The combat continues. JackLaGrone takes a knee and aims down the barrel of his trusted favoured weapon. It must be rust weary though for his first couple of shots goes awry, not even close to hitting a cow's arse with a banjo.
The settlers repeat their hail of bullets into the circling natives bringing down another trio of braves.
Thinning in numbers the natives press an attack with a volley of arrows. The shafts whizz over heads of characters and thud into the wagons, all except one which takes a settler through the throat.
The chief is rattled by a bullet from Malcolm which grazes his tribal sceptre.
spends Fate Chip to act normally.
He is further assaulted by the accurate fire from Wina which nails him in the shoulder. He suffers 1 wound and gets Shaken. His concentration to maintain the tornado is affected and despite a Fate Chip addition, the Chief is unable to control the elements any further. The tornado dissipates as it nears the wagons. He calls on his spirit guide to heal him, Fate chip soak roll and his able to ignore the bleeding from the shoulder as the bullet goes through him without hitting any bone or vital organ.
Pastor Flanagan stands indefatigable, stonewalling the natives. As he calls down a thunder clap, the cackle of electric zaps the atmosphere as chained arcs of shocking volts erupt from Doc Bolt's gun. Two of the natives spasm uncontrollably before falling dead from their mounts. The horses run off in fear. The Chief fits as the bolt shocks him and he is further stunned by the sonic boom that erupts around the pastor. His ears begin to bleed profusely. The third native attacking pastor throws his tomahawk which collides with the impenetrable barrier in front of the cleric.
"Standing Bear growls. His voice his heard." The chief points at you with his war club and stabs his lance into the ground at your feet. He takes further scarring across his chest as a 'z' shape burns into his torso from another burst of electrical power from Doc Bolt
He knows this fight is lost. The chief is wounded and bleeding, shaken in his resolve. He rides off, calling his braves to follow.
Wina, Mal & Pastor Flanagan may take a parting shot at the fleeing natives if you wish.
Pastor Flannigan stands impassively, simply watching as the chief and his remaining braves ride off over the ridge.
He then turns and looks sadly at the corpses littering the ground -- nearly a dozen braves, the cavalryman who gave his last measure, the wail of grief erupting from one of the wagons. He walks back to the wagons, his arthritic pace a little slower than a man otherwise would be. He stops as he reaches Jack and Wina.
"We should retrieve the bodies of those brave soldiers, and..." he looks around at those on the ground around the wagons, "...these as well." He pauses, saddened, and rubs the sweat from his face before repositioning his wire spectacles. "It may take me some time to see to the wounded and set departed souls to rest, if you could head up the rest."
Mal replaces his spent shell as he eyes the departing Indians. I can't see goading them when they know they're beat. So saying, he picks up a shovel & pickaxe and follows the preacher to bury the dead.
After a brief and bloody attack, the renegade natives are repulsed from the wagon train. Accurate rifle power keeping the warriors at bay and a combination of divine fortune and new science wracking the war chief. They ride off leaving the settlers to check on the fallen.
Jack LaGrone and Wina check over the hollow at the fate of the troopers, lured to their fate by a feint attack. The cavalrymen lie on the ground, punctured by several arrows. You are able to round up three of the horses which escaped the clutches of the Indians. With the other loose one that returned and the mount of the dead cavalryman, each of you now has a horse (though technically they still belong to the Union).
The bodies are collected and prayers said. The only argument being the settlers don'the want the native dead to be buried.
"Let them rot on the plains." says one, "Food for the jackets and buzzards," agrees another.
Eventually the wagon wheels roll once more, the relentless progress to civilize the wild and weird West. It is a solemn procession that trudged upwards of the Overland trail until arriving in the early evening at the small town of Allerdice Springs.
Coming from the west is a train track to Cheyenne. The Denver-Pacific line servicing the town. Around the station are several wagons, labourers loading track sleepers on flatbed wagons. Of the carriages doubled as bunks one sports an obvious medic sign.
It is at this point that Ms Lineacre and Bram will seek to depart, taking the next train available for their journey to Cheyenne.
The main street of the town has a couple of larger houses with 'vacancies' available offering b&b facilities though a saloon of salubrious appearance looks as though it may also cater for overnight stops. At the far end of the main street you can spot the gables of a church building surrounded by a landscaped garden.
okay folk give me actions for what you would like to do in town as a group or individuals.
By my count, there are 10 of the 30 Indians lie dead. There's also the last cavalryman killed by spears and one settler shot through the throat by an arrow. My next action is to check all the Dead to see if they can be saved (I have an hour with the easier miracle). I am hoping at least the settler and one brave can be saved narratively, but mooks are usually discounted. Before I post IC, is it feasible to save any? If so, how many rolls should I make?
I was waiting on this answer and it looks like it was missed. I will assume nobody can be saved in the golden hour.
This aftermath is critical preacher RP. I will insert his intransigence to the settlers view below.
He will visit the church and find lodging to rest from his exhaustion when he reaches town, but I will add that in a later post to not stack too much here.
Rev. Flannigan begins by comforting the family of the settler, praying over him his last rites as the family says goodbye. He does the same for the last cavalryman and then the other soldiers returned by Jack and Wina. He is grateful to Mal as he takes up a pick and shovel and with the help of the settlers shortly see a neat row of overturned graves.
The bodies are collected and prayers said. The only argument being the settlers don'the want the native dead to be buried.
"Let them rot on the plains." says one, "Food for the jackets and buzzards," agrees another.
His white shirt already stained with soil and sweat, the Reverend wipes his brow, contemplating the earth below them. Then he raises his head, his voice carrying over all of those in the wagons. "Do you think your hate will diminish their hate?" he asks, letting it hang on the air. "If you love your neighbor and hate your enemy, what have you done differently? Even pagans do that. Jesus says, 'love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,' are these not them? How can you accept the Grace of Jesus, forgiveness undeserved, and still live to hate against his words?"
He sticks his shovel in the ground, closes his eyes, and raises his hands in prayer. "Lord Jesus, I pray to you. I pray for the souls that died here, all of them, and for your protection over these bodies which lie as reminders of human, not divine, failing. I pray, dear God, for the War Chief, for the braves that lived. I pray that you move in their hearts, oh God, and that they are changed by seeing you live in us. That hate and evil might perish from this earth. Amen."
He finishes and falls silent. Without another word, he takes up the shovel and begins digging the additional ten graves to inter the Indian corpses. He will dig alone if he must, and digs long into the night as long as his frail, old body lasts. If the settlers leave without him, he stays to finish as many hours as are needed with the now-rescued horse. If the settlers are moved and either help or wait for him, he expressed gratitude when the work is done and rides on to the town.
Mal Quietly continues until all the graves are dug and the bodies laid to rest. He prays internally that their spirits are at rest wherever the go. And if not, no need to antagonize a spirit that he may one day face across a spiritual card table....
Upon getting into town, he'll stable "his" horse - at least until the union tells him otherwise. That done, he'll make sure that the posse knows where to find him... Which will be in the saloon. Folks, I think I'll bed down over yonder for tonight. How about we meet for breakfast in the morning and make plans for where we drift next? If he can, he will get a room upstairs. Then he will seek a friendly game of cards to pay for his room &board.
If possible, Mal will find a game to sit in on, play for an hour or so, and then seek out dinner.
Once thye settlers are away a bit she says to Rev. Flannigan, pointing to one of the fallen natives, "They consider it desecration to bury the dead, its actually better to just leave them as they lay, their kin will take care of the rest in a proper way once we are gone."
Once in town Wina finds a place to spend the night and get a hot meal.
Rev. Flannigan leans, exhausted on his shovel after Wina advises him. He has been shovelling stubbornly for sometime and contemplates her words.
He thinks of the slithering skins woken by the vile magic wielded by the previous natives and shudders. The horror of that kind of desecration knots in his stomach. "Lord, consecrate these bodies from evil," he prays quietly. "both sides intend hate, but you know dear God that I intend good. It was not in your will, Lord, that any of these lives be spared, that I send back living braves to them with your name and Grace upon their lips. I pray you keep this from further harm by what we do."
He says nothing further to Wina or the others. Making peace with his actions he continues, burying them all.
None of the troopers can be saved, their injuries too severe. Though bitter from the attack, settlers muttering in whispers calling the preacher a 'stubborn old fool' or 'greenhorn', extra hands are applied to spades and a line trench dug for the dead braves. "Ain't erecting no wooden cross for these savages though," is a general consensus. Instead war lances are staked into the ground to mark their resting place.
As an aside, the war chief planted his in the ground between the Pastor's feet in the standoff. Do you wish to claim that as a trophy or perhaps Wina take it or leave it to mark the native graves?
Pastor Flannigan takes the grumbling in stride and thanks the settlers when they are done. Carrying the spear isn't really his style but it seems a worthy trophy. He offers it to Wina... an unspoken reconciliation after burying the dead anyway.
redwarrior wrote:MalUpon getting into town, he'll stable "his" horse - at least until the union tells him otherwise. That done, he'll make sure that the posse knows where to find him... Which will be in the saloon. Folks, I think I'll bed down over yonder for tonight. How about we meet for breakfast in the morning and make plans for where we drift next? If he can, he will get a room upstairs. Then he will seek a friendly game of cards to pay for his room &board.
If possible, Mal will find a game to sit in on, play for an hour or so, and then seek out dinner.
Taking an increased liking to Mal during this trip, the old preacher joins him in seeking lodging at the saloon. "What better place than this to do God's work?" he smiles to his friend as they enter. Tired, sore, and wearing gravestained travel clothes, he asks for a room and a hot bath and pays up front. He tips extra for someone to carry his travel trunk up to the room for him as well.
Once he is clean and changed to fresh clothes, he will join Mal for dinner and even a hand of cards. It is unbelievable how badly he loses, the preacher's poker face as open to reading as the Good Book on Sundays. He hands over his coins affiably and enjoys the men's company. In the morning, hopefully better rested, he'll pay a visit to the church to find what Good News is among the faithful.
Having found a game, Malcom settles in for some fun. Being joined by the preacher, he yet again decides to play an honest game. It's likely that he has made a "friend" at the table.
Doc Bolt rides on "his" horse to the town, stabling it as long as there are no soldiers in the area to lay claim otherwise. He will also get a room and join Mal & the reverend for dinner. Once they leave for the saloon to play cards, Doc will find a quiet table to himself to ponder over notes. He will call it an early evening and head to bed if nothing else occurs. In the morning, he will join the others for breakfast to discuss their next move.
Wina checks over the war lance. Like a scrimshaw, it is carved with hieroglyphs along the shafts. Depictions of buffalo heads, tepees and hunting scenes. It is decorated with long peacock feathers and ringlets of bone pieces. Deciding against claiming the weapon as her own she plants it in the ground at the head of the native dead trench.
The wagon train arrives in town as described previously. The settler wagons press on waving their goodbyes' to the quintet of players. Your main focus being hot baths and hot meals, these are secured in town at the Beaver Brook Hotel. The owner makes you all welcome and chamber staff cater for your laundry and baths.
Jack LaGrone mentions that he should contact Fort Mount Pleasant , passing news of the attack and death of the troopers. Your horses are stabled in the town livery for now. Checking on a telegraph office he sends a brief statement you may add any specific notes if you wish, and says he will stay in town until he gets an expected reply. While at the telegram office the desk clerk is receiving a message for the DP works foreman from the agents in Laramie.
After dinner, a fulsome affair of mixed beans and crusty meat pie in a thick gravy washed down with a glass of local elderberry and redcurrant spiced wine, the party relax by joining in some saloon entertainment.
No formal plans have been made or discussed, each taking the train to Cheyenne for personal reasons. The next train expected to arrive and return tomorrow. For now you fellowship together.
Doc Bolt relaxes over a glass or two in 'the smoking room', a quieter place whose patrons tend towards conversations on business and local affairs. You get to study your science volumes and notes. The bookshelves have a few well thumbed but dusty books and frontier magazines. If you want to gaze through them give me an investigation check. You engage in conversation with some locals who express interest in your vocation.
The trio of Mal, Wina & Pastor Flanagan, sit in the main saloon. The main patrons are local cowboys working on nearby ranches and the remnants of the railroad labourers. Each sit at opposite ends of the bar though the atmosphere is not a threatening or violent one. Eventually
huckster Malcolm takes a seat at a table of locals playing some form of poker. As one or two drop out, the preacher is egged on to 'show willing' and he joins in for a few friendly hands.
your Streetwise rolls enable you to learn:
The story of the Indian raid and halting of the track laying towards Laramie.
The wounded men housed in the medic carriage blag stories of stragglers escaping the natives being mowed down by a buffalo stampede or being literally 'scared stiff' by the horrors they saw.
You also note that Wina who obviously stands out as a native, is the subject of whispered comments regarding wether 'she is a spy' or 'she could scout for us'.
After a couple of hours, the faint sound of a sorrowful voice, singing far off wafts like incense into the saloon. The words are unclear and broken as they drift on the wind but the melody of a female singing is heard. As you cock your heads to listen, a local speaks up.
"That be Giselle, sad strange woman. Few see her, she sings from yonder tor. Well not exactly 'she' anymore. Miss Giselle Allerdice lies buried in the church, slain during a rescue attempt. Her tears broke open the tor rock and refreshed the dry creek to run clear waters. Her ghost often sings lamentations."
It sounds another grand story but after what you have seen in the last few days, the weird West is much more believeable.
I will deal with encounters in church matters later. For now give me any actions or verbals and if you share your encounter stories with the townsfolk. Include appropriate rolls in your post.
Doc Bolt, having perused the notes enough times since leaving the fort and desiring something new to read, wonders about the library looking for something that would catch his sophisticated eye.
Stirling wrote: ↑Mon Jul 20, 2020 9:02 pm
The wounded men housed in the medic carriage blag stories of stragglers escaping the natives being mowed down by a buffalo stampede or being literally 'scared stiff' by the horrors they saw.
Clarification: They are speaking of NATIVES being mowed down by a buffalo stampede? If so, he shows interest and gets more details.
Stirling wrote: ↑Mon Jul 20, 2020 9:02 pm"That be Giselle, sad strange woman. Few see her, she sings from yonder tor. Well not exactly 'she' anymore. Miss Giselle Allerdice lies buried in the church, slain during a rescue attempt. Her tears broke open the tor rock and refreshed the dry creek to run clear waters. Her ghost often sings lamentations." It sounds another grand story but after what you have seen in the last few days, the weird West is much more believeable.
The original roleplay was that this was the Pastor's normal circuit route and he's been to the church here before. He might have even helped consecrate the ground. Does he have any background? Or do we need to retcon that and have him be picking up this route new after the unfortunate loss of its old circuit preacher so I can be fresh to the area?
Stirling wrote: ↑Mon Jul 20, 2020 9:02 pmI will deal with encounters in church matters later.
Whenever you're ready. I was holding for that post; posting now so we're not stagnant. We should clarify the above, though.
Stirling wrote: ↑Mon Jul 20, 2020 9:02 pmFor now give me any actions or verbals and if you share your encounter stories with the townsfolk. Include appropriate rolls in your post.
Pastor Flannigan finds himself greatly rejuvinated after a bath and a change into one of the clean outfits in his trunk, choosing a proper suit and clerical collar for his evening in the tavern. He doesn't hold back in his regaling those present with their travels ever since boarding the train to come this way on his normal circuit, telling all the right-places the Good Lord placed them at the right-time in order to witness his miracles and make the land a little bit brighter by His will. All glory to God, he tells of banishing the native hoodoo left upon the plains, banishing the servant of Satan from the body of the poor boy Bram Linacre, who accepted the Lord Jesus as his savior, and setting them on the right path at the Fort and with the Lord. That they continued on and faced the very War Chief of the Pawnee, who road down upon the settlers and their wagons; that same who summoned a whirlwind in the name of his ancestors but could not face the power of the Lord. The Lord extended his protection over those settlers and the native turned and left, no women or children harmed in the attack. Times are dark, here in the West, and with local events seeming insurmountable, he encourages them to find strength in their faith. Why, their very church houses a miracle in its cool, clear waters! The blessed people of Allerdice Springs.
Thanks!
