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Yeah, that sounds great! Let me know what you are thinking of doing - my character creation juice has been low lately, so it might take me a bit to draw up a new character (unless we are reusing ones we've already played). (Also, if we want to keep switching, I have a ton of D&D 5e s%~% that I would be much less nervous about doing in a PbP game - I'm always nervous about having to think on my feet in f2f)
With Joaquin's help, Mr. Stuthman creaks, slowly, to his feet and, leaning heavily on his friend, staggers out of the church. His eyes dart warily around and he jerks at every sound, but he has no words to explain to Pearl what has happened. He can only shake his head - wide-eyed in denial of what he has witnessed. Shoving himself upright from Joaquin's shoulder, and refusing to meet Caroline's eye, Stuthman pulls his last remaining mason jar of formaldehyde from his pack. Shaky, nerveless fingers slowly twist the lid from the jar, and drop it into the dirt. Three filthy digits dip into the clear, acrid liquid; fingers that then drip a trail from malar to mandible, flicking the rest into a fine mist around him. Maybe he doesn't have what it takes to bless this town, but with this - this preserving liquid and whatever forces have helped him this week - perhaps he can keep this from happening again. Return sanity and normalcy and rightness to this place. Ignoring the others - ignoring conversation and questions and demands to stop - Stuthman stalks away. Muttering in Latin, reciting bone and muscle names and half-remembered prayers to Christian and Indigenous deities, Stuthman stumbles in a feverish trance through every step of the town, flicking three trembling fingers at every surface until his hand is white and numb as if a corpse's. Until exhaustion takes him, and he lies in the street or alley or graveyard to rest. Until his jar is empty and he lies on the church steps and weeps. He weeps until the sun sets and sleeps until it rises again in the east. He rises then and, if horse or friends remain, he will ride back to the city, and see if Marshall Bryce has more work for him.
Stuthman falls forward, unconscious. Breaking his nose on the floor.
Stuthman blocks and dodges the cultists' knife thrusts mechanically, on autopilot. But, as the demon approaches, tendrils of cold heat creep across his skull. Searing white-hot pain coalesces in a single, vertical axe-strike in the middle of his forehead, as incoherent rage screams from his mouth:
Stuthman, his mind in freefall, barely registers the cultists surrounding him. He sees a long dark corridor stretching in front of him, and a demon at the end of it. His rifle snaps to his shoulder:
From his knees, Stuthman grunts, notices the cultist is blocking Il Brutto's path, and shoots the man in the gut:
Shocked at the sudden appearance of the demon, and then distracted by having to fend off a knife-wielding cultist, Stuthman is unsure what he should do. The only thing he is sure of: "We need help," he whispers to himself. But who? The townsfolk have already been corrupted and Pearl's gang is too far... There's only... And here he remembers the rodents and small creatures he's seen about town, including those mice that plagued the newspaper office; would they, natural creatures of the world, come to help against this unholiness.
Collapsed and despairing, Mr. Stuthman is yanked to the side, and halfway to his feet, by his friend. As the shotgun blasts roar, setting Mr. Stutman's ear ringing, he is shoved forward, stumbling, into the church with a shout of encouragement. To all this, Stuthman is oblivious, but when he sees the vile preacher, chanting gibberish and crackling with evil, he surges forward. His only thought is to shove Cheval, off his feet, away from the bible, away from whatever foulness he is conjuring.
Stuthman sinks to his knees, his head in his hands, stunned. Not so much because of the lack of power (he didn't understand how that came about anyway), but because he's suddenly, achingly overwhelmed with the realization that this all might be beyond him. He still wants to cleanse the world of abomination, but Cheval is antithetical to him, and more powerful. Tears stream down his face and the world takes on a dreamlike quality as Caroline fires her shotgun next to him. He whispers to himself: "I'm a failure. A failure and a coward - that horrid creature in the theatre... I just ran away!? What kind of person does that?"
"NO! WE WILL NOT BE HINDERED NOW - ENOUGH WITH YOUR TRICKS, CHEVAL!!" Mr. Stuthman pounds on the door with the heel of one frail fist.
"Where is Senorita Caldwell?" Busily sucking air into his tortured lungs, Mr. Stuthman simply points at the woman standing right next to him. "H-How... should we go in through the front doors? Or just burn it down?"
Shouting and waving at Il Brutto: "Joaquin!" Stuthman points down the street toward Caroline and the church, before turning and sprinting in that direction, trusting the ugly man to follow him. Stumbling to a halt near the journalist, Stuthman pants far too much for the short distance he ran: "Hhheh-huhhh... Ho-Whole town cah-corrup... (oh Christ) - corrupted! We've gotta get to the pries-hecch" Spitting loudly, Stuthman straightens up to see if Il Brutto has caught up, before lurching on toward the church.
... get it? - your beard is spiders: As Stuthman scrambles out the window, he has a terrifying lurching feeling in his stomach as his hands slip, but he manages to half-climb, half-slide his way down the sheets.
...pompilids are spider-wasps...: Half-turning to see the horror behind him, Stuthman barely hesitates as he swings a leg over the sill and follows the make-shift rope out of the building. "I'm so sorry this has happened to you, Belle. I'll do my best to fix it..."
Pompilid solution: Stuthman isn't particularly squeamish about dead bodies, so if he can, he will quietly move the body, and pull off any bedding. Knotting the sheets together, with one end tied to the bed frame, he'll open the window, and try to lower himself down .
Spiderbeard: A flash of disappointment and fear of betrayal are quickly forgiven when he remembers how weak the earth spirit looked after his weeks of torture. Stuthman's head turns to the bed, and nearly gags. The initial vomit that rises in Mr. Stuthman's throat is swallowed down, hard, as he remembers what he is. Whispering: "You poor fool, what have they done to you?" even as he pulls out a scalpel and examines the corpse:
Jerking his head up, Stuthman realizes that he is likely in danger here; that his companions are missing; and, most importantly, that Cheval must be stopped.
Thanking Pearl and the gang for their help, Stuthman urges them to return to town: "I have a feeling we will need your help there, when all of this is over..." Thinking of the dangerous man they are about to face, Stuthman hopes Il Brutto's aim will be true:
Holding out a hand to help Joaquin to his feet, he looks to his companions. Seeing their nods, he replies, meekly: "Thank you, Lord. I think we are ready to go. What should we know before we face him?"
Stuthman and Joaquin stare at each other, neither quite sure what has happened. Stuthman's fear for his friend combined with the indignation at the wrongness of what Cheval has been doing has his adrenaline flowing, but it has left him somewhat bewildered. "N-no... I don't think so. H-h*hecch* he jumped in there." Turning slightly to point toward the pit, Stuthman realizes that Tacheene is free, and he sinks to his knees. This creature, for all that it doesn't belong in his world of precision and science, feels profoundly right. "Lord, what do we do next? Where has the priest gone?"
Joaquin's scream brings Mr. Stuthman out of his reverie, and he jumps up to rush toward his companion. Hooking an arm under Il Brutto's shoulder, he tries to drag him out of the creature's reach. As he grabs Joaquin, some of his life energy flows into the man.
Also unsure he had anything to do with it, Mr. Stuthman breathes a sigh of relief as the flames on Caroline go out. Some of that anxiety returns, however, as he looks back to where the mudmen are standing. Reaching for a bottle of formaldehyde, Stuthman jerks his hand back - remembering that these creatures were healed by the flames the last time he tried.... Hmmm... what if we could wash away some of that mud, and put out the fires that animate them? In his imagination, Stuthman sees the previous battle with the mudman, sees the river rise past its banks; he sees the water lash out at the unnatural creature, taking taking it out at the knees (knees? do these unholy creatures even have a discernable anatomy?), washing away the mud and fires. So it is in his imagination, so it is in reality - Stuthman causes the water to appear to drown away the mudmen (or at least one of them...).
Mr. Stuthman tries to understand what is happening with Tacheene, but is distracted by CAROLINE BEING ON FIRE!! Looking back and forth between the spirit and his companion, Stuthman worries over what his best move is, his mind freezing with indecision. His hand clenches convulsively several times, in panic. Almost on instinct, he does ... something...
Lying prone, Mr. Stuthman focuses long and hard down the barrel of his rifle, blinking away the cloudiness until Cheval fills the entirety of his vision before squeezing the trigger:
"Do you have a shot?"
Mr. Stuthman focuses on the poor, screaming man, resolving to save him from certain death:
Frustrated, Stuthman turns to the others: "Cheval - he's the key to all of this. If we can get rid of him, perhaps all will revert to normal?"
Mr. Stuthman looks hesitantly at Pearl: "Eh... Wood? What does it look like ahead?"
Stuthman stumbles to a stupefied halt, his jaw drops: He... he's right. What the hell is happening?! Also "Wha...? Who...?" Shuffling quickly, Stuthman follows Joaquin into the mine.
A fire of determination still burns in Mr. Stuthman's eyes, but his shoulders are slumped - he's tired, and feels the weight of the stone around him. His voice sounds like a corpse being dragged through a gravel pit: "Let's just get this over with." Pointing fore and middle finger at Pearl/Wood, Stuthman gestures down the mine: "Lead on, MacDuff." (Seeing confusion from all but Caroline , Stuthman sighs: "Just go...")
To Joaquin, in a raspy whisper: "We might need their help - they know these mines and we don't."
Speaking louder, to Pearl: "That is very brave of you. Mr. Wood, perhaps you could speak through Miss Pearl here. For the rest of you, ghost miners, we will do our best to free you when we've taken out Cheval."
Mr. Stuthman hesitates: "What do you mean 'vessels'? Like, you would possess one or more of us? Or just reside in our bodies?" Turning to the women: "Do you know this man, Wood? Are you willing to help him and the other miners?"
Mr. Stuthman puts a hand out toward the others, hoping to slow any rash decisions by Pearl and the gang, before wheezing: "Quickly then, s-spirits. *hehhh-hhh* H-How can we hehh-help?"
Mr. Stuthman shrugs and follows Joaquin onto the elevator. Seems like the quick little man knows what he's doing...
Suddenly grabbing a fistful of Il Brutto's shirt at the shoulder, and leaning in to the shorter man, his sickly-sweet breath hot on the brute's face: "Don't talk to me of Heaven and Hell, culo! You want to help me, eh? If I die, you make sure I stay dead. Until then," shoving away from Joaquin, "let's go save this s$*+hole town."
Still stumbling not-quite-awake, in spite of the ride, Stuthman slides from his horse, awkwardly. Gathering his rifle, canteen, and a few essentials, he slouches over to the elevator with Joaquin: "Let's get this over with."
Mr. Stuthman uncurls reluctantly, looking haggard. A night spent whimpering and shivering has left the strange man looking more exhausted than when he lay down. Long, unwashed hair hangs in front of his face as he croaks: "Copper mine - free the puma-spirit. Mebbe kill a sorcerer." Cautiously stretching his aching limbs, Stuthman reaches for some breakfast. He eats slowly and deliberately, filling his belly without enjoyment; his gaze flat, staring into the middle distance.
Stuthman, red-rimmed eyes underscored by dark purple rings of exhaustion, looks unsympathetic at Pearl's mention of bad dreams This day, the same as every day. Aloud, his voice the sound of grinding gears: "Now we sleep. In the morning, we go down the mine and fix what needs fixing." And, without further ceremony, he looks for a place where he can huddle into a ball and wait for morning.
Mr. Stuthman's coughing fit recedes and his breathing returns to normal. At Archer's words, he stiffens apprehensively, not least because he expects Il Brutto to just start shooting, and pulls his rifle closer. At Caroline's words, half his mouth quirks in a smile: she's right, these men would be fools to try anything now. Uncharacteristically confident, Stuthman swings down from his horse and goes to inspect the creatures they just fought - making sure they are very dead, and preparing for autopsy if time allows.
Slumping forward, steadying himself with a shaky hand on his saddlehorn, spots float across Mr. Stuthman's vision: "Ba-dahuh-hehh Bad thihekehhk-ings f-ff-from... *ahee* ahechh" Giving up, Stuthman waves a shaky hand vaguely in Caroline's direction, inviting her to explain as he struggles to catch his breath against the shuddering, dry coughs.
Hey gang, I'm going to be away until Friday. Wifi/mobile service will likely be spotty at best, so please 'bot as needed.
Mr. Stuthman watches, trance-like, as this horror, this abomination of the natural world approaches. Fear and revulsion lick at the edges of his mind, a high-pitched, keening whine fills his ears - a sound he unconsciously echoes from the back of his throat. While his mind remains a blank, he knows from somewhere deep in his chest that these things should not, cannot, "MUST NOT BE!"
Tears begin to roll down Stuthman's face; his finger twitches convulsively on the trigger of his rifle and the weapon fires with a concussive blast that leaves ears bleeding.
Stun: Sometimes foes must be taken alive, or a
hero might not want to kill unnecessarily. Stun shocks those within a Medium Burst Template with concussive force, sound, magical energy, or the like. If the arcane character scores a success, targets within the area of effect must make Vigor rolls or be Shaken. With a raise, victims make Vigor rolls at –2.
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