Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Ixy on 14-07-2016, 02:47:46</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ixy</strong> on <strong>14-07-2016, 02:47:46</strong>
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				Sangre de Madre, New Mexico has all the charm of a broken-toothed hooker on hop, but like the simalcrum, it will serve.<br><br>The woods are thinner this far south, with most of the worthy building trees are staked out and guarded and the decent burning stuff was quickly consumed to scare off the night shivers.&nbsp; Some of the buildings in the dark sprawl of a 50 or 60 building town, unabashedly spreading itself in full view of rolling hills that watch with stoic pleasure, are made of interlocking logs of the pioneer style-- thick enough to stop a cannon shot dead mid-flight and hold it still to light your cigar upon.&nbsp; Some are patchworked from the red adobe learned from the native people, the sagging dry clay like the skin of a scrawny child's slatted ribs.&nbsp; Others are the milled-wood siding of a fancier stock, so even and smooth in their repetitive pattern that you might think they were chiseled by a giant's lathe, their flickering orange eyes glaring upon their neighbors with due paranoia as the oil lamps flicker within.<br><br>The town has suffered little planning, it seems, and the clutter of roofs becomes a violent knot like Virginia Creeper vine closer to the city center, where the trade must be best.&nbsp; No fancy gas-lights here, as one might see in London or New York, but here and there a lantern is suspended from a hook on the grip of a shotgun, or dangles from the hand of an axehandle-carrying drunk who staggers his way to piss his rented mine-wages under a stairwell.&nbsp; A rough-tuned piano jangles out something like a tune at one saloon, and across the square miners are singing an Irish ballad to their new German friends.&nbsp; Red and white orbs-- paper lanterns-- dot the balcony of a two-story building farther off past a few mercantile&nbsp; stores, and the new bank sits glaring at its neighbors from behind lattices of iron and heavy padlocks.&nbsp; The vault within waits like a patient Buddha that has never been tested.<br><br>The four of them are either here, or are arriving here... they may call it home, or hell, or an accidental impasse.&nbsp; But they are about to collide.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Captain Whitebread</strong> on <strong>14-07-2016, 04:01:56</strong>
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				He strode into town at a pace that looked slow but it was deceptively mile eating.&nbsp; He didn't look like he was in a hurry as he headed for the surveyor's.&nbsp; It was a bi-weekly trip.&nbsp; The silver mine wasn't a rich one but there was a small vein, just large enough to make the claim worth working for one man.&nbsp; He'd never get rich but, as long as the vein held out, he would be comfortable and that was all a man like him needed.&nbsp; <br><br>He had to duck through the doorway.&nbsp; The frame hadn't been built with men over six feet tall in mind.&nbsp; Behind the counter, a thin man with glasses looked up.&nbsp; "Bringing in more silver, John?" he asked.<br><br>"Yeah," the big man said in a low voice.&nbsp; He didn't meet the surveyor's eyes.&nbsp; He simply handed over a thick leather bag.&nbsp; <br><br>The smaller man's eyes widened as he took the bag, needing two hands to barely support what the larger man hand easily handled with one.&nbsp; He untied the cord holding it shut and looked inside.&nbsp; "You've got some prime nuggets in there," he said.&nbsp; "Let me weigh it up for you."<br><br>It didn't take long.&nbsp; After some careful calculations, the surveyor pulled a key from his vest pocket and unlocked a drawer.&nbsp; He reached past the revolver in the drawer and picked up a wad of cash.&nbsp; "Twenty three pounds of raw silver at sixty cents an ounce gives us a total of two hundred and twenty dollars and eight cents.&nbsp; I'm a little short on change, so I'll round it up to two hundred and twenty one.&nbsp; That's a lot of money.&nbsp; Going to put it in the new bank?"<br><br>"Nope."<br><br>"Suit yourself.&nbsp; Make your mark here and the money is yours."<br><br>The tall man bent down and drew a 'J' on the page.&nbsp; The smaller man made a notation in a ledger.&nbsp; "I think that's the most you've brought in in six months," he said.&nbsp; He didn't expect a response.&nbsp; Big John wasn't known for talking.&nbsp; He simply put the money in the leather bag and headed for the general store.<br><br><em>Not too bright carrying that much money with no gun.&nbsp; There's men around here that would kill a fella for that much money.</em>&nbsp; The surveyor shrugged.&nbsp; As long as John kept bringing in silver, they'd both be making money.&nbsp; He paid out a little more than the standard rate but will silver selling at almost ninety cents an ounce, he could afford to be generous.<br><br><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kadigan</strong> on <strong>16-07-2016, 01:19:59</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/6E7boKm.png)</div><br>N'emea pounced and bounded her way across the rooftops of the shabby little town before stopping in a skid, a few shingles scattering beneath her boots and knocking their way to the ground in a clatter. This time of the day she was unsure, or maybe just uncaring if they landed on someone or something. She turned, doing a small little jig as she watched her travelling companion catch up, one of Mother and Father's insufferable messengers. She'd led them on a merry chase throughout the...city? Town? Human words still escaped her. For example, catgut was notoriously fibbing in it's name. <br><br>Still, there were things she'd come to enjoy. Chocolate for example, made a deliciously delightful, if unsatisfactory easy to hunt down, treat. She found poker quite fun, even if she couldn't understand when you got to stab people and when not too. Usually when someone yelled cheater and then a lot of pokering happened. Still, she'd gotten side tracked from her thoughts and the chase once more, which had allowed the messenger to actually catch up with her rather then playfully scampering off once more. Sighing. Fairly caught and all that, she remained where she was, though for the most part, her feet shimmering this way and that. <br><br>The messenger, whose name she couldn't be bothered to recall frowned. Ill dressed to go scampering around the rooftops, he looked more apt to be found hosting a ball or serving in one of the human's fancy restaurants (Food you didn't have to catch, astounding!) then anything else. He was red faced, though she suspected that was mroe from annoyance from her really, which gave her a warm fuzzy feeling in her stomach. A low rumble echoed in her throat, even as she turned around him again, marching n a small circle about the roof. "Well..you caught me. Deliver your important message and be off with you..."<br><br>"Contessa N'emea, named for the greatest of all ancestors, pride of the..." a huffing noise from her brought that nonsense to a halt quickly enough, as did the thumping of her fingers on grandfather's blade. Coughing and clearing his throat, the messenger continued past the honorifics "Your esteemed Mother and Father, Baroness and Baron of the 4th realm would bid you return, in time for the gathering. As you know..magics converge upon all the realms and soon most will be in chaos. They are well shielded and protected and would have their heirs safe upon the wall." <br><br>Tossing her head back in grief, N'emea sighed again. At least this one was using words, the last messenger was songs and lights and it took her ages to forget that damnabley twinkly lyric and all her urges not to follow the light. The pretty pretty lights. Her ear flickers in annoyance as she tilts her head at the messenger, and bares a little finger, her fingers wrapping around the hilt once more. "Tell Mother and Father I will NOT be returning to this years gathering. The times of chaos are far too exciting and interesting. The scent of magic is deep in the air, and I would find it all and frolic. Further more...tell Mother and Father..that the next messenger they send will need mroe then honeyed words to combat Grandfathers steel...do I make myself clear." <br><br>If nearvous, if threatened, the messenger doesn't show it and simply bows his head. One doesn't argue with the higher ranks, they simply do. That's what makes her an aberration, perhaps even an abomination to her Mother and Father. If only she'd been born a generation earlier, Grandfather certainly knew how to live. Watching as the messenger steps...sideways into the ether realms, and is simply gone. Sighing again at his disapearance. It had been a frightfully boring day and the chase had at least served as distraction. Still..somewhere out there was fun and adventure to be had and she would find it. Her nostrils flare, inhaling deep as she breathes in the scents of magic out there. Springing one foot off the roof, she simply pounces towards the ground, intent on finding it. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Florence</strong> on <strong>16-07-2016, 04:03:07</strong>
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				Whistling wind filled the air of an otherwise silent night some ways out of town. It was a mostly empty plain, dotted with thick grass and tall rocks. The wildlife barely even made a peep, as if all the world was hushed in tense anticipation of something. All at once that silence would be met with a bang, and then several more. Gunshots to the keen ear. Men screamed, shouting things to each other. They were trying to figure out where the shots game from. Soon they were returning fire, and the silence was replaced with the back and forth of gun salvos. The rate of fire slowly died down, one side thinning in numbers, until it came to a close.<br><br>A lone man stood, the bodies of his fallen comrades laying about him. Across from him stood but one figure; a stern-faced young woman dressed all in black. Her jet black hair fell around her face, her eyes boring into the remaining man. A lit cigarillo extended from one corner of her mouth. Her arm was raised extending a revolver outward, pointed right at the man, who likewise held a gun towards her. Their eyes were locked in an intense duel of their own, each searching for weakness or hesitation and finding none. Neither would back down. For the man, this fight meant life or death. For the woman, it meant answers. She hoped.<br><br>"Sauvage," said the woman, her the single word cutting in the severity she spoke it with.<br><br>"Not sure I follow," the man replied, not taking his eyes off of her.<br><br>She rolled the cigarillo from one side of her mouth to the other, clenching it in her teeth as she said, "I hear tell you know just about everything that goes on in these parts. You seem to fancy yourself quite the crimelord. So I'm going to say it again, and a damn thing comes to your mind, I want to know about it." She paused for just a moment before saying again, "Sauvage. Talk."<br><br>"Afraid you're at a dead end, lady. No idea what you're going on about," the man responded, his eyes shifting from hers, to her finger, watching for movement.<br><br>"Shame," came the woman's reply, "Bounty on you's dead or alive. Alive is a lot of hassle for someone with nothing to tell me."<br><br>"Shame indeed," was the man's retort.<br><br>The wind cut through their standoff, a high pitched screech of a gust of dusty air, blowing a tumbleweed between them. Her finger squeezed down. The man responded in kind. Two shots rang out, and both fell to the ground.<br><br>Some time later, the woman's eyes opened. A groan escaped her lips, the cigarillo long since turned to ash. She sat up. She reached up rubbing her forehead, which was covered in dry bloods. Her hair was similarly caked in the crimson muck. She had just taken a bath that morning too. "Seems they weren't exaggerating his aim," she muttered, pulling herself up to her feet and looking over at where the man stood before; now, where he lay dead on the ground. Unlike her, he didn't wake up again. She put her fingers in her mouth and blew loudly, a sharp whistle ringing through the air, followed by hoof-beats. Soon enough, a tall brown horse came galloping towards her. She crouched down to heft up the corpse, before carrying it over to the horse and tossing it over the beast's back. She secured him in place with some rope before hopping on. She looked around at the other corpses. Shame she didn't have the means to carry them all back. The rest were probably worth something too, but the boss was the big money, and she hadn't expected the company.<br><br>"Well, hopefully this bastard will be useful enough to pay for a room with a bath," she mumbled to herself as she spurred the horse on and headed towards the town to collect on her bounty.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Captain Whitebread</strong> on <strong>16-07-2016, 05:17:07</strong>
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				There was someone on the roof.&nbsp; That was their business, not his.&nbsp; Unless they were planning to shoot him in the back, he wasn't going to worry about them.&nbsp; That pretty much spelled out his philosophy.&nbsp; If they stayed out of his doings, he'd stay out of theirs.&nbsp; Currently his business was with the general store.&nbsp; He was in need of supplies.&nbsp; <br><br>His pick had broken that morning, the actual pick, not the handle.&nbsp; He'd need a new one.&nbsp; He needed some bacon and some beans and if he was lucky maybe he could score a little coffee.&nbsp; Rope, candles, lamp oil, he needed all of it.&nbsp; Bread too.&nbsp; All told, if he was accurate with his price estimates, he'd walk out sixty dollars poorer.<br><br>He ended up spending seventy five, adding a double barrels shotgun and a box of shells to his list of purchases.&nbsp; He wasn't concerned about getting robbed but he'd had some trouble with coyotes.&nbsp; The store clerk had joked about him making silver bullets but the joke had fallen flat when John hadn't laughed.&nbsp; There was no point in him telling the man that he wasn't a gunsmith; he didn't have the first clue about how to produce silver bullets.&nbsp; <br><br>Stepping outside once again, John looked left and then right.&nbsp; His stomach growled.&nbsp; It was a long way back to his mine on an empty stomach.&nbsp; He still had a lot of cash on him.&nbsp; Perhaps he might even spring for a bath as well as a meal, even though it would be an extravagance.&nbsp; It would also likely lead to other extravagances, like a bottle of whiskey, a woman and a game of cards.<br><br>All those would likely lead to a fight and when John was involved in a fight, people generally died.&nbsp; Maybe he'd skip the bath but he was definitely getting something to eat before he headed home.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>nailcrosser</strong> on <strong>18-07-2016, 19:16:06</strong>
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				At the cemetery on the hillside, a small congregation gathered around a small open grave. Ray McCallister loomed over the pit, chin down to keep his face shrouded in his hat brim's shadow. The heat wasn't so bad; the scent of sage travelled on an unusually cool breeze. The day would have been enjoyable under different circumstances. As Reverend Flockheed gave his final words, the two grim men in matching black outfits at his sides lowered the little closed casket into the earth.&nbsp; Ray clutched a string of turquoise beads to his heart and mouthed his own silent blessing. Flowers were tossed onto the casket and the grim men covered them in dirt.<br><br>The mother sobbed next to Ray. She whored at Scarlet Dove's, Sangre de Madre's very own brothel. Her name was Darla. Only her closest friends knew she had had a little boy, until Ray dreamt of him while sleeping in the wilderness. In the dream, the boy was locked in a dark room. A beast from another place banged at the door, screaming, laughing, and begging for entrance. The boy cried for help. When Ray woke, he followed the cry. After 60 miles by horse, he reached Sangre de Madre and met the mother and son. It was too late; the beast had settled into the child. The priest and doctor said he was beyond help. Without anyone else to turn to, Darla invited the stranger in.<br><br>The boy was strapped to his bed, in a room in the basement of Scarlet Dove's. His skin had turned chalk white, covered in bright red scratches that spelled out words in ancient script. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, but you could feel the bloodshot whites follow you in the cold dark. He would grin with rotten teeth and call out the names of your ancestors, and tell you how they were spending eternity in Hell. The demon that corrupted his body called itself Saleos and he took the boy's soul hostage.<br><br>For days, Ray knelt at the demon's bedside, torturing it with herbs, chants, stones and metals. "You pig filth," Saleos growled. His voice was alien, deep, it came from the depths of nightmares.&nbsp; "I'll skin you and roll you in balefire pitch. I'll feed your mother to the chitinous nether hounds. I'll-" Ray cut him off, shoving a bulky head of garlic in his mouth and punched his jaw, forcing his rotten teeth into the cloves. Saleos's eyes welled up and he screamed, bits of garlic shooting from his mouth like a volcanic eruption. Smoke billowed up from the pendants placed on his flesh. Symbols from the Book of Sekt were carved into each pendant, and Ray felt strong with his Lord's power. Saleos was waning. It was time to evict him.<br><br>Ray laid on the floor and closed his eyes, hands nestled on his chest. He retreated down, within his mind and out the doorway to the realm below - the Underworld, where all misery spawned. Ray treaded down a shadowy labyrinth. He held out the crystal (carved in the form of a stout mantis) he wore around his neck, casting an amber glow to light the way. The corridors were built with pale, crumbled stone. The stairways were slick with blood and slime. Particles of ash suspended in the air, and the sound of footsteps and screams were never far enough away. He found himself the in the dark reflection of Sangre de Madre, stunned by the overwhelming corruption. The boy's possession was not an isolated incident. The decay here signaled things to come and there&nbsp; was much work to do. But first, the boy.<br><br>The halls and chambers twisted all sense of direction. Down, up, in, out.&nbsp; Ray could picture the room in the dream. He knew where to go, but the real challenge was the mounting dread sinking his spirit. Invisible spectres brushed their fingers on the back of his neck and whispered promises of pain. He carried on and found the room.&nbsp; The door was torn apart. Inside was Saleos. Horned, massive, coated in fleshy scales&nbsp; and frozen by the pendants in the material realm. Black fluid leaked from his thirteen eyes, four nostrils, and his one gaping, needle toothed rictus grin. At his clawed feet was a figure, wrapped in a fabric that resembled rusted metal. The boy. Distant voices echoed down the hall. The watchers of this kingdom knew of Ray's presence. There wasn't much time. <br><br>Ray gripped the wrapping, straining to keep his concentration as the voices grew closer. He tore and yanked, as if he were uncovering a mummy. The fabric bit into his fingers, his blood stained where he touched. It was agony, like pulling apart barbed wire. The voices weren't far at all. A shriek pierced the air. Ray turned his head and saw his pursuer: a decomposed, bulging-eyed head the size of a barrel, fanged and oozing with venomous insects from its wounds. Its expression locked in painful malevolence and it flew at Ray.<br><br>Ray dashed out of its path and whipped his LeMat revolver from its holster. The head picked up the boy in its teeth and shook him like a dog that caught a rabbit. "BASTARD!" Ray shouted as the beast sprayed blood and bugs across the walls. He fired til the chambers were all empty, popping the eyes and breaking the teeth of the beast. It shrieked and fell to the floor, not dead but incapacitated. The boy's soul, however, was dead - merged with oblivion. Saleos dissolved into sour mud. With the soul gone, there was no anchor for him in the Underworld. Trapped in the material world, the boy's body could not sustain him and he died as well.&nbsp; Ray buried his face in his hand, ears ringing and gun smoking.<br><br>He woke up on the floor in a cold sweat. The boy's appearance returned, but his life could not.<br><br>When the funeral procession had cleared, Darla and Ray were left alone. "I appreciate your trying," she said, wiping the tears from her face.&nbsp; "You're welcome to stay with me a few nights. You'll scare off some customers but I owe you for putting yourself out like you did." She tried to smile.<br><br>"If you don't mind, I'd like to take his room." Ray replied, his voice quiet like cool sand trickling in an hourglass. "I could use the privacy and have some work to do."<br><br>She agreed and they walked back to town, silent and with arms around each others' back.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ixy</strong> on <strong>20-07-2016, 05:40:35</strong>
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				<strong>Sangre de Madre, nearing sunset<br></strong><br>Whispers fill the street as dusk settles in, the lanterns and braziers having been lit early in anticipation of the nightfall.&nbsp; A boy scuttles out of his doorway to report the word of a failed exorcism.&nbsp; "Failed," of course, being a matter of conjecture... a man spits, a Mexican crosses himself and mutters a quick prayer... the demon's been cast out, they say, but the boy didn't make it.&nbsp; Set extra lights, they say.&nbsp; The darkness will be about tonight.<br><br>Cartwright's saloon-- affectionately nicknamed the Hare for its awkwardly-painted shingle of a March hare in revelry that could, perhaps, be mistaken for a rabid beast-- serves as good a place as any for food and company.&nbsp; Some of the usual haunts will be closing early at the news.&nbsp; <br><br>The common hall is half-full, and the town's marshal-in-residence is prone to card playing at the upstairs table when his 'business hours' are done.<br><br>N'emea lands as soft as a discarded hat in the red dust, hardly rustling the sage beside the horse tie, and a chestnut gelding actually gives her a comical double-take as she takes him by surprise, half-snorting his oat bag before resuming his work.&nbsp; A gray-and-black porch-cat glares up at her lazily and gives a disdainful tail thrash, then resumes its afternoon nappishness.&nbsp; The saloon door swings outward, the glass glinting in the evening light as a whiskered man dons a bowler hat and swaggers out toward home, gabbing about some election nonsense from his bespectacled nose as his companion, a lanky frontiersman by the look of it, glares in N'emea's direction with steel gray eyes in a tanned face, his flat-crowned hat in his hand until he places it purposefully as he watches her, adjusts his suit jacket and vest on his skeletal frame, and then tips the black brim in a genial way before continuing into the street.<br><br><strong>note</strong>The sheriff's deputies will be sitting on the local riffraff at holding cells in the office in the main square, but they're not authorized (or funded) to pay out federal bounties.<br><br><strong>Jian-Xi Mercantile</strong> <br>Old man Chen is smoking in the back, and his wife is busy lighting incense and singing around the shop.&nbsp; She, apparently, has heard troubling news, and John knows she is superstitious... or religious... or magic, maybe.&nbsp; Who knows.<br><br>Smoke wreaths Chen's angular face as he reviews the books, filling out an order for resupply.&nbsp; He seems worried, and John notices that the store's supplies are more scarce than normal.&nbsp; It's not difficult to assume that a delivery or two have not been made.<br><br>Their daughter, Li, is sweeping the floor halfheartedly in the fading light through the radiant, purpling light from the west.&nbsp; Her simple dress and apron are characteristically chaste, though this late in the day she seems to have snuck open a couple buttons to reveal a scandalous amount of ivory collarbone.&nbsp; She must be eighteen or nineteen by now, and there's rumor that the governor's groundhog-of-a-son has shown her more than a share of interest... with good reason.&nbsp; She's positively lovely.<br><br>At John's entrance, the bell over the door rings, and she looks up with lovely chestnut-brown eyes and flashes him a brilliant smile of recognition.&nbsp; Her mother seems not to hear, but Jian-Xi Chen looks up from his books and gives a curt nod before turning back to his work.&nbsp; John's a familiar customer, but little consolation in troubling times.<br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Captain Whitebread</strong> on <strong>20-07-2016, 07:07:20</strong>
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				John stood outside the general store while they packaged his purchases.&nbsp; It gave him a moment to look up at the stars and thing.&nbsp; He'd already planned the rest of his evening, so all he needed to think about was that moment.&nbsp; He'd already started his thoughts down the road that led to perdition; it was hard to keep them off that topic.<br><br>Chen's daughter was marrying age, past it almost.&nbsp; He wondered why the old man hadn't arranged a match for her.&nbsp; They certainly weren't the only Chinese in the territory.&nbsp; &nbsp;It wasn't his place to stick his nose in where it didn't belong but it was still a troublesome issue.&nbsp; May he'd offer to take the girl of their hands if she was still here in a year.&nbsp; It wouldn't do to have her become an old maid.&nbsp; With no husband, she's be forced to take care of her parents by herself and that would be a lot of work, especially if she had to run the store by herself.&nbsp; Then again, did he really want to give up the mine and put his face in front of that many people in a day?&nbsp; Somebody might recognize him and that wouldn't do Li any good to have her husband beat somebody half to death.&nbsp; Best to leave well enough alone.&nbsp; Besides, he'd barely spoken twenty words to her that didn't involve asking where her folks were so he could buy supplies.<br><br>Best to leave such a pretty girl to somebody who would do right by her, not that John wouldn't have done right.&nbsp; He just had a bad record when it came to pretty girls.<br><br>He turned his thoughts away from Li, which was hard, given the amount of skin she'd been showing.&nbsp; It was enough to make a man think impure thoughts.&nbsp; He wondered if the store was going to be able to fill his order the next time he was in town.&nbsp; Supplies were looking thin and he wondered why.&nbsp; But then it wasn't his place to ask.&nbsp; Not his business.&nbsp; It wouldn't be until they didn't have what he needed.&nbsp; Speaking of which....<br><br>John stuck his head back through the door.&nbsp; "Got any dynamite?" he asked.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>nailcrosser</strong> on <strong>28-07-2016, 08:12:27</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Ray spent the remainder of the afternoon in his room under Scarlet Dove. A candle flickered at the bedside. Ray laid on the floor, the spot where he had been during his descent. He gazed up at the ceiling with his hat on his chest and plotted his next move. <br><br>People had heard of him by now: the lunatic Follower of Sekt (they were all lunatics, they had to be) that shacked up with that whore and couldn't save her damned boy. Tom Wallace, a cowboy who worked at Spanner's Ranch and suspiciously loyal customer of Darla's, convinced himself that he was the boy's father. If Darla hadn't kept him secret, Tom would have raised the boy right and holy. He could have been a family man, with something more in his life than cow shit and the bottle. Tom had been drinking all day at the ranch, sipping from a whiskey jug in the shade of an acacia tree. He was ready for a nap when a stubborn black billy goat trudged up to him. <em>He took your boy, Tom.</em> the goat whispered. <em>Send him to hell. It's what he deserves.</em> Tom shut his eyes and slapped himself to sober up, but the idea took root. It was only fair. <br><br>Ray left Scarlet Dove's around nightfall, when the candle burned out. He made his way through town and felt the curious eyes from windows and porches crawl over him. The heavy smell of incense beckoned him to <strong>Jian-Xi's</strong>, where he was now a regular. "'Scuse me, sir." he muttered as he narrowly slipped past John in the doorway. Ray hadn't seen the mountainous man in town before. His aura was like stone, as if he were molded up from the earth like a golem. <br><br>"Howdy, Chen." Ray greeted the owner, tipping his hat to the man and his family. Chen smiled, smoke billowing through his nostrils, and Li giggled a soft "Hello, Mr. McAllister." The back shelves held a library of herbs and spices in red clay pots, neatly labelled with their names and practical uses. Generally for tea and medicine, but Ray used them for more esoteric purposes. He loaded some satchels with holly, ash seeds, and anise. He left his coins at the counter and waved goodbye. "So long."<br><br>Ray made his way to <strong>Cartwright's</strong> for something to eat. He glided through the doors without a squeak, not eager to draw any attention. The saloon was barely bustling, most folks had gone to bed by now. The piano player was improvising. Ray found a corner table and settled in. Arnold the Drunk, grinning ear to ear, shambled up and sat across from him. Ray scowled and rested his chin on his hand. <em>Here it comes.</em> "I wanna git yourself a drank!" Arnold babbled. "C'mon, Sektor man, drink one! Ehhehahah!!!" <br><br>As he had explained to Arnold several times before, the Followers of Sekt were forbidden to drink alcohol. To carry out the work of Sekt, your mind needed to be clear. To maximize your time in this base plane of existence, your body needed to be healthy. Alcohol was a detriment to both. But Arnold thought Ray had a stick up his ass and only a shot of tequila would loosen it up. "If you leave me alone," Ray said, "I'll buy you a shot."<br><br>"Sold!" Arnold smiled and slammed his dirty fist onto the table, knocking the salt shaker to the floor. Ray rolled his eyes and bent down to pick it up, and in that instant, Tom Wallace burst through the door like thunder. "M-MURDERER!" he screamed, weeping. His gun was drawn and he fired. Ray dropped to the floor on his belly and the bullet whistled its way into poor Arnold's head. Ray kicked the table over to build some cover between him and the madman and drew his own revolver, but it was no good. He hadn't reloaded since returning from his trip. He fumbled for the bullets in his pockets. Another shot rang out and the edge of the table splintered. "Damnit!!!" he cursed, and prayed that someone else in Cartwright's had a loaded gun.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Frontiers: The Strange and Savage West (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Captain Whitebread</strong> on <strong>28-07-2016, 23:24:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				An iron hard hand took a grip on the back of Tom Wallace's neck.&nbsp; Another one seized his wrist and aimed the gun at the ceiling.&nbsp; With hardly any effort, John lifted the grief stricken farmer off the floor.&nbsp; "I'd be obliged if you'd drop that gun, Tom," he said in a voice that seemed far softer than the voice of a man that big had any right to be.&nbsp; "Things would be a might more peaceful without all the shooting."<br><br>Chen hadn't had dynamite, not for a month or more.&nbsp; It really hadn't mattered.&nbsp; John didn't <em>need</em> it.&nbsp; He just wanted some.&nbsp; He'd taken his bundle of goods, including the new shotgun (still unloaded) and had headed for Cartwright's.&nbsp; Tom had stopped just inside the door and it was mere coincidence that he'd gone in ahead of John.&nbsp; He wasn't able to stop him from opening fire but he could certainly stop him from continuing to fire.&nbsp; The only problem would come if some one in the saloon decided to return fire.&nbsp; Accuracy with a pistol wasn't a common skill despite how common the weapons were; nobody could afford to throw away money on the ammunition in order to get good.&nbsp; Somebody who fancied himself a crack shot after a few drinks was as likely to put a slug into John's chest as they were Tom's.<br><br>His eyes fell on the overturned table and the pool of blood on the floor.&nbsp; "Aw, now look at that, Tom," John said, his Louisiana twang full of sorry.&nbsp; "You've done shot Arnold.&nbsp; What would you go and do a thing like that for?"&nbsp; If Arnold was dead, that meant Tom would be getting the noose.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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