy. Mallory remembered feeling envious, thinking of her own as brittle and intermingled with coughing. Still, they'd had fun together. Kejal hadn't cared that she was older, that she was a washed up lawman, that she drank too much.
As Mallory braided her dark red hair, she looked over at the sleeping girl, remembering that she'd been so excited about something. What the hell was it. She looked around the room, noting the bare walls, the mattress on the floor, and nothing more than a small table in the corner. Moving quietly, she walked over to the table and poked through the items on it, before a ticket caught her eye. Train ride to Outpost 13. 'S'right.' Mallory remembered. 'She were all excited about that there town. Tin Star. S'pose to be growin'.
'Prolly it's dyin',' she thought, repeating what she'd told the girl the night before. Kejal had thought of it as salvation, a new beginning, a place where she could make an honest living, turn her life around. Mallory scoffed at such notions. She'd started the same life over too many times to believe that it could ever be different. 'Still, ain't nothin' much here.' She pulled her hat down over her face and pocketed the ticket. Pausing only long enough to blow a kiss, and whisper "Sorry, love" she stepped silently through the door into the sunshine laden desert.
Light footfalls descended the hostelry's stairs. Not that their creator was particularly stealthy; he simply didn't weigh much. They were slightly off-rhythm as well, thanks to the walking cane taking part in the proceedings.
The gnome paused at the foot of the stairs and looked around the room. Sighing in resignation, he walked over to a table in the corner and proceeded to struggle his way onto the chair.
"Damn inconsiderate tallfolk," he muttered. "No accommodation at all for people of normal stature."
The serving girl on morning duty watched with amusement through the kitchen door. A ridiculous little man with a flaming orange mop that draped over one eye. Oddly, the vibrant hair color almost seemed appropriate against his skin tone -- more of a light earth color leaning towards yellow than that of a normal person.
She peered at him as he finally conquered the chair and straightened his clothes. They were unusual, as well: A red-trimmed white duster, worn over a white shirt and red tie above black slacks. Plus the long black gloves and a cane he didn't seem to need.
Not that any of it mattered, she thought as she pushed through the swinging doors and headed towards his table. Especially if he turned out to be a decent tipper.
"No need to walk all the way over," he called out when he saw her. "Bring whatever passes for your best breakfast, miss. With a tall mug of black tea. And honey, if you have any."
As she turned back towards the kitchen, he retrieved the small piece of paper from his shirt pocket and studied it.
"Platform Ticket," it said. "18357 New Oasis x Outpost 13. Passenger Car 8. Departure: High Noon. Arrival: Varies. This ticket is issued subject to the Bylaws, Regulations, and Conditions contained in the Publications and Notices of or applicable to the Railway. NOT TRANSFERABLE."
He flicked the ticket back and forth between his fingers. The run to Dry City would be tolerable, but then there's that long ride to Tin Star. Why the devil can't they put boomtowns in more convenient places, he groused to himself.
Still, if things worked out it would be worth the unpleasantness.
He looked out the nearby window to the street, littered with trash and empty bottles and unconscious drunks -- oh wait, he'd already mentioned "trash," hadn't he -- from last night's revelries. Or maybe this is how New Oasis always looks, he thought caustically. There's no culture in these parts.
His eyes followed a woman walking down the street. Dark red hair done up in tight braids, hat pulled low over her eyes symptomatic of a morning after, dusty jacket and reddish-brown pants, past her prime though maybe still good looking by tallfolk standards; he could rarely tell.
Indeed, no culture at all.
As Mallory leisurely made her way to the railway station, she noticed a dwarf yelling at a bunch of laborers while staring apprehensively at an expensive pocket watch.
“Come on, come on,” he told them. “This should have been loaded up hours ago. Stupid, danggone Car-nee-vally. Makes everyone late. Not that those stupid gnomes care.”
---
Doc Loveless noticed an attractive half-elf woman, wearing an immaculate purple dress, and a brooch with the emblem of the Master on it, come downstairs. On closer inspection she seemed to hail from the Lotus Empire. And indeed when she asked for tea, he could detect traces of an accent in her voice.
Alas, she frowned sadly when she was informed that the hostel only had coffee left, the last of the tea adorning Doc's table. Once the serving girl walked away with her order. Doc noticed the woman pulling out a small cracker from a pillbox and holding it up to her handbag.
A small, feathery, head darted out and nibbled on the cracker.
Compsognathus, or “Compy’s” as they are more commonly referred to are venomous, nocturnal, and whistle at night. Some wizards use them as familiars. The also make excellent mousers.
Doc had ignored the newcomer at first, focused as he was on his just-delivered breakfast. But the mention of tea caught his attention; the uncivilized louts living near The Big Drop preferred their beer and their whiskey. Tea had become almost a rare treat for him, what with no one stocking the stuff for lack of demand.
He began watching her subtly as he ate... at least until a compy popped its head out of her purse. Fortunately, she seemed not to notice when one of his eyebrows shot up in surprise.
His eyes flicked to the tall mug -- tankard, really -- of hot breakfast tea he'd not yet sweetened nor sampled, then back to the elfish-looking woman, then back to the tea again.
Reaching a decision, the gnome hopped off of his chair and sauntered over to the bar. Ducking behind it, he rummaged around for a few moments, then strolled back to his table with a second, empty mug. Pouring half of the tea into the new mug, he carried it over to her table.
"Pardon my intrusion miss, but denying a lady her tea would be a wholly inauspicious start to my day." He placed the mug on her table, ducked his head at her, then returned to his waiting breakfast.
The morning sunlight creeps in through the shutters, just at the angle necessary to cross over Ira's eyes and nudge his brain into consciousness. He groans quietly. It had been a long night.
The dark-haired man pushes himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His posture is poor; it would have been better, were there anyone to see him. Ira places his elbows on his knees, using the palms to rub away the rheum and to attempt to rid his head of the ache pulsing between his eyes.
Eventually he works up the energy to stand and stretch, hands raised above his head, fingers splayed. Slight cracking comes from his joints, and he sighs his satisfaction. He steps to the window, peering out through the shutters to the streets below. Thankfully, it seems the celebrations have ceased, the streets empty except for those who could not find their way home for the night.
Crossing to the washbasin on his nightstand, Ira washes his face and cleans his teeth with a boars-hair brush. He pulls on his clothing and places his weapons in his pack. It would not do to if he intimidated his host or any of her guests, after all.
Ira heads down the stairs, thinking on the events of the past few days. He had come by boat from the Risen States, hoping to find some proselytizing opportunity on the outer reaches of the Drop, where hope was thin and the people were in desperate need of higher authority.
He had forgotten about Carnivale, however. Upon arriving in New Oasis, he was immediately beset by activity and noise. Ira picked his way through the city, its joys and depravities practically throwing themselves at his feet, and he had to make sure to be careful where he found himself upon turning a corner or crossing a street. There was dancing and drinking and other things he would not care to recollect. Many a time he would find himself nearly being swept into some of these; people would call out and or wave him over, and he was hard pressed at times not to indulge them. Sometimes, when they were close enough, they would notice the symbol hanging from his neck, and they would try and contain themselves. Other times they would be too drunk or too jovial to notice, and it was then that he would have to gently but firmly pry their grasp from his shoulder, or refuse the tankard, and continue onwards.
Sometimes folks of a more unsavory sort would offer him their services or goods, but not many had let go of their senses as those who had nothing to hide. They were always quick to vanish upon seeing the noose, and had Ira not set his sights elsewhere, he would have reported some of them to the local lawmen. He could remember most of their faces.
But there was no time for that, and that had carried on into today. Last night he had simply been trying to find accommodations, which he had found in the form of a small hotel, run by a hunched old woman. She had been most welcoming, but Ira did not find sleep until most of the revelry had passed and the night bloomed into dawn.
This restless time had been spent in quiet contemplation of what forces had decided to set themselves against him, to deprive him of the wondrous gift of sleep. Other times he looked over the ticket. This had been pressed upon him by a man, bearded nearly to his knees, along with a friendly slap on the back. Ira had tried to return it, but the man would hear none of it, as he was nearly witless with alcohol. And before Ira's protests could reach him, the man had stumbled off into a crowd, and Ira was left with a ticket and no one to return it to.
May've been a lucky thing, being given this ticket. A boomtown... new opportunities, a place shaky in position and in need of some sort of saving, no doubt. A place to preach, at the least.
Down in the common room, Ira nods a hello to the hostess, and thanks her for breakfast. He mulls over the ticket as he eats, though without much point. He's already made up his mind. Once he finishes, Ira pays for meal and board and makes his way outside.
He orients himself in the direction of the Rails, and begins to make his way towards it. Noon isn't so far off, and it's always best to be punctual.
The chair beneath her feet wobbles but she catches herself with one hand on the workbench before her. The thick wood surface of the table is scorched in several places and covered in deep gouges but still a relative rock of stability.
Giving up on the chair, young Caitlyn climbs onto the table itself, stepping carefully to avoid jostling the mountain of glassware balanced across the entire tables surface. Here, a translucent green liquid boils in an alembic, its fumes rising into a long segment of tubing. Coming out the other end, the fumes, now a pale yellow, turn the sails of a turbine, its spinning shedding fat sparks as though possessed by something from the outer planes.
Finally able to remove the cap, our heroine drops three leaden spheres into the beaker. Initially, nothing happens, leading to a look of consternation on the young scientist. Muttering, Caitlyn runs through the entire process in her mind, trying to imagine the problem.
"Hmmm, I paid good gold for real adamantine, why isn't it working? I should at least see a color change as the pH drops. Is the delta change not precipitous enough or could the gila spit I collect be impure?"
Lost in thought, the barely perceptible tremor of the table goes unnoticed. It is not until the glassware itself begins ringing from the vibration that Caitlyn looks up, her smile a beacon of happiness. Swiftly, the ringing of the glassware climbs three octaves, the high pitched sound promising disaster just as certainly as the climbing doppler of an approaching train.
Now containing only the remnants of hydroxyadamantine gas, the beaker beneath her hand shatters from the heat applied to its base. As the crystal shatters, Caitlyn's attention is snapped back to the present, just in time to notice the same H2Ad3 gas reach the spinning thurible connected to the spinning rotor.
Wait a second, that's not supposed to be there? It has to go through the particle receptor before it reaches the thurible! Who set it up that way?
Desperately trying to disconnect the thurible, the halfling scientist notes the pitch of the glassware extend yet another octave higher. With a final yank, the thurible jerk free and she grabs the tubing from the particle accelerator in her other hand. Jamming it into place, she barely makes it as the grey fumes of the hydrogen adamantite flow into the accelerator chamber.
Leaping down from the table, she crosses the room to her desk, only to grab her blueprints and begin pouring over them.
"Right, so the spit is heated in the alembic which drives the purified steam into the accelerator chamber just as the freed adamantite gas enters the thurible. The gas is then spun, condensed and the liquid adamantine titrates into the accelerator, after which I get the green color change.
Looking across the room at the still screaming glassware, her eye falls onto the join between the adamantine beaker and the accelerator chamber.
"Right, so the steam enters the thurible before titrating into the accelerator. I mean, it's right here where I wrote it, clear as day in purple crayon...
Looking up again, her eyes once again find the beaker's connection to the accelerator chamber. Like a stroke of thunder, she feels the first aetheric blast wave hit her dilated eyes. Without thinking, her quick reflexes are already dropping her below the level of the heavy oak desk as a shining curtain of glass washes over the room. Immediately, the shrill whine dies into a low hum and Caitlyn breathes a small sigh of relief.
Slowly, a little halfling head rises from behind the desk, its two sapphire eyes peeking at the remains of the experiment. Slowly, both eyes open more widely than any would think possible. Ducking back below the desk, the girl hugs herself tightly and curls into a ball, trying to forget the image she'd just seen.
On the other side of the desk, a pressure wave hangs suspended in the air. Imperceptibly, its contents move out into the room - shining shards of glass, boiling chemicals in gemlike hues and flames, dancing amongst the wreckage like imps wafting on warm currents. At the front of the wave, a massive oak workbench leads the way like a unit of cavalry, ready to crush all before them through sheer mass alone.
Caitlyn feels herself lifted by the desk as it is struck by the workbench. Flying through the air, the world seems to hang in place, each second passing as an eternity. Quickly calculating her course, she sees the new glass windows of her lab meet her estimated destination. Scrabbling atop the desk, she grabs her favorite paperweight before hurling it at the window slowly coming closer.
Disappointingly, the brass orb hangs in the air, matching every other physical object in the room, all crawling together on the front of the blast wave.
Hmmm, I've seen a lot of good and bad in my life, short though it's been. The two often look remarkably similar, but this equation is beginning to look as though it might solve as a negative on the good:bad continuum. If only I could find a piece of paper and a crayon, I'm sure I could work out exactly how negative.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the brass orb strikes the window, followed almost immediately by the diminutive halfling. Through a sheer twist of fate, the kind usually reserved for only the extremely young or intoxicated, the desk slams into the wall on either side of the window, it's massive bulk unable to fit through. Half a second later however, its inertia is quadrupled as the workbench, a flying monstrosity of wood, glass, caustic chemicals and flame hit it from the rear.
Watching the entire front of her lab collapse in a shower of rubble, young Caitlyn raises her head from the dust of the street.
Thank goodness the whole lab didn't go up. Dr. Westinghouse would simply go spare if I blew up the whole building and ruined his cold generation experiment. Yes, this is a setback, but the theory is sound so tomorrow I'll clean up and begin again.
Smiling, the young scientist sits up, eyeing the rubble and the massive clean-up project ahead of her. Seeing a piece of paper in the dust, she grabs it, pulls a familiar purple crayon from her pocket, and begins scribbling notes.
Without warning, a noise akin to the hosts of Heaven storming the gates of Hell strikes the central square of the city of New Oasis. Tossed like a rag doll, Caitlyn flies through the air five, ten, fifteen feet before coming to a shuddering stop, her back against the town's well. Before her, a giant hole sits where her lab once did. Actually, the hole sat, with obstinate permeability, where Dr. Westinghouse's lab once did as well. And the Menagerie. And the coopers on the corner. But wait, it looked like the smith's to the east still stood...until a dizzy cow emerged from the dark interior just before the roof caved in.
With a sigh, the dejected halfling stared at the dust between her feet. To her left, a pile of roofing shingles slid to one side revealing a frost covered man in his fifties, his hair sticking out wildly in every direction. With a scream, his eyes found the halfling.
Scuttling sideways, Caitlyn, tried to get around the well, desperately running from his angry scowl and accusing eyes. Finally reaching the edge, she turns, her legs already pumping, and runs as fast as she can. Behind her, Vengeance flew on a pale horse and she could feel its hot breath on the back of her neck the whole way across town.
__________________________________________________________
Standing on the outskirts of town, Caitlyn stood forlorn, nothing near and only the railway station in the distance. Falling to the dust in dejection, she studies the her previous figures on the scrap of paper found in the dust. Turning it over, she reads the words:
Cross The Continent In Luxury!
Marvel At The Miracle Of Steam!
Visit Outpost 13 and find your fortune!
"Train leaves in fifteen minutes. Give me five to get back to the lab, five more to dig out my pack and my rifle and another five to get to the station. I'll need to avoid Dr. Westinghouse, but he's no doubt still cursing me somewhere between here and there."
Without a second of regret, the rejuvenated halfling leaps to her feet, running back the way she came.
Other players, feel free to read these.
Ira took a left turn, coming up one of the swankier sections of New Oasis that he preferred to avoid, when suddenly a man came flying out of a set of swinging double doors. The building was ostentatiously decorated, with a sign that proclaimed it as the Satin Sash. Ira recognized it as a high-priced brothel, one of many dens of depravity he had tried to avoid.
Out walked a human woman of about fifty years, holding a fine rapier. She strode up to the man struggling to stand up.
“The girl said, ‘no’, Alistair. I reckon you hear that from ladies often enough to know what it means.”
Alistair sputtered. ”I offered up that whore good coin!”
With a deft flick, the woman brought her rapier up to his crotch level.
“The Lady still said ‘no’. I run a good place here, and she’s free to choose her customers. Apparently she got an ill feeling about you. Can’t imagine why.”
Alistair gulped. “Y-you wouldn’t dare. You know who my daddy is.”
And indeed at the mention of Alistair’s father, the woman lost her resolve and lowered her rapier. Alistair smiled wickedly.
“That’s right. My daddy owns this whole street, including your house of whores.”
Alistair spat on the ground at her feet.
”If you’ll excuse me, I got a train to catch.”
He then turned and walked off.
The half-elf woman, dressed in purple smiled gratefully at Loveless, seeming genuinely touched by the gesture.
But as loveless began to walk away, she quickly said, “Oh, thank you. But I can only accept if you would at least join me. Please, I insist.”
Loveless sat down, and the serving girl brought over his meal from his table.
“My name is Jade Wen. And this is Confucius,” she said as she very carefully poured Loveless a cup of tea. ”Thank you again for your generosity. I am traveling on the Rails today and am all a flutter. And nothing soothes my jittery nerves like some morning tea.”
Miss Wen took a sip.
”So what business brings you to New Oasis?”
The sun reflecting off metal caught Mallory's attention instantly. Resisting the urge to draw her gun, she let her eyes swing towards it, expecting it to be from someone else's weapon. Hand hovering by the butt of her pistol, she instead saw the light reflecting off a safe. With a grin, she looked to the side, pretending to be reading the train schedule, but really keeping her eyes on the safe. Stealing a quick glance up at the sky, she tried to gauge the sun's position to tell her the time. But she never was very good at that sort of thing. 'Hell with it.' she thought. 'Got time enough. Can always shoot 'em if they try to leave 'fore I'm on.'
Mallory made a clicking sound with her tongue, trying to decide how to best play this. She made mental notes base off of what she'd overheard from the Dwarf. 'Late. Angry at the gnomes, and Carnivale. In charge. I can use this.' Figuring she most likely already looked disheveled enough, she forced herself to begin breathing rapid and shallow breaths, and then took off running. She headed straight for the Dwarf, nearly toppling him over as she crashed into him. Reaching out to catch him, she already started babbling. "Keeper's Pick! I am so very sorry, I'm afraid I'm runnin' terribly late. Do you happen to know what time it is? I hope I ain't missed my train! I'm tryin' to get to Car 13 for Outpost 8? No, sorry, other way 'round. Do you know where it is? Did I miss it?" She hadn't yet taken her hands off him, and slowly began to remove them. "Terribly sorry," she repeated, seeming embarrassed. "Damn gnome festival kept me up all hours. Can'tcha help me, sir?"
Loveless stopped in his tracks as the woman's request, his shoulders drooping in defeat. Will I never learn? No good deed goes unpunished!
Forcing a polite smile, the gnome turned back to the half-elf's table. Accepting her invitation, he battled his way onto the chair opposite hers.
"My pleasure, Miss Wen. I am Miguelito Loveless. Doctor Miguelito Loveless, more precisely."
"And that, if I'm not mistaken... and I'm not... is a compy" he said, pointing at the creature peaking out from her purse. "Those things are poisonous, are they not?"
He smiled as the woman praised his willingness to share the last of the tea.
"In truth it was less a matter of generosity than empathy. I know all too well the disappointment you were facing. But I assure you, there's no reason for you to be 'all aflutter.' Machines in general are more trustworthy than people, and trains in particular are most dependable indeed. No doubt you'll enjoy a delightfully comfortable ride to your destination... which would be where, if I might inquire? There aren't many places worth the journey around these parts."
He took a few moments to enjoy a bite of breakfast, subtly considering the implications of her pin in the process.
"Business?" he snorted derisively. "I have no business in New Oasis, and 'tis only unfortunate timing that finds me here during a celebration for oafs and ruffians. No dear lady, I'm merely passing through."
He considered the woman's height as he studied her ears and skin tone. "Tell me, Miss Wen: Does the Lotus Council's prohibition of non-elfen magic extend to half-elves?"
Miss Jade, smiles and bows her head.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor.”
“Oh, yes, Compy’s are quite poisonous. Not normally fatal, of course, unless you go into anaphylactic shock. But their venom can also be refined into a mild anesthetic. I occasionally use it in my healing practices. Of course, Confucius here also serves as my companion.” She rubs the head of the little Compy affectionately.
“I’m actually heading to a new township called Tin Star. They require teachers. And, well, I hope to apply for the job.”
”And I apologize, Doctor. I hope I haven’t offended you. I was also a bit thrown off by the festivities."
When Loveless mentioned the Lotus Empire, her hands froze, and the small knife she was using to butter a piece of toast slipped from her grip.
“Sorry,” she said meekly. ”And, no. The Lotus Empire does not condone half-elves studying magic. My father was rich, which meant I was ignored mostly. I was his little embarrassment.”
She then waves her hand over a flower in a vase, and with a bit of prestidigitation the slightly wilting flower straightened.
“Even something as small as this would have been enough to send me to prison. I studied in secret. Terrified that at any moment I could be seized. It’s a horrible thing, Doctor, to be told that who you are is illegal.”
“But, here, I can learn, I can practice my art freely, I can--” She smiled. ”I can teach.”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure. Uh, just follow this road, and you’ll see signs pointing you to the station."
He then looks at Mal thoughtfully.
“Well, you don’t look like much, but I am in a bind. You help me load up this here cart, I’ll give you a gold piece and a ride to the station.”
One of the laborers nearly dropped another safe.
“Careful with that you, idjit! That medicine is fragile! So help me, if any of that medicine gets dropped, and one of them kids up in Dry City dies, The Hangman himself won’t stop me from killing you four times over! You hear me!”
The dwarf sighs. “Anyways, name’s Vincente. You gonna help, or sit there gawkin’, girly?”
The doctor raises an eyebrow at Jade's comment about her compy. "Hmm. Two questions spring to mind. Can your... companion's... poison be concentrated to a strength useful for application to a weapon? And conversely, am I hearing that you are a healer?"
The forkful of food heading to his mouth pauses briefly in mid-journey as the woman mentions her destination. "Well it seems fortune has smiled upon us both, Miss Wen. Though whether good or bad might depend on the viewpoint," he adds diplomatically. "I too am headed to Tin Star, though not for reasons so noble as yours."
He laughs at her next remark. "The only offense I might take is that you should think me so easily offended! I can recall naught you've said that was abrasive in the least."
When the lady admits her illicit magical leanings, Loveless ponders a moment and looks her up and down before speaking again.
"Send you to prison. Have you a bounty on your head, then?"
"Regardless, having had my own... shall we say 'less than pleasant' brushes with authority, I can again empathize. And ultimately we are all prisoners, because we cannot escape ourselves."
"But in my view, the key is to ignore limitations, just as you did by pursuing your studies at the risk of imprisonment. Never stop with what is or what should be," he say as leans over onto the table to touch the vase whose flower Jade had just rejuvenated. "Conceive what could be, and make it happen." As he says this, the flower changes from its natural white color to a blinding fuchsia and an almost spicy aroma wafts from it. Then, slowly, the flower begins glimmering in the morning light and swaying rhythmically as if dancing to unheard music.
Still sprawled partly across the table touching the vase, he looks up at her with a knowing smile. "Live your life fervently, and they will have no power over you."
Having grabbed her rifle and pack, Caitlyn runs hell-bent for leather to the train station. Hearing the whistle blow, she redoubles her efforts, leaping aboard the train just as the wheels begin to turn.
As Caitlyn arrives at the train station she hears, “Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Mysterious explosion at Westinghouse Lab! Scientist blames drunken Carnivale revelers!”
It seems that for one reason or another, Westinghouse is keeping the origin of the explosion quiet, although Caitlyn cannot explain why.
A gnome wearing an immaculately, pressed Railway Unform and holding a pocket watch, admires Caitlyn’s rifle. A pin on his jacket, identifies him as Hamish, Conductor Apprentice.
He whistles in appreciation.
“Wow! A real rifle! And a beaut, too. Is she for sale? My papa always wanted one of those.”
Caitlyn gently tells him no and runs up the platform.
If Miss Wen was at all uncomfortable discussing poisons, she doesn’t show it. In fact she leaps at a chance to answer the question, treating it as an intellectual exercise.
“The poison of the compy could be weaponized relatively easily. But like I said, it’s not normally fatal. It’s a muscle relaxant. It’s not too different from the anesthetic really, you just need a larger dose. And, yes, I am a healer, among other things. One does what one must to get by.”
Jade then explains the principles of developing the poison.
Compsognathus Poison = Craft alchemy DC 12
“No, I don’t believe I have a bounty on my head. My father was influential enough to keep me from severe punishment. Mostly as a favor to my mother, I suppose, who was his mistress.”
She smiles at Loveless’ advice.
“You are most thoroughly charming, Doctor Loveless. I look forward to speaking more on the train. ”
Loveless frowns. "Now, now! Pulling a weapon mustn't always lead to death, Miss Wen. There are times when... subtlety is more appropriate."
He eyes her purse. "I should like to purchase some compsognathus venom from you, if you're willing. Purely for research purposes, of course."
Her reference to his charm goes unacknowledged, but at her mention of the train he checks a bulky pocket watch. Dropping some money on the table, he hops off of his chair and retrieves his cane. "We'd best be moving along. Your refreshment is on me. A moment to retrieve my bag and then we'll be on our way." So saying, the doctor heads back upstairs.
Mallory grins at the request for help, especially when the Dwarf promises a gold coin and a ride. She readily agrees, thanking him profusely. Taking a moment, she considered whether she'd be able to make off with one of the safes. They did seem a bit heavy. 'Be a mite easier to steal the cart.' She decided, resolving that she could pull some trickery on the way. Hell, if they were going on the same train as hers, she'd have hours devise a plan to get the goods from the safe into her hands. Her eyes twinkled with the possibilities.
"Mallory." She replied to the Dwarf. "That really medicine for sick kids?" She replied, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt.
Vincente, nods.
“Yeah, some contagion up in Dry City. Just got a wire about it last night. They need medicine fast. Hit a lot of the townsfolk, but you know how these things are. Always hits the young and old the hardest. Killed one young’un already, so’s I hear.”
Vincente looks at Mallory expectantly
“Well, girl? Get to loadin’. Ain’t got til Doomsday.”
Miss Wen provides Doctor Loveless with a sample of Compsognathus saliva, from which he could synthesize poison. But refuses to take your money.
After expenditures are paid for, Doctor Loveless and Miss Wen have a pleasant chant on their way to the Railway Station.
Raising his eyebrows at the odd and uncomfortable exchange, Ira cranes his neck to follow this 'Alistair' as he walks away. When the man has left view completely, Ira turns to the woman, who he presumses to be the owner of the brothel. He approaches with some minor trepidation, as if hesistant to even get near the establishment. Ira stops a few feet away, nodding sharply. He takes a breath, preparing to speak, before coughing and lowering his gaze.
"'Scuse me, ma'am, but I couldn't help but overhear some of yours and that foul man's conversation."
Ira waves a hand in the direction the man went, looking up and frowning as he does. It's obvious that despite whatever misgivings he may have about the woman's place of business, the man was more to his distate.
"He was threatenin' you, yes? He seems quite the awful sort. And nearly a lawbreaker of the worst kind, as well. I know not who's his father, but it should be that not even a man of importance could get around that." Ira places special importance on this last word, and touches two fingers to his symbol.
"Should I fetch the sheriff? I'm afraid I'm to be leavin' town soon, but I'd hate to leave a lady in distress."
Ira sniffs awkwardly, kicking at the ground.
"Even if that lady happens to be the owner of a scarlet women's house, and the victim in question one of those afore mentioned scarlet women."
This last sentence is muttered, and Ira blushes the selfsame color as the woman he describes. He looks hesistantly in the direction of the train station, but remains where he is. Hopefully he still has some time left before the train leaves.
”Scarlet Women?” she asks Ira, her amusement shining through her fear of Alistair like shafts of light through a raincloud. “My, my, I ain’t heard that expression in, well, longer than I care to admit.”
She turns to face Ira fully, her expression warm, inviting and tender.
“You a preacher, aintcha? I know the look. You’d best move along, preacher. A scarlet woman, such as myself, knows how to survive layabouts such as that one. But I’d steer clear of the boy all the same. Ain’t half as smart as his pa, but he’s twice as violent. His pa is Kincaid. Horace Kincaid. And he ain’t no sort to be trifled with. So best put it out your mind.”
She smiles at Ira.
”Still, you’re a sweet one.” She kisses Ira chastely on the cheek. “May the Madam’s fire warm you at night, preacher. A light in the darkness to light your way home.”
The Kincaid family are very wealthy. The made their fortune selling weapons during the Civil War of the RSP (Risen States of the Phoenix). They sold to both sides.
Leland sighed as he put the paper with his newest orders into the flame of his nightstand candle. His time in New Oasis finally at an end, he couldn't wait to be clear of the stink of the place. Not that Tin Star sounded much better, but there was never enough Adamantine to satisfy the demand of gnomish engineers and things had expanded to the point that a Company presence was needed. Double checking his spartan room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he knelt to begin his prayers to The Brakeman.
Closing his eyes, his whispered hymn was redolent with the whoosh of steam and click-clack of machinery. As his ritual began to gain momentum, gears and pistons started to phase into view skipping and skittering across the floor to form into a pile before Leland's kneeling form. Creaking and clanking they self assemble until a magnificent mechanical beast stood before him. Patting the construct on the flank, he climbed up into the cleverly worked saddle on its back. "Let's be off. We have a train to catch."
Winding their way through the streets, barely noticing the people who scampered out of their way, they head to the railway station.
Mallory sits quietly on the ride to the station, her arms aching from having helped move the safes. For most of the ride, she had been practicing a few small sleight of hand tricks with the coin Vincente had given her, keeping her hands occupied while her mind wandered. She wasn't sure what she was going to do once she reached Tin Star. Hell, she wasn't sure how to even get there from Outpost 13. Glancing in her pouch, she tried to gauge how far the little gold coins would get her. 'Not far enough' she reckoned. One thing was for sure- there was gambling, theft, and maybe even some violin playing in her future.
She steps down from Vincente's cart, looking at the train station in front of her. "Obliged for the lift" she says politely. Pausing for a second, she looks at the coin, and tosses it back to him. Without another word, she turns and heads for the train, hair blowing in the wind, but eyes unwavering.
Vincente caught the gold piece in a deft movement.
“You sure there, Mal? Honest labor deserves honest pay.” The dwarf stared into her eyes, and then nodded, finding something worthy of respect. “Well, good luck to you then, at least. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Whatever it might be.”
Vincente then turned to the rest of his crew.
“What are you drunken ingrates standing around for? Get this loaded up!”
As Leland arrived at the train station, he was greeted by a young gnome named Hamish. A good sort who was moving up in the ranks of the rails. The youngest Apprentice Conductor Leland had ever heard of.
“Leland!” he greeted excitedly. He admired the mechanical construct for a moment with a smile. “Wow, you changed up the gears in the legs again. Did it correct the stability issues you were concerned about?”
But before Leland can say anything, Hamish speaks excitedly.
“You’ll never believe what I just saw. A halfling with a rifle. A real rifle! It was beautiful! I bet you she was a Gunslinger, just like in the dime novels! Walking the Drop in search of the varmint who killed his master -- or, well, her master -- bringing justice to the unjust, and law to the unlawful.”
Hamish smiled widely.
“I wonder if she needs a sidekick?”
One by one each of you has made it to The Railway Station. And it is just a half hour shy of noon.
A young gnome with green hair, named Hamish pulls out a whistle with a deceptively loud tone.
“All aboard train 18357, New Oasis to Grant City and all points in between.”
You make your final preparations and board Passenger Car 8. It’s the last car before the baggage and freight cars. All of you share Cabin 8D, which has ample room and magically adjusting seats for both tall and small folk.
Feel free to introduce yourselves to each other, the train will be departing shortly. Caitlyn was the first inside, but is currently asleep. She’s had a big night.
Loveless, Miss Wen is in Passenger Car 5.
Doc tips his hat to the half-elf as the pair reaches her car. "Here's wishing you and Confusion..." No, that's not right, what was it... "erm... oh yes... Confucius a pleasant journey, Miss Wen. Perhaps I'll see you during disembarkation."
The gnome continues walking down the length of the train towards the caboose, secretly relieved at not having to spend more time with one of the tallfolk. Once again looking forward to a trip in solitude and time to study his formulae, he begins whistling happily to himself, swinging his cane almost in the manner of Sir Charles Spencer Chaplin. Reaching Passenger Car 8 he takes a moment to sling his bulky doctor's bag up the steps onto the floor of the car before following it in.
Working his way down the passageway to Cabin 8D, he opens the door to have his eyes fall, first thing, upon a sleeping halfling girl.
Oh well, too much to have expected an empty cabin, I suppose. At least I'm sharing it with someone of proper stature. And she's rather cute. For a halfling, anyway. It could be worse.
Opening the cabin door the rest of the way, his gaze roves over more occupants... two of them tallfolk.
Aaaaaand, it is.
"Morning," he mumbles as he settles into one of the bench seats, scrunching himself into the corner almost as if concerned someone might otherwise slip behind him.
Mallory stepped into the train car and noticed the halfling snoozing immediately, and her large gun soon afterwards. Mallory narrowed her eyes as she stepped closer, keeping her own hand near her weapon. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that the girl was hired to take her out, and Mallory intended for that not to happen. 'Never send a slinger to kill a slinger.' she thought with a scoff, thinking of how many of them she'd put in the ground. Trouble had always been magic-folk. Tended to be a mite unpredictable.
She glared through slits at the girl, trying to devise if she was actually asleep or just pretending to be. Moving closer slowly, she sat down across from the girl, keeping her hand on her piece. 'Two can play at this game.' she thought, and pulled her hat down, pretending to be asleep.
"Aye Hamish. It's still a work in progress, but she's coming together nicely. A halfling gunslinger? You don't say? Now I've heard everything. DOn't you be thinking about dereliction of duty now. I don't don't want my next orders to be to track you down for going awol."
With a few nods and exchanges of greetings with his fellow gnomish kin, Leland makes his way to the car cabin. Slightly miffed that these outer arc runs don't have private employee cars, he mentally prepares himself for a long confinement with those who would willingly choose to travel to the end of the line.
Popping through the cabin door, he gives the pair at rest brief, "Hello" of greeting and takes an empty seat, setting his mechanical mount to rest before the chair. A few twist and button presses turn the contraption into a fairly compact package.
The high-pitched, excited voice is heard before its owner ever steps into view. The ruckus begins at the caboose just as the train leaves the station.
"Sorry Mister, gotta squeeze on through. Does ya know where my seat be? Oh, the passenger compartment? Well, no, I don't know where it be, but I know it ain't behind us, so there really only be one way to go, eh?"
A few short minutes later, the loud crash of falling boxes is heard from the back of the train.
"Sorry! Hope none of that was too valuable. If it were, just send the bill to Westinghouse Laboratories. What?! How was I supposed to know it were all alcohol, this car reeked of it when I first entered! Well, why were ye sittin' in the dark drinkin' and not helping people tryin ta make their way forward? No, I tain't be payin' for all that liquor. Maybe next time ye keep yer junk outta the makeway!"
The rear door of the passenger compartment shakes as a truly massive woman squeezes up against it. Catching herself on the jams to either side, she narrowly avoids falling into the car as the door before her swings open.
With a sudden in-drawn breath, her face goes pale and her lips part in a surprised O. A tiny hand appears grasping the hem of her skirt as it is suddenly lifted past her knees. Ducking slightly, a small halfling girl slips out, only to be hung up by her rifle barrel rising above one shoulder.
"Ooo, I wonder what that be hung up on. 'Scuse me Missus, I gots somewheres I need to be. Pleasant mornin' to ya. Mind yer knickers, I gots ta get this here rifle free."
With a mighty tug, the halfling pulls the rifle free, its tip popping out with a slight tearing sound. Fluttering from the end of the gun, a beribboned peice of white lace garter waves like a valentine's day flag of surrender. Pulling it free, Caitlyn hands it up to the immense woman before her.
"Ye dropped this Missus. I saved it fer ye though, on account of it looking expensive and all. No, no, don't be thankin' me, I jes be that sort a person."
Without a further thought, the halfling girl closes the door to the passenger car before turning back around.
"So, where be me seat?
Ira's cheeks burn even more at the chaste kiss.
"Thank you, ma'am, and the same to you."
His expression turning more serious, Ira looks up and into the woman's eyes. "I do hope you're tellin' me the truth when you say you know how to survive through hardships. And I do believe you, I really do. But... well, if anything ever gets more'n you can handle, I'll be in Tin Star. Before that, I'll be at Outpost 13. Send me a letter, a messenger, whatever you can, and I'll come arunnin'."
He blinks, then chuckles grimly. "Figure I should probably tell you my name before recommending that. It's Ira Kerrigan."
The lines in Ira's face are exacerbated by the downturning of his mouth, which has become somewhat severe.
"Might seem somewhat silly to promise my help to someone I just met, and someone whose life choices I might disagree with... but from what you say and what I say, they seem truly unsavory."
"I've never been one to put injustices outta my mind, and I don't mind triflin' with those who perpetuate those injustices. So if you're in need... well, just consider it."
Ira's mien lightens considerably. "So don't lose hope, ma'am! Now, I have to be off. My train's due to go any minute now."
Ira turns to leave, whips back around to bow at the waist, and then hurries off towards the train station.
My, this is sure unpleasant.
Nodding to the new arrivals, both gnomes of strange appearance, Ira manages to mask his initial grimace beneath an uneasy smile. He hesitantly poses a question.
"How d'you do?"
And to think that the day began so quietly.
On his arrival at the cabin, Ira hadn't initially thought much of the occupants before he had settled down next to the larger of the sleeping women. He tucked his backpack between his legs, and then began a sweeping examination of the other passengers. It was this that brought Ira no small amount of trepidation about the company he found himself in.
Guns 'n things... must be truly fearsome folks... though the little one seems not at all a threat. Her, however...
Ira stares at the woman next to him. With that hat set low over her face, he couldn't tell if she was actually sleeping. His only suspicion that she might not be was the hand set on her pistol.
Must've been through quite the wringer, to be paranoid even when takin' a nap.
So Ira settled himself, nervousness about the train ride creeping slowly over him. Hopefully he would find that his companions to be heavy sleepers, not prone to rising needlessly.
But then these two had found their way in. And of all the things that walked upon the good soil of the earth, they had to be gnomes. Gnomes! Ira had never taken to the eccentric ways and appearances of gnomes. And these were more extreme than many. The horrific mechanical monstrosity prowling behind one was proof of that. It even packed itself away!
Ira shakes his head slightly. Nothing for it, I s'pose.
There’s one final check by gnome ushers for tickets and proper luggage storage checks, and then, at exactly noon, the train blows its loud, familiar whistle. The call to the Brakeman for a smooth journey.
As is custom, those who worship the Great Engineer remove a railway spike holy symbol and press it to their lips briefly. Some in reverence, others merely out of superstition.
There’s a release of pressurized steam, a lurch, and then movement. The train, the Brakeman’s gift to the gnomes, begins its journey.
The occupants of Cabin 8D remain polite but quiet to one another. Their shared destination is not known to them.
And neither is the plot that threatens their very lives…
Exquisite food is provided for you by the ushers. These are included with the price of your ticket. Alcohol will cost extra. Books and magazines are also provided for at no cost. Just be sure not to attempt to steal them.
There is a diner’s car, for those who wish to eat in a more social setting.
The sky reddens, turns gold, then purple and the sun sets. Off in the distance you can almost make out the cliffs past which is the crater that is the Big Drop. Perhaps it is a solemn moment for you, or perhaps it’s just the end of another day.
There have been a few stops. Small outposts with nothing of interest to you. Dry City, then Tin Star lies ahead of you yet.
***
Later that night, you all settle in to get some sleep. The chairs fold in and bunks fold out, stacked one on top of another. Well-wrought ladders accompany the bunks to aid the smallfolk. One-by-one you succumb to the tender embrace of the Madam and fall asleep.
It’s late in the night and a loud noise comes from outside the cabin in the passenger car.
Ira and Mallory awake with a jolt.
Doc is among those gnomes who pay homage to The Great Engineer, though not so blatantly as kissing a railroad spike, silver or not. Instead, he subtly places a hand on his chest -- over a pendant hidden beneath his clothes -- and whispers briefly with eyes shut.
Once the train is underway, he reaches into his bag, pulls out a reference book, and immerses himself in study... at least partially to derail anyone's attempt to engage him in conversation.
Though he does occasionally cast a furtive glance at the other gnome. And more frequently at the other gnome's mechanical package, intrigued as to its function. Perhaps his is an intellect worthy of my time. I shall have to speak with him once we have a bit of privacy.
He finds the meal remarkably well done, though he suspects it's more a matter of magical chicanery than gourmet cooking. Still, it's enjoyable enough, given the circumstances.
Late in the evening, finding his energy running too low for further study, he climbs onto one of the bunks and drifts off into a deep sleep.
Caitlyn is a natural magpie, with a natural ease of nature that only the most rabidly anti-social can deny, and they only by plugging their ears. She keeps up a constant chatter throughout the entire trip and like any good terrorist, attempts to ignore her simply single you out for more benevolent attention.
To top it all off, she's extremely intelligent and frighteningly knowledgeable about things that go clink, clank or boom.
She will retire at lights out with everyone else, but her excited breathing can be heard long after everyone else has gone to sleep as she stares out the window, marveling at the passing terrain.
This must be why she can't be awoken once the shooting starts. 8(
When the others filter into the train car and begin the journey, Mallory becomes increasingly comfortable. If any one of them had plan of killing her, their chances went away as soon as the place filled up with potential onlookers. And they were far too awkward around each other to possibly be after her together. They mostly seemed wrapped up in their own business, except for the Halfling, who seemed determined to more than make up for it. Mallory was surprised the girl had lived this long. Didn't matter how good a 'slinger you were, drawing that kind of attention.
Mallory's pleased to find the food included in the ticket, unable to quite remember exactly when the last time was that she ate. For a meal of this caliber, it had been at least a couple of months. Still, she had snorted when they tried to make her pay extra for booze, and simply pulled out her own flask, which wasn't yet empty.
As the others lay down, prepared for a night's snoozing in the cabin, Mallory finds herself unable to choose a top bunk or a bottom bunk for quite some time. Either way it's reliant on having someone, possibly armed, who you cannot see. In the end she decided to take one of the top bunks, figuring that it would give her the height advantage.
She lay down, hand on her gun, wondering if she'd make it to Tin Star. Wondering what it would mean if she did. It seemed like she was just dozing off when noise snapped her out of it. She went immediately for her gun, noticing that the other human was also stirring. She'd identified him earlier as a priest and wrote him off as harmless. He looked too old to fight, even if he could. Now as her eyes roamed around in the dark, and found his shining brightly and containing a sort of raw power, she wondered if that was accurate. 'He had to be hard' she thought, 'survive this long, s'pecially out here.'
"You hear somethin', preacher?" She hissed across to him, one hand moving strands of red hair from her face while the other slowly and quietly drew her gun out of the holster. 'Ain't gonna be caught lyin' down, that's fer true.'
GM, is there any tea on this train? :o)
Leland eases into his chair and giving his co-travellers a quick assessment, he settles into the relaxing motion and clickity-clack of his peoples greatest achievement. Content to sit in comfortable silence, Leland mostly dozes between meals until evening and then settles into the deep sleep of the safe and secure.
Anyone still awake when Leland drifts off will be in for a shock, as his magnificent mechanical contraption collapses into pile of gears and bolts, which slowly fade from view.
Juxtaposed against the woman next to him, Ira doesn't grow much more talkative or (seemingly) comfortable as the ride goes on. He exchanges any introductions that the others might make, responds to small talk, and discusses the train and their destination. If someone asks a question, he answers honestly or not at all. But beyond these, he does not start or join conversation and seems rather guarded.
The dinner Ira enjoys with quiet surprise and praise, to be sent to the cooks. The actual eating is rather voracious, as if it's the best meal he's had in quite a while. If anyone gives a judgmental look at this behavior, he coughs lightly into a closed fist and then dabs demurely at the corners of his mouth. Ira takes water with the meal.
As the evening wears on, Ira takes to watching the setting sun and darkening sky with a hand underneath his chin and eyes staring off into a vague and indeterminate distance. Fatigue settles on him, but it is the fatigue of a day spent sitting in one place and not doing overmuch: the fatigue that wears you down while not demanding you rest.
Night and bed are welcome, and Ira settles in with a comfortable sigh. His sleep, until it is interrupted, goes by without dreams nor night terrors. But when the noise comes, he wakes immediately, eyes given no time to stay heavy.
They meet the woman's, the human one. Of all the people present in the cabin, Ira finds her the most intimidating, not least because of the gun at her side. She also garners a fair amount of respect; of all of them, she seems to be far and away the toughest. The air of experience, of difficult times and places weighed heavily about her. Most importantly, he suspected that her experiences were created near solely out of necessity. Ira had visited dangerous places out of choice, many a time. This, he mused, probably made her smarter than him.
Ira's hand is already in his pack, reaching for his morningstar when she speaks. "Yes'm," he breathes. "Somethin' loud." Ira rises slowly, feet touching to the ground toes first, pulling his weapon free as he stands. He's near fully-dressed, having only removed his coat and shoes for sleep. He jerks a head towards the door.
"What d'you think?"
There's another loud noise. A different sound. A staccatto pop that is intimately familiar to Mal.
A single gunshot.
This time, Doctor Loveless and Caitlyn are forcefully awoken as well.
Doc suddenly sits bolt upright in bed. While neither fully awake yet nor sure of what roused him, he's instinctively aware that something's wrong.
Seeing all but the other gnome awake -- and both the tallfolk fondling guns -- he sharply hisses, "What is it? What's going on?"
Without waiting for an answer, he grabs his pillow and flings it at the other gnome as hard as he can in an effort to wake him. He then pulls his bag closer and begins quickly digging into it.
The pillow struck Leland dead in the nose, shocking him awake.
Leland snorts and sits up,
"Somebody better have a darned good reason for disturbing my beauty rest."
And then finally there was a blood-curdling scream.
"That a good enough reason, brother?" sniped Doc as he leapt down from his bunk, fully clothed, walking cane in one hand and two large vials in the other. Jamming the vials into a pocket of his duster, he glances over at the male human and is disappointed to see the gun he'd presumed was being drawn from the man's pack was in fact merely a spiked mace.
Doc still didn't know what was going on but a scream definitely wasn't a good sign, and he would've been happier with two reliable gunslingers. "The halfling probably only goes in for target practice," he thinks sourly. "Not the sort to point that rifle at a person and pull the trigger without hesitation."
Now the human woman... well, Doc wasn't much for tallfolk but she looked the vicious type. Just what he wanted on his side of the battleline if it came to it. Especially since he couldn't safely use his own major firepower in such close quarters, and would be reduced to more traditional weaponry and tactics.
Definitely not his forte.
Almost forgot...
The train seems to be going much, much faster than it should be.
Dressed in a long flannel nightgown, Caitlyn blinks for a moment, wondering what awoke her. Seeing the others reaching for weapons, she hops up out of bed, determined to give as good as she gets.
Then she starts rummaging through all of her luggage, trying to find her powder and shot.
Oh yeah, I hung it on the bedpost in case thar be an emergency!
Grabbing the powder, she quickly loads her musket before following the others down the corridor.
"What is going on here?"
Grumbling, Leland begins to clambers down from the cot, but pauses and cocks his head, "The train is moving too fast. Dangerous fast. If we hit a sharp enough curve, we'll be in trouble."
Hopping down, he twitches aside the curtain at the cabin window and takes a look outside.
"We need to get to the engine and slow it down before things turn ugly. I would love to assemble my automaton, but I don't think we can afford the wait."
"Automaton..." Doc realizes the mechanical package from earlier isn't in sight, but he doesn't take the time to puzzle over that.
He curses under his breath. "That's a long trip from the head of the freight cars as we are. Of the crew and passengers surely someone will get to the controls before we can. If not... you know how to run one of these things?"
"Not that I couldn't work it out in short order, of course," he adds hastily.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Doc decides not to rely on just a few extracts shoved into a pocket. He pulls his backpack out of the doctor's bag and shrugs into it, then returns to the bag to extract a small crossbow. He loads it while glancing out of the window into the night.
"Do you know this line? Any idea how long we have before a threatening curve?"
"Typical. Not even to the outpost yet and already grief's come a-calling."
Mallory sits, perceiving while the others wake up, unsure of what's happening, but not willing to risk her own life to find out. She shakes her head in shame when Leland speaks about the train's speed. 'Stupid girl,' she thinks, 'You ought'a noticed that.'
"Given the shot and scream," Mallory remarks, "Might well be under attack. Load up the goods, shoot some people. Then crash the train, big mess, ball of fire, ain't no survivors to say it weren't somethin' else." She smiles, realising it's not actually a bad plan. Whoever was behind it, she'd enjoy killing them.
"Reckon we split up? Ain't like to be much good with the engine. Also figurin' the preacher wants to see about that girlie."