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Unfortuntately, I'm going to leave the game as well. It was cool imteracting with all you guys, and nothing personal, but the game just isn't holding my interest, and I've been neglecting my other games as it is. Hate to "jump ship", but I just don't think this game is for me. Sorry. Hope the rest of you continue to have fun.
Still here, sorry.
Thistle is stoic and still as Doc and the stranger speak.
"We'll normally, as you can guess we might call you a witch or somesuch and lock you up...or worse...but the evidence seems to be on your side. I think if we relate all this to our sheriff, he may deem to release you. As it stands now, though, it is still seeming like you're behind this." Thistle frowns as if maybe he didn't believe that last bit.
Thistle returns to the prisoner with the coil of rope and fastens his legs securely. He then sits back on a nearby stone or perhaps the porch and watches the bound man, the rifle lowered but ready to fire should the need arise.
Thistle nods to the Doctor. "Yes. I think Richardson has some rope that we could tie our captive's legs with. I'll go and see." He hands the strange mace to doc,
Moving slowlly and carefully just barely into the cellar. "Say, Hen...er, Rich...er, Sheriff? Do you have some robe we could secure the prisoner with? Or secure him more, anyway?"
Thistle keeps an eye on the cuffed stranger, but takes a bit of time to examine the mace he had, looking for any markings or evidence of its origin.
Thistle stands outside, stunned at how quickly the other man was dealt with. He stands impressed with the fluidity with which the others move. Then, with a smile, he pulls back the hammer of the rifle in his hands, ready for whatever happens next.
"Smith, don't you think it's mighty suspicious that fellow just up an ran off. He wouldn't give his name...he definitely knows something. My thought is we should find him. Whether that is tonight or in the morning, I'll leave to the rest of you."
Still strangely calm despite the desiccated corpses shambling and clawing before them, Thistle loads the rifle and fires again...
Thistle takes a steady shot at the creature attacking Richardson...
[ooc]Not sure how much damage that rifle does, so if you wanna roll, GM, that would bee appreciated...IF I hit that is.[/dice]
Breathing heavy from his position behind the and still slightly disoriented,Zachariah spies with walking corpse grinning close to Richardson. Strangely calm, he reaches around and grabs the rifle he had lay down by his resting spot. He quickly (loads?) checks the ammo, and braces it against his shoulder, waiting for a clear shot.
DM:
Thistle had spent the night quietly, watching the others and looking up into the deep black sky. When the time had come to sleep he lay on his back and breathed softly. Eventually, he began counting. A whisper of numbers, all the products that his uncle kept in his store. Alphabetically, he organized them first by name, then by size, until he drifted of to sleep. A time later, he jolted straight up, eyes wide and scrambled behind a tree, covered in a cold sweat.
here-here, onward and outward!
Thistle looks for a decent sized stone to sit on and rolls it over to the others. Failing that he simply sits on the ground and watches the others play cards. He often looks up at the sky, or makes a short whistle. If asked to watch, he simply nods and then wakes the next person at the appropriate time. Left to his own devices, he picks up small sticks and arranges them side by side, snapping off small pieces until they are all the same size.
Thistle smirked a bit at Smith's comments, tightening his grip on the knife unconsciously. He slung the shiny "new" rifle over his back and followed a few steps behind the mule, whistling softly as he walked. Tune was a familiar one, but the pace was somber. Thistle look at the sky mostly, only looking down or ahead of him occasionally so as not to trip.
Thistle has a blank expression after the telling, taking in words of the others. "I agree, more ground could be covered...but is it really wise? Strength in numbers doesn't really count if the numbers don't add up."
Sighing slightly, Thistle seems to accept the decision without objection. "Details, you say. Succinctly, you say. I'll remind you that this is...was a dream, and as dreams are wont to do, the details may be fuzzy, but I'll retell what I do remember." Zachariah turns away. Clearing his throat and putting his hands behind his back he pauses, and looks up at the sky. He takes a few deep breaths and then turns, his eyes now alight with the closest thing Smith (or anyone for that matter) has seen to madness in quite some time. (at least from Thistle himself) "I was alone, in the black of night, here...but the Town was blown away, almost erased. The only sign that humankind had ever been was the roads, solitary and desolate. There were no stars, no moon, but somehow I could see. I felt a weight about me...like my chains...no I think perhaps more like being held under water. Heavy, breathless...but enduring. After seconds I became aware of other presences...and at first I thought they meant me ill, but soon I knew they felt the same pressure, the same need to escape, and then there was a smell. A sickness that I sometimes still catch the scent of even now as we walk. The stink of poison, of disease, of rot...but hungry rot. Like a mold grown over a dead cow in the rain. Creeping slowly over the carcass and into every orifice." He stops and shifts his foot in the dirt, and reaches down to pick up a small stone, turning it over in his palm several times. "That was my dream."
Henry:
In low tones, Zachariah spoke to the sheriff. "I'm not really sure how to explain it. I just get the feeling that there's something...otherworldly...going on." Thistle nods to Smith and helps with the gear,and makes very little noise. He is quite helpful, being attentive and responsive to any instruction, but seems a bit lost. At the apparent tension that cropped up between Henry and Frank, he only looked away. "Better to let things sort themselves out here" he mumbled to himself. When they arrived at the spot and Henry was going over the goods taken from the Hewitt house, he spoke up for the fist time out loud that morning.
"Um. Smith." Thistle clears his throat and rubs his nose with the back of his hand. "If you need help carrying anything...well. As you know, I don't have much of my own. I'd be happy to help any way I can."
To grandmother's house!
Thistle strode slowly into the church, as if looking at it from a new perspective. He seemed taken with every creak of the floorboards, every splinter of wood sticking out of the walls. He paused at the staircase for a moment, and look up it unblinkingly. Then he put his hands in his pockets and sighed once, before joining the others at the table in the other room. Standing at the doorway just inside the room, he directed his speech at Henry; "I didn't learn much other than what I overheard you and that Payne fellow discuss." Thistle frowned a bit and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, it seemed they were constantly slipping. In softer tones, mostly to himself; "I can't figure out that dream for the life of me..."
Thistle watches the men for a while, trying to commit to memory their faces, not things about their posture, their mannerisms. He skirts the edges of the bar, only catching snipits of whatever conversation passes among them. While Henry questions the new man, Payne, he tries to feel out the general attitude of those present...are they taking this witch story seriously, or perhaps do they take it with a grain of salt as Payne seems to do... Thinking back to the books he used to read as a child, he remembers one in particular about an old woman you trapped two lost children in her house made of baked goods. This causes him to suppress a chuckle. Then putting the appropriate amount of coins on the bar, he has one last shot before following the others back to the church for Henry's meeting.
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.
Welcome, Frank!
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?"
Thistle is just going to decompress, probably wander the town and "clear his head" so to speak. I'm cool with cinematic and pause.
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?
Breathing heavy, back flush against the wall, Zachariah takes a few moments to compose himself. "Is it dead?" he yells.
Zachariah crouches and creeps back against the cave wall, the shadows gathering about him.
He moves slowly and quietly, like an insect, carefully attempting to remove himself from the threat
Regaining some of his senses, Zachariah ducks back several paces, putting some distance between himself and the beast. Still quite confused after being battered, he stumbles for his knife and flails with it blindly as he moves backwards.
No longer bleeding nearly as bad, Thistle nonetheless does his utmost to escape the bear's mighty grip...
but it appears he is still to panicked to succeed.
Zachariah reels and grunts as the bear's claw rakes him across the chest tearing his skin and muscle and spattering hot red. He screams as it pulls him in.
Zachariah stumbles backwards, gasping a hoarse warning to the others. He first hits the hard stone of the cave wall, and then stumbles over one of the benches. His mind races, strange apparitions passing over his eyes that only he can see, half remembrances of his "time away".
DM: instintively his brain lashes out violently with the power: damage unless save vs. will, if it does save, it takes no damage and knows where the attack came from. Description is in my profile under abilities.
Zachariah leans down and squints at the claw marks, running his hand along them. He attempts to put together the clues. Perhaps this could be from the same beast? Seems a bit odd considering all the human debris...
Zachariah looks for any evidence that the place has been occupied recently. He squints in the dim light of the chamber and turns over various items, examining them.
He pauses after only a few moments and shrugs, looking to the others.
I apologize for my disappearance. I should be posting daily now.
Zachariah keeps an eye out for any beasties or even other people that might be in the area.
With that, Thistle quickly exits the crusty cup carefully trying to follow the hunters.
"Ahem." says Zachariah in a hushed voice as the men exit the building.
He looked both Henry and Cole in the eyes, looking for some kind of affirmation. For some reason he felt an odd kind of kinship to the group that had met in the church floor below his prison. Perhaps their chatter had nuck in through the constant conversation with the Other...Hm.... He quickly snapped himself back to reality. I shall have to ponder that later. "At the very least I might be able to learn something as the two converse with each other. They may be more open if they don't know someone is listening."
Sitting at the edge of the bar next to the door, Zachariah just watches the banter about the room. He carefully studies the faces of each of the men, not knowing what to expect, having never met any of them. Nodding to Cole in thanks, he takes his free drink and sips it carefully, enjoying the burn that washes down his throat and settles in his belly. It had been quite some time. He takes the small button out of his pocket, and slides it back and forth under his finger across the hard wood of the bar. As an afterthought, he pulls a coin or to out of his pocket and places them in front of the large man as payment. Then he sits back and listens.
Me too, hanging in/on and about
"Back to town it is then." Zachariah looked about at the stern faces of the men, unconciously imitating more focused Richardson.
Thistle kneels to pick up the button-eye from the childrens' toy that Doc had discovered and puts it in his pocket. Then, to Henry, "So, uh, circle around the cabin and then head back to the Crusty Cup?"
Zachariah shrugs. Then scratching at the bridge of his nose, "I'm afraid I didn't find anything. There are keener eyes than mine here." He takes one last look around the cabin, trying to note anything... unseen or odd.
picking up a few of the knicknacks and examining them, Thistle taps one of the mounted heads. "Well, I guess he was a pretty accomplished hunter." Eyeing the recently found trapdoor, he steps back and allows the more experienced men to proceed. He grabs a nearby lantern and looks for some oil to light it thinking to illuminate what will surely be dark below.
yes, I am.
Running his finger along the gashes in one of the still standing pieces of wood; "Yes, a bear I think. Small one, but was probably looking for food. We would see them occasionally back at my fa...mother's farm." "Anyone else find anything?"
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