Anne is now holding about one hundred fifty pounds of mostly dead, profusely bleeding relative.<br/><br/>"Heh...thanks.  Sorry 'bout this..."<br/><br/>Ooops.  He just passed out.<br/><br/>The rest of a family trump deck falls from his free hand and scatters on the floor.  He seems unarmed--the scabbard at his waist is empty.  He smells of blood, gunpowder, and smoke...his jacket has several jagged rips in it.  Claws?  Teeth?  Shrapnel?  Maybe all three.<br/><br/>From the bedroom, Anne hears a sleepy: "babe?  Somethin' wrong?"