Call of The West IC

[benjaminrk]

About the worst thing that could possibly happen was someone took an interest in her. Taking in the smells of someones journeys, was not a skill normal people could do, but one that occasionally had helped Helen. A man stinking from his very core of Eastern herbs, gunpowder and saltwater, had approached her and started to make gestures; asking if she desired to leave. She did want that, but not at the expense of him following her or taking an interest in her.
Why this secrecy? Helen thought to herself, Why did he not speak up? Did he want something from her no one should know about? Was he a hitman send by Lars? Or worse... a Witch-hunter?

WITCH-HUNTER!..

His eyes that might contain the answers was mysteriously hidden by the shade of his hat. Before Helen could do anything, a woman's voice sounded, and the words needed little explanation.
Who is she?..
She appeared to know her, though Helen knew that was not the case. From a distance only one thing stood out: The voice of the woman was sincerely kind, not just acting like it.

“Excuse me this is a game, me and my friend often play. She needs me now” Helen said and made a quick curtsy at the stranger who had called himself Scorpion, before she moved past him. Lying was not a skill she did well, but though having spend time in the deepest pits of the world, Helen did know how to act polite. It all traced back to the fact that she could actually read and write quite well.
If Scorpion was a Witch-hunter he wouldn't stab her in the back. He would need to either kill her in private or convince people she was dangerous. So she didn't fear an attack from him in here.
The blond witch nicknamed Hellborn had made a career of dodging such men, and it was a long time since she had even seen one. The previous man had been left blind, mute and deaf on a lone rock. The battle that had taken place there had moistened the earth in blood.
The slight undernourished Helen approached the woman, who only appeared a few years older. Whoever she was, she seemed to recognize Helen without acting like other people. Even if that wasn't exactly true, she could still very well be Helen's ticket out of there. As Helen got closer she saw a slight sting of yellow in the woman's eyes for a second.
“Hi...”. Acting like a lady on the outside who knew Madeline, Helen quietly spoke. “Can... can we talk, in private maybe?”.

[Phreniphorm]

Yong Feng shrugged at the woman's quick departure. There was nothing else for him to do and he sure as hell wasn't going to see where she was going. It did feel a bit suspicious to him, but if she had anything to do with the murders, then he would eventually be led back to her under more violent and severe circumstances. He exited the town hall, adjusting his hat as he did so and walked straight to the saloon. Not for a drink, to be honest he disliked the taste of most alcoholic drinks served out in the various saloons he frequented. He drank socially, but if he had a choice, he'd much rather just have a cup of Chinese tea. It cleared his head and made him feel refreshed. Of course, there was the superstition that it cleansed your soul and all that stuff his family liked to tell him, but Yong Feng didn't believe that. He doubted there was anything in the world that could really cleanse his soul.

His horse had been left at the hitching post. A steed of brown, it had been with him ever since he left California. Or at least somewhere close to it, Yong Feng didn't really care. He just didn't want to go back there ever again. The people looked at people like him as cheap labour. Why dig tunnels and lay tracks on your own if you could hire a few dozen Chinamen for a cheaper price? It was quite possibly the only thing that truly disgusted him. Remember, He said to himself. That was why he had to cover himself up. That was why he had to hide his identity. His kind wasn't welcome in the west. True, he had some good comrades, but those were exceptions. Rare exceptions.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he mounted his steed. The west didn't welcome him, and he doubted that would change anytime soon. However, he was pretty sure once he started firing his rifle in defense of the town, that would change quite fast. At least in this small region, and at least for a short period of time. Who knew when the next piece of sensationalist news about the Yellow Peril from the East would arrive?

[dereken]

The chaplain started with a small yelp, before spinning about to face Daniel, "Mr. Cooper, glad you're here. There's an urgent matter I must show you," he waved Daniel to a side leading out to the graveyard, "I've already spoken with the sheriff, and he feels the matter should be left up to you,"
"Just show me what's happened,"
"Of course, Mr. Cooper,"
They stepped out to the graveyard, and Daniel was startled to see his brother's grave dug up and coffin broken into. "What happened?" He demanded of the diminutive preacher. He replied with a trembling voice, "I don't know. In the night, someone excavated his grave, and apparently stole something from the coffin." Daniel approached, thinking aloud, "Michael was buried with two things, Reverend, his rifle, and an old key,"
"Key to what, Mr. Cooper?"
"The shack we was living in. But there wouldn't be anything there. It's been empty for years. Any idea who did it?"
"Haven't a clue, Mr. Cooper, but I would not be surprised if it were involved in the" the Reverend lowered his voice "devil-craft happening lately,"
Daniel growled angrily before striding over to the coffin and throwing open the lid to see what laid inside.

[Palamon]

Patrick’s ears perked as he heard the familiar sing-song tone that he had missed since being in the states. He slowed his horse before turning to see where voice had come from. He saw a man walking towards the group in a duster. “Ah, its good to hear that sound again. I’m sorry though mate, I’ve got be going. And besides I’ve got my drink.” As Patrick ended his sentence he pulled the beaten silver flask from his waistcoat, swishing it shortly in the air. “You’re welcome join the posse I suppose though. The sher...” Patrick looked down the road to see the sheriff’s horse still walking about a quarter mile away. “Well I think you could just meet us there, he probably won’t mind. Extra pair a’ hands never hurts.” Patrick then turned to the rest of the posse that was standing all in different positions in the cross section. “Well are ya’ll comin’? I mean well heck we best be ridin’ off.” At that Patrick slid his whisky flask back into his waistcoat and again whipped the reins in his hands, the horse moved forward to a trott.

A blanket of darkness was now fully covering the town, and night had settled. As Patrick rode on he caught up to
the sheriff. “So, devil worship? Strange innit?” The sheriff shrugged off Patrick’s question and continued in silence. They were on the edge of town now, and the large expanse of plain spread before them. In the distance, however, one could see a small group of hickory trees. Their branches were bare. It would still take some time to reach the crime scene. As one moved out of the town of Marrow, and into the dark silent plains an eery feeling would overcome them. It was not a scary feeling, nor an aversive one, but they would get the odd feeling that they were doing something wrong.

[Leather Wytch]

Madeline smiled at Helen's response. She responded softly. "But of course, ma chère. There is a horse waiting at MMI, just down the road. And we will not be bothered there." But then her voice rose to a normal pitch to throw off suspicion. "Will you be joining this posse? From the shape of it so far, I'd say we could use another who knows better then to jump to superstitious conclusions about witchcraft."

Madeline would extend her hand to Helen. If she took it, the older witch would attempt to read her mind through touch to find out wether or not the younger witch had anything to do with these murders. But even if Helen did not take her hand, she would lead the way to the MMI offices. It was not a far walk but she did not want to lose time in getting to the crimescene. So her pace was a little rushed.

As they walked, Helen would notice Madeline keeping an eye out and occassionally casting glances her way. She wanted to be certain that no one was taking too much of an interest in either of them. Once they were near MMI, though, her confidence became iron. She had done such services at this place in the past months that she was certain the people here would walk on hot coals for her, even without a spell forcing them to do it!

[dereken]

Daniel left the chapel quickly, this time headed for the stables. He would need a horse, and his charger was long gone. He chose a saddler, expensive, but well worth the steep price. Daniel rode it a out the block a couple times to get back into the feel of riding. "It's been a long time," he thought, feeling the aches in his bones. Daniel payed the man then headed home, there were some things needed to pick up.

Daniel stepped from his front porch, clad in a leather overcoat and a half empty bandolier, a winchester rife slung over his shoulder, as well as a pistol holstered at his hip. He clasped the grip with conviction, murmuring, "Hello again, old girl," Daniel mounted his newly purchased horse and gave a great cry, "Cooper rides once more!" before urging his horse forwards, to the outside of town.

[Phreniphorm]

Night fell as Yong Feng neared the outskirts of town, where the Irishman had said to meet. His rifle hung from the saddle, ready to be pulled up to fire at a moment's notice. The Gras rifle could only fire a single shot before needing to reload, but it was a powerful and accurate shot. It would put anything short of a wild bear down, and Yong Feng knew that from experience. If that wasn't enough, he still had his six shooter as a backup weapon and if even that wasn't enough, well, he had his blade and a lifetime of training to fallback on. No man can last very long fighting someone who does not fear death. Yong Feng remembered his father saying. He had heard stories proving just how true that statement was. Stories of masses of Chinese soldiers charging French rifles, forging ahead regardless of casualties. It had more than once broken French lines in several skirmishes.

On instinct, he patted his knapsack. Not only did it contain essentials, it also held one of his most prized possessions, second only to his father's knife. It was his old battle flag, a rectangular sheet of yellow cloth with a black dragon painted on it. He had been lucky enough to sneak it back home before anything could happen to it. Too many men had died under the flag for it to be simply tossed aside like common trash. It was torn, pock-marked with bullet holes and generally in a very sorry state, but Yong Feng wouldn't have it any other way. It gave it history and character.

As he approached the meeting spot, Yong Feng felt a growing sense of dread. He shrugged it off and forged ahead. It was a particularly dark night and he wasn't about to turn around just because he had a bad feeling. He soon caught up with the sheriff and the Irishman. He cleared his throat to get their attention and nodded in greeting to each of them. He brought his rifle up and held it in his hands. Just in case.

[benjaminrk]

"Will you be joining this posse? From the shape of it so far, I'd say we could use another who knows better than to jump to superstitious conclusions about witchcraft." The words had been spoken by Madeline.

A small wrinkle appeared on Helen's nose. Her first thought was to flat out say no. But was this case not solved, and was it publicly known that she had been in the area when the murders happened, she would be hunted forever.

“I might” She finally answered, putting aside the thought of looking for Lara Herrick; the man responsible for her imprisonment.
As it was offered Helen took the neatly dressed woman's hand and shook it.
“You... you are a witch. Isn't that so?”. It had come quietly from Helen's mouth, as there was little doubt left in her now.

Though walking side by side as if friends the 2 witches could actually not be more different, and Helen started to notice it all.
This woman Madeline had a slim figure because she probably ate right, in contrast to Helen who was thin because running from people was good exorcise. Madeline's hands were clean and soft, suggesting she had rarely done a hard day's work. Though about the same size the woman accompanying Helen also looked a bit more fragile, and had probably never been broken or put in a room with no light.
For those not able to see beyond the skin, Madeline looked like any other lady unable to do anything but scream when danger came. But then there was her eyes: They had clearly seen more than you would think at first glance, and was the one thing that told Helen that the laws of nature didn't apply to this woman; her limits were beyond that of others.
Apart from that Madeline also seemed to possess a kind of natural strength around her, more than just simple courage.
But the physical and mental aspects of the 2 women, wasn't the only differences. People were quick to believe witches to all read the same cursed book. Witchcraft was not a book, it was a library; a ocean of secrets; another world behind this one. One witch's powers could be as different to another as night was from day. Sharing knowledge had never been an easy thing in the world beyond: the world of witchcraft.


As the both of them arrived at the MMI, a cold eastern wind blew, and Helen knew she would have to take this assignment, help solve it, and then deal with the consequences afterward. Hopefully Lars would never get word the witch known as Hellborn was in town...

[Leather Wytch]

The glimpse into Helens mind granted by the handshake had been enough to see that the girl was new to Marrow and not involved in any sort of alliance with anyone who was already in town. But that was enough to rule her out as a suspect. Even better it allowed Madeline to enjoy the lovely woman's company in earnest. And then came the question.

"You... you are a witch. Isn't that so?"

It was a soft question but the dark haired woman smiled at the blonde when she asked it, looking right into her eyes. She considered how nervous the question sounded. So, rather than sarcasm, she nodded her head and spoke her own name.

"Madeline LaCroix. I have learned from my parents as they from theirs. You should see my great uncle's library. It's bigger than that town hall." She boasted righteously as they walked. Though her voice remained low, her enthusiasm was clear. She was proud of her family and of herself. But then she added something else as they drew close to MMI. "The christians may well be behind this, you know. Nothing would benefit those hypocrites like a full blown panic that the devil's minions were afoot. That's why it's in your interest to assist in this investigation."

When they arrived at MMI, Madeline lead Helen inside and fetched a thin tan scarf that would effectively cover her face and also not cause her to break a sweat if she wore it on a warm sunny afternoon. She offered it to Helen, saying "It is a shame to have to cover up a sacred sign on such a lovely face. But, trust me when I tell you that this will make your stay in Marrow far less difficult."

She then went to the front of the building and untied and mounted the single horse that waited there. Madeline looked back toward Helen as if to say 'Well, what are you waiting for?'

(Benjaminrk, if she accepts the ride, will you write the post where they both arrive at the crimescene?)

[benjaminrk]

The words of an actual library of witchcraft, Where library was not just a metaphor, did sound very appealing to Helen. She had learned everything the hard way. The pain, torment and fighting had shaped her into the being she was today.
She looked at the fellow witch: Here was someone who barely hid her true nature and who had been able to study the forces of this world in peace. She spoke of things as if everything was simple. If they were Helen didn't see it. Though she doubt it, the church could be responsible for the killings. Helen was alive because they were loosing their power and grasp over the world. It would be no surprise if some of them tried to find a way to scare people back into belief. But bitterly something told her there was more to it: The times where changing, and something big was coming...

While indeed accepting the scarf Helen didn't put it on. Instead she held it in her hand. Presents was not something she had received a lot of in her life. "Helen... just Helen" She introduced herself as, having never gotten a last name. She mounted the horseback. As much as she wanted to be left alone by people, she did not wish to hide her face the entire time she was there.
To stand your ground had more than one meaning...

“I am grateful for this, really. And I will use it. But I don't think now is the time. Like you, I'm not ashamed of what I practice. I didn't choose to stay in the middle of hell just to hide”.

In strong contrast to Madeline, Helen didn't see her mark as sacred. Since her pentagram contained 2 points up, few associated it with the 5 wounds of Jesus, and instead thought of Satanism. But that Madeline sincerely thought of it as something special was a kind gesture.

With the wind blowing through their hair the 2 women rode. A trail of dust followed as they left the town behind and entered the darkness. The place did not take long to find as the field was rather large. As the horse stopped, Helen jumped down.
And then they neared the crime scene.