---

The smell of fresh bread was in Constantins nose, as he made his way down the stairs. The house was old, yet still in good shape, yet most importantly, all his! His homestead and place to hang his head, to settle down from a life of blood and death. Roxane had already been awake it seemes, preparing a breakfast for a loving husband.
He kept her in this believe, and while not in love, he had to admit that he held some affection for the widow, who fully seemed to have fallen for the rugged charm of an traveler who had seen the world and came home with full pockets. The locals could glare all they want, he was now a landowner himself, and rather happy with the life of a simple farmer. He would try his luck with fruits, already having a contact with a local can producer. "LeBlancs Canned Peaches" had a nice ring to it, even through that greedy rat still wanted to press his own name onto the can as well. Futher negotiations would have to follow in that regard...
Stepping into the kitchen, Constantin layed his eyes on the back of his wife, standing near the stove, the fresh bread already on the table. Maybe it was this that had him made leave China, where future riches and exotic pleasures were still to be discovered, the lack of a feeling of home..

---

Chisholm Trail or Thereabouts

---

His two companions would feel a sudden shiver running through the frenchman, as she suddently opened his eyes, sitting in the cramped inside of the carriage, grunting in displeasure over the sudden realization, that he was not home in france, with a loving wife preparing him breakfast, but countless miles away, in a continent he hated the moment he had left the ship...America!
Cursing under his breath, the Mercenary would rub his hand over his face, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes, as his whole body felt stiff from the ride, and his legs ached to leave this cramped carriage. [b]"Kaufman, pass me the water..." Three strangers they were, but at least with Kaufman he had a bound of trust and an old debt to pay back. The Englishmen on the other hand, was just another white face for him, whom he had mistrusted even when he had met him in Sedan, and his sentiment had changed little in the mean time.
With an sigh, he would guide the skin of water to his lips, before taking a hearty sip from it. The humid heat was more bearable inside the carriage, yet still in no way pleasant.
Returing the skin back to Kaufman, he would sink back into his eat, before looking at the englishman, his eyes narrow and with an cold look in them. "So Rosbif, remind me again, why are we marry band of comrades on the way to this Selina? Could we not have performed what every business you had in mind in Doge City?"

It was a nice morning in Selina mused a silent woman, who sat quietly in a rocking chair on the front porch of the church. The local pastor had dragged the chair out there for the woman a few days ago, saying the fresh air would help with her long term recovery. She could not complain, the liked sitting out there on quiet mornings, reading and watching the town begin it's day.

She knew, technically, that she should still be inside, helping the other monastery workers with their morning chores. She had awoken early to begin her chores, and rushed through them after breakfast, so she could have some time to watch the town before the day began. Certainly not the best course of action, but she meant no disrespect for the people who housed and fed her. She just did things that were...different...sometimes what she is convinced is the best choice is not always so.

Leaned up against the porch railing is a small chalk board, with a few stubby pieces of chalk accompanying it. Written on the cork textured back of the board is a note from the local pastor, Father O’Flanagan, who took care of the woman on occasion. It reads, in fancy swirling text,

My name is Aveline, I cannot speak very well, please be patient. If I am lost and confused please escort me to Father O’Flanagan, in Selina, Kansas.

On her lap sat a slightly wrinkled and yellowed binding of parchment. A newspaper, although Father O’Flanagan insisted it was actually called a magazine. Printed across the top, slightly faded. Scientific American - July - 1878. She had received the magazine earlier that week, when a courier from Dodge visited the church with her expected books. The magazine was a surprise, a gift from someone who had heard about her injury, someone who was curious about her. And while, at first, this upset her, she decided that, regardless, the magazine was a gift. A gift that baffled her. The magazine was printed all the way in Boston. It felt like it traveled the world until it finally came to her hands.

So...yes, it was an older printing. But a gift was still a gift, and knowledge was still knowledge no matter how old. Currently Aveline was completely absorbed into an article about a man from California, which also felt like worlds away, who had been hired to do an experiment using photography.

He took a series of photographs of a horse in motion, proving that when a horse was in full gallop all four of its feet were off the ground at the same time. And while the new horse knowledge was interesting, and gave her the urge to watch the passing coaches, she was more amazed by the photographs. Apparently there was a device, a zoopraxiscope, that would flash all the images in order giving the appearance that the pictures were moving. Aveline could hardly imagine such a device, and would have to settle for quickly looking from one image to the other.

She could not wait to tell, or show, Father O’Flanagan the article. She just hoped he found it as fascinating as she did. The woman frowned, musing silently about how upset the man had been at breakfast. Or at least how upset he seemed. He had done all he could for the ailing miner, they both had, but Father O’Flanagan had a right to be upset.

Hopefully he wouldn't be upset catching her rushing through her morning chores to read.

Sir John Blackburn - Chisholm Trail or Thereabouts

This Kaufman character will be prefect cover but can you trust him? we cannot afford to lose any possible advantage to the Austrians, especially now that they have allied with the Prussians.

John slowly awoke, he along with Kaufman and the... Crapaud where in moderate nice but cramped stage carriage heading towards the small town of Selina. Taking out his pocket watch John looked at the time..
early, still some time before we reach town.

Rubbing some sleep out of his eyes John open his briefcase, taking out a portable tea kit he had purchased back in England along with couple dozen tea leaves to survive the journey on. Placing the kit on the carriage door's side table in front of him, John began to brew himself and Franz a nice cup of English Grey tea..
Shame we don't have any milk but oh tea, small sacrifice

After a minute or tow the water had boiled, John proceed to pour the boiling water into the teapot where he had placed the tea leave. placing the Tea cosy on top of the teapot he patiently awaited for the tea to brew. Around this time the Frenchmen awoke, like an common brute he can began Cursing before rubbing his eyes and seemlying muttering "Kaufman, pass me the water..."

Looking at the Crapaud he appeared to be suffering under the humid heat, true it was rather underpeasant but it was nowhere near as bad was in Africa or worst Indian. It was so hot in that bloody country that after several deaths from heatstroke the Birtish army changed it's uniform from red to light grey or dirt kaki colour.

hmm perhaps I should have not worn black.... do not should weakness in front of the Frenchman.

Returning the skin back to Kaufman, he would sink back into his eat, before looking at the John, his eyes narrow and with an cold look in them. "So Rosbif, remind me again, why are we marry band of comrades on the way to this Selina? Could we not have performed what every business you had in mind in Doge City?"

I didn't even wear red..

"well Crapaud" John replied as he poured a cup of English Grey tea and offered it Franz " I trust these American's even less than I trust you."

John then poured himself a cup of tea, placing the Tea cosy back on the teapot he took a slip before continuing his conversation with the Crapaud "There have been all sorts of stories and rumours about this new "ghost rock" material and before I invest in anything I would like to confirm what it is and what it can do for myself"

"Likewise we also heading out here for Mister Franz's investigation for the Imperial Society of Science and Magic but I'll let Kaufman examine that to you... again." John added on as he took another slip of tea and turned to look out window..
shouldn't be far now.

Franz Kaufmann

Franz was slowly waking up from a fitful sleep. He cursed himself again for buying a new bed back home. He had quickly gotten used to its soft depths, amplifying Amelia’s warmth next to his…

Constantin shivered. Franz groaned and opened his eyes. The cramped interior of the coach he hired and the bodies of his old Kameraden greeted his eyes. Despite the little space they had, John was, of course, making tea. The peculiar aroma of the tea was soon all he could smell. Although he preferred coffee, the Englishman had rituals of tea drinking, and Franz decided it would be easier to accept the generosity than discuss it. Franz threw himself up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and smoothing his clothes.

“Kaufmann, pass me the water,” muttered Constantin as he got up.

“Ja,” he passed him the skin from its perch. When Constantin handed it back, he took his own drink.

As he stretched, Constantin decided to antagonize the Englishman again. There was a petty struggle between them, he knew. The French hate the British like the Serben hate the Kroats. "So Rosbif, remind me again, why are we marry band of comrades on the way to this Selina? Could we not have performed what every business you had in mind in Doge City?"

"well Crapaud" John replied as he poured a cup of English Grey tea and offered it him. He muttered a crude “thanks” in his heavily accented English. "I trust these Americans even less than I trust you."

Franz shrugged. “I don’t see any problems with the Americans. Better than the Kroats or the Bosnier…”

John then poured himself a cup of tea, placing the Tea cosy back on the teapot he took a slip before continuing his conversation with Constantin "There have been all sorts of stories and rumours about this new "ghost rock" material and before I invest in anything I would like to confirm what it is and what it can do for myself"

"Likewise we also heading out here for Mister Franz's investigation for the Imperial Society of Science and Magic but I'll let Kaufman explain that to you... again." John added on as he took another sip of tea and turned to look out window..

Franz sat down and sipped from the steaming bitter drink. He could explain it to his old friend again. “I’ve worked some with the Kaiserlich Verein for a few years since Sedan. They’re a part of the Universität. I tell them about those things we fought, die Untoten, and I show them the newest guns I come up with. Now they’re paying me to come to where all this magic Scheiße started and give them observations and samples. They want to know about the ghost rock too. From their pay, I’m paying you.” He grinned a little. “Besides, I figured you’d be used to fighting around the world. I still have that Qing coin you mailed me from China.”

Rick Matthews – On the Road to Salina

Rick galloped at a steady pace. He wanted to get to Salina as quick as possible. It seemed that he had been riding forever, and the plains were not helping, making it seems as almost that he was standing still. He preferred rockier terrain, made for better riding. This was the first time he was riding into disputed territory on his own, without other soldiers.

He would have to be attentive at all times, lots of outlaws out in these parts, looking to make a quick buck or kill for the fun of it. Plus, you have the odd bear, wolf or mountain lion that could be around. His main concern at the moment was the high humidity and overbearing, scorching sun. No clouds in the sky, luckily his hat and coat protected him from sun, but it didn’t relieve the heat.

He came up on a watering hole, and made a quick stop. It would do the horse good to drink some water, after all he’s been riding for about 2 days. He rested against the wall of the well, and looked at his orders. There were reports of someone speaking about magic and living dead, things the government wanted to keep a clamp on. He needed to get to Salina and find the person responsible for these “rumors”.

He folded the orders and placed them in his knapsack. He patted the horse as it drank water. He looked across the horizon in all directions, and it was all empty, save for some tall grass and tree here and there. He pulled out a map and checked his location. He was a few hours away, not too far, should get there before nightfall.

He quickly reached for his gun pulling it out when he heard snap. He looked around and let off a shot, killing a rabbit. He holstered his gun, and let out a sigh, for a second there he thought someone was coming up on him. He walked over to the rabbit and picked it up, it would make a fine lunch.

Off Chisholm Trail, Near to Selina

Days heatin' up. Nothing crazy, but hot just the same. Type of weather makes a man happy to get back to civilization but still yearn to head back out. Sleeves rolled up, wipin' sweat from their brows, the driver and the coachman smell it before they see it. In a heat like this meat spoils quick.

"Whooooooah," the driver calls out as he pulls back on the reins, the coachman already turned to face forward, coachgun scanning about. As the carriage come to a stop the coachman jumps out moving up past the window.

"Somethin' ain't right out here, you all..." he stops midsentence and instead chokes out a muted "oh fuck, oh Christ"

"Sta...stay up there Hank," the coachman shouts back to the driver as he approaches the body.

"Shit...oh my god...damn...shit..."

He approaches the body in a low crouch, not no tactical crouch now, a plum scared crouch. He turns back as the door to the carriage opens, then turns back to the body. A young woman, though that is scarcely determinable given the state she's in. Torn open and spread across the road. The coachman whispers "Mam?" to her, just in case, though she is most certainly dead and he knows it. Closer, now closer still, he bends down to take look at her wounds and grows unsteady on his feet.

Selina

"Ah," Father O'Flanagan says, trying to affect his usual cheerfulness but falling short, "Sister Aveline."

"I..." he begins as he makes his way toward her chair. Though a large man it would be hard to find hims in any way intimidating, long nights spent reading "The Book," preparing his sermons, and tending to the sick has given him a neigh permanent lurch.

"Thank you sister for carrying that burden with me. I don't know if I told you, but the miner he was a friend to me once when I was a young man. One of the finest men I'd ever known before I found the Lord."

He is quiet for a moment, looking to the horizon, before he sighs and his shoulders sloop ever so slightly.

"This morning I am troubled, by probably the oldest question. Why do bad things happen to good men? Old Charles he was surely a good man and that, that was surely a bad way to go."

Straightening out his robes and pulling back his shoulders he continues, in a tone that is almost convincing,

"But it is a beautiful day is it not? Charles will be missed, but his memory will live on and it is a beautiful day."

Working a smile across his face Father O'Flanagan pats Aveline gently on the shoulder and heads inside the monastery to find solace in the Good Book.

Now it surely is one of those beautifully cruel things about this world, way these things happen and the world it just keep a moving on. That miner Charles, he surely were a fine man and he surely did suffer. Took a long time dyin' that one. Aveline and the Father they done all they could, Father didn't have no "gifts" but he pray'd his heart out safe to say. Aveline she done her thing and yet even still whatever it were that were hauntin' him it weren't nothin' that neither of them could fix. Damndest thing it was. Didn't matter how much that one ate he were ever hungry, ever thirsty, and ever losing weight. He were a strong miner all his life, but at the end he were weak as a suckling babe. Poor poor Charles.

Aveline jumped slightly, she had been so engrossed in the article and trying to make the horse run with her eyes that she had not heard Father O'Flanagan come up the stairs of the church. Not that she found the man intimidating in the slightest, he had saved her life and continued to support her through the church. And while, for a moment, she was worried he was about to chastise her for rushing through her chores, she could see the sorrow he was trying to keep hidden.

He had begun to talk to her, about the deceased miner. Aveline knew her speech would be too slow and clunky to have an honest conversation with the man, so she simply keep quiet. She did, however, raise her eyebrows and shake her head slowly when he mentioned knowing the miner personally. She had not known they had such a history together. It made Aveline's heart ache for the Father, no wonder his sorrow was so powerful.

The two sat in silence together for a moment. Aveline wished she could say...or do...something to comfort the man, but she did not want to make the man uncomfortable, or overstep any boundaries. Before she had a chance to overthink any more he began speaking again.

His question was an interesting one, and one she did not think she could answer easily. But it soon dawned on her that Father O'Flanagan did not need a response. He was talking, musing, probably trying to make sense of the events that had taken place. And while Aveline was not a great speaker, she prided herself on her listening skills. If Father O'Flanagan needed someone to listen to his sorrows, she would be here.

But then she watched, with a slight frown, as Father O'Flanagan readjusted his clothing and tried to make himself sound...normal. He had snapped back into his persona of a town leader, although his pain was still evident. Before he retreated into the church he had mentioned how nice of a day it was. Aveline nodded, and watched as the man hurried into the dark interior of the church. She turned away, knowing she was again alone before she attempted to speak.

"B-B...B-ea-e"

Was all she was able to accomplish before her stutter took over, ripping the word ibeautiful from her lips. A dark blush began to spread across the woman's face as she tried again to make the pictures of the horses move. She was just thankful Father O'Flanagan was not around to have experienced her inability to say even a simple word. She turned to the next article.

Perhaps later she would have to find some flowers, bring some brightness and color to his office.

Franz Kaufmann

Just then, the coach stopped. Franz looked around in surprise, and then he shrugged. Franz drew his Gasser revolver, and he gestured for the other two to do the same. He exchanged a look with them, making sure they were ready, and swiftly opened the door with his gun raised. No threats presented themselves, and he could their two drivers talking on the road. He groaned and lowered his gun a little. “Let’s go see what’s wrong.”

He left the coach, and as he moved past the horses, he could see what was wrong. A woman, he thought, was mangled and scattered across the road. His heart hardened at the sight, the defense he developed during Sedan. The horrific images for that night flashed through his mind as he slowly approached the body. As he got slowly got closer, he could see it was worse than he thought.

The two men they hired and were gaping at the corpse. He shook his head, and muttered “steh zurück” to them. He realized he spoke in German and corrected a little louder “stand back!”. He kept his gun on what remained of her head as he slowly circled her, searching for a purse with identification or some clue. What had done this and where had it gone?

---

Chisholm Trail or Thereabouts

Constantin LeBlanc

---

"Keep that magic shit out of my face, Austrian, and i am happy to earn my pay!" The word magic was spit out, like a sour piece of bread, as he recalled the grim nights in the Congo, surrounded by the things that hid in the dark, the sound of drums far off, and the reality as thin as paper. Order had been restored, when they had put the village to the torch and put the villagers into a shallow grave. It was a bloody work to restore order and civilization...
There was a sinister look on Constantin´s face, as the coach came to a halt, and almost instinctivly, his hand moved onto his rifle, as he tried to look out of the window of the carriage. "Merde!" Cursing the frenchman would leave behind Kaufman, his rifle in hand, and his steps quick. Soon, he would lay eyes on the body, and his face would betray no emotions, as he saw her mutilated body. Too often, had he layed eyes on such terror to feel more then a minor disgust over the fact how such an minor inconvince could stop a carriage. People died all the time, so why was it worth the halt?

"Dont german me, Kaufman, you know that i hate that!" Walking over he corpse as well, Constantin coldly stared down at the woman. "C'est des conneries!" Watching Kaufman look for the purse, he could not help but chuckle. It would have been his second instinct to loot the corpse, but knowing Kaufman he most likely had other things in mind to search for. "They mostly hold onto their belts when they die! Check below her, or cut her belt open, some hide their money in there..."

ooc: Tags added and proved by Bango so include passes aswell

Sir John Blackburn - Chisholm Trail or Thereabouts

“Besides, I figured you’d be used to fighting around the world. I still have that Qing coin you mailed me from China.”

Not the only thing he picked up in china... still can't believe we fought a war over that.

"Keep that magic shit out of my face, Austrian, and i am happy to earn my pay!" The frog replied seemlying almost spitting out the word "magic" in utter hated.

"what that matter Leblanc? afraid of an little...(Pause)...Magic" John chuckled as he finished off his morning Tea..

only have an limited amount of leaves... shamefully I must spread out my supplies.

Emptying out the tea pot John was in the middle of packing up the portable tea kit when the coach suddenly stopped. Whilst Franz and the frog quickly drew their guns John patiently continued packing up his tea kit....The lack of screaming or shooting suggested it wasn't immediately bad and John would have time to finish his task.

Okay lets see going on outside...

Despite not drawing his pistol John look up at Franz and nodded that he was ready, when outside the carriage John would draw his sword. Movements later Franz open the carriage door and rushed out with Crapaud.

Drawing his sword John stepped out carriage himself and looked around.. No bandits, feral critters or undead... everything was seemlying fine and dandy so why had the driver stopped?

“Let’s go see what’s wrong.”

John turned and noticed the driver and Guard Franz hired where standing in front of something. Walking towards them john could see it was body of an young woman who had violently attacked but what had attacked her?

“steh zurück” Franz muttered but then realising Crapaud didn't speak German continued in English “stand back!”. He kept his gun on what remained of her head as he slowly circled her and began searching her purse, presumably for some sort of identification or some clue.

"Dont german me, Kaufman, you know that i hate that!"

John chuckled "Es ist in Ordnung, Franz. Ich kann deutsch sprechen, ignoriere diese Kröte"

kneeling a safe distance away from the woman corpse. John studied the woman's wounds...[investigation] her Midsection had been torn open, left arm appeared to have been torn off and her face was gnawed..

From John's experience [knowledge] he knew they weren’t made with a knife nor were the bones broken cleanly as with a hammer or some such. The cuts are clean as though they happened with one cut and the breaks are ragged. Most likely the work of a large local critter or perhaps one of several monster John knew about?

What large critters do they have in Kansas?... Those large cats things.. panthers maybe?

"They mostly hold onto their belts when they die! Check below her, or cut her belt open, some hide their money in there..."

"Typical Frog" John said as he stood back up "You really have no shame do you? I understand looting from soldiers in battle or worthy foes but an poor peasant women? what could she possibly have to be worth defiling her corpse over?"

"Anyway I'm afraid we there is not much we do for this woman." John said approached woman's head and drove his 1845 Pattern Infantry Officer's Sword though the woman's skull before looking at his companions "Better safe and sorry."

sheathing his sword John slowly walked back to the carriage "I'm not 100% sure what killed than woman but I believe it would be in our best interest to be gone when it returns."

"and yes it porbably will return"

or some other critter might be attracted to the fresh meat.

-----

German line: It's okay, Franz. I can speak German, ignore this toad

Off Chisholm Trail, Near to Selina

"I better tend to the horses," the driver muttered, unaccustomed to seeing such butchery. There was shootings sure, out here in the Disputed Lands there was always shootings, and sometimes those fucking injins come out and work some of their mischief, but that was different somehow. He'd kept further from the body, and seent somethin' the others hadn't noticed yet. He weren't no sharp eye the driver, but he were good enough now at surviving even when that meant getting the hell out of Dodge. Sometimes literally.

Coughing as he passes the Frenchman he vaguely gestures off toward the bushes, toward the blood trail. Toward two other bodies.

[Constantin LeBlanc Passes Survival Check]

Sure enough, deeper into the brush is a slick trail of blood and a discarded shoe. With a closer look LeBlanc can see a bloody socked foot and a pale leg sticking out through some brush.

---

Chisholm Trail or Thereabouts

Constantin LeBlanc

---

Constantin´s response to Johns complains was to just spat out, as he walked pat him, throwing him an cold glare, with his two dark icy eyes. "Gardez votre bouche anglaise fermée, ou je vous souille..." His voice suddenly stopped, as the mercenary looked over to the bushes. "Merde..." A second spat followed, as he raised his rifle, before nodding towards it. Pushing the carriage driver aside, LeBlanc moved towards the bodies, his rifle still aimed at them. "Kaufman, Anglais! Over here!" His head turned to the driver. "Get back into the carriage! You two..." He turned to John and Kaufman, his rifle still aimed at the bodies. "Do what you have to do with these damn bodies, and then lets get the hell out of here! What ever killed these may still be around..."

-----

French translation: "Keep your english mouth shut, or i defile you"

Off Chisholm Trail, Near to Selina

Clomping off through the dirt and leaves the driver makes his way back to the coach cursing under his breath. "Come on Jeff," he calls to the coachman, "leave it to these here foreign fellas. We ain't paid but to run the wagon."

More reluctantly the coachman heads back on still slightly wobbly legs, careful not to step in the blood of the recently deceased. Behind him one of them foreigners, the Frenchman LeBlanc, still covering the body with his rifle called out to his compatriots,

"Do what you have to do with these damn bodies, and then lets get the hell out of here! What ever killed these may still be around..."

Before the other two could join their compatriot, as if in reply to LeBlanc's warning, a deep rolling growl sounded from somewhere nearby and low to the ground. At the sound of the growl the coachman pauses, not quite fearless enough to return but proud enough to consider it, before being ushered to the coach by the driver. Whatever the hell that damn thing were it's exact location was indistinguishable except for one thing, it sure as hell weren't in the wagon. Wherever the damn thing were it were a ways out and it were certainly somewheres in the brush and bushes between LeBlanc and his compatriots, and if that impossibly faint intermittent sound of shifting brush were any indicator, the damn thing were stalking.

Jack the Gambler was riding into Selina looking disappointed as he looked around the town. it was small and looked positively uninteresting but he didn't want to sleep outside anymore. He slowed his horse down as he tried to get his bearings looking for a place to tie his horse, get a drink and some food. He noticed the sheriff looking at him and decided to get down from his horse, taking the reins and stretching out his body from being in the saddle all day. and started walking towards the Sheriff with his horse following behind. "Hey, Sheriff any good place a man can get a drink and some food around here?"

Jack was dressed in fancy black and white cloths his black hat looked fancy too he almost looked like a big city person but his accent made it sound like he was a country boy. He smiled as he introduced himself "I'm Jack the Gambler, I'll probably be around these parts here for a few days. I hope we can get along."

Dan, Jack's horse, started nipping at his sleeve. "alright alright Dan. we're going we're going. See ya around Sheriff" Jack tipped his hat at the sheriff and started heading towards the place the sheriff recommend for food and drink.

Rick Matthews – Road to Salina

Rick had field dressed the rabbit pretty quickly and roasted in with some kindling he found nearby. It was good lunch, and got him energized for the remaining leg of his trip. He looked around, and there was no sight of anyone other than himself. He quickly packed up, put out the fire and got back on his horse.

Civil, his black Morgan horse, had been his faithful companion for the past 8 years. However, the horse was only passive when Rick rode him. If anyone else tried to ride him, they would be quickly knocked down. It came quite in handy to prevent thieves from running off with horse. Especially since it didn’t like being tied down to a post.

They set off again down the path toward Salina. Civil seemed to be riding quicker now that it had its fill of water, and they expediently arrived to the small town. Rick slowed the horse down to a trot as they reached the edge of town, and slowly made his way down the main street. People hurriedly walked about going on with their task, every so often looking back at him.

Not common to see a stranger riding into town. Usually he was welcomed into any town, but that was when he wore his Cavalry uniform. Out here in the disputed lands, strangers were trouble. He headed towards the local saloon. That would be the best place to scope out town and listen for any tall tales.

Selina, Church

The morning continued on in Selina without anything of note. The quiet woman moved onto another article in her scientific magazine. An article towards the end of the printing was about an Irishman in New Jersey. Even that sentence sent Aveline into a deep series of thoughts. New Jersey...that was close to New York right? But Ireland...that was a place she dreamed of going. Aveline did not know why, but she had a desire to travel to far away places. It was a sort of wanderlust she figured, to see new sights and learn new things. But her condition would make it difficult to travel alone. She shook her head, pulling herself from her daydreams, and continued reading.

The Irishman, whom the article identifies as John Holland, had created some strange boat that could travel under the water. The thought of being underwater in a boat was terrifying for the woman, that sounded like a death sentence. According to the article it was able to stay under the water for an hour. Holland himself operated the machine, at least that showed off his bravery. Not only that, but he named the vessel after himself.

As the article ended Aveline looked up, surprised to see someone she did not recognize. A well dressed gentleman with a horse speaking to the sherif. They were too far away from the church for Aveline to make out their conversation. Eventually the well dressed man exited his conversation and began to walk with his horse further into town. Aveline silently scolded herself for not watching the creatures steps, like the strange camera experiment she had been reading about.

She would be given a second chance, however, as a second man entered town. Also leading a horse. He was rougher looking than the first man, he looked more traveled. Aveline took a moment to appreciate her luck, that not only two strangers would enter town in such quick succession, but that both would be with horses. Aveline began starting to stare at the black horse, rapidly blinking her eyes. In her mind, she was trying to look at the horse in motion as if it was through a zoopraxiscope, but in reality she might look a little odd.

---

Chisholm Trail or Thereabouts

Constantin LeBlanc

---

A calm went through Constantin as he raised his rifle around, aiming at the growl before firing away into where he suspected the beast to be. He could not tell if his shot had connected or not, and truth be told, he cared little. In contrast to humans, animals were hard to read in combat, as sometimes they would run after a shot, but other times only get infuriated. His hand quickly went to his bandolier, as he did not wait for a confirmation of a kill to reload. "SHOT THE FUCKING THING!"

Selina

The Sheriff nods in turn to the oddly sharply dressed young man. Folk didn't normally go 'bout greeting the Sheriff. Most folk just want to keep their head down, go 'bout their lives. Seemed decent enough though. Them sharp clothes might get him in trouble, he'd have to keep an eye out on the man, but he didn't exactly seem like a city boy. Still. Last thing Selina needed was getting too much attention. Area had enough to deal with as it was. Rumor had it that Earp in Dodge City was looking for jobs for some of his brothers. No sir, not here.

Another stranger rode in to town on a strong looking black Morgan. More trouble. Sheriff wiped the sweat from his cheeks, then wiped his hands off on his pants, and fixed his hat. Goddamit. Maybe the rumors was true. He sidled over toward Zeke's to join the stranger, figured that Jack fella would be heading that way soon enough as well. Sure enough he could use a...

Oh hell. That addle brained woman was staring again. O'Flanagan never kept as good a eye on her as he should, let her about to wander aimless like all around town. Poor thing didn't have more than a brain cell or two to rub together.

Might as well head on over, seemed they'd all end up at Zeke's soon enough, most of the time that were how it worked out.

Zeke's Hunter Lodge

"Morning, name's Jack, and this is Zeke's Hunter Lodge," a skinny clean shaven man calls out as he sees the man on the black Morgan riding toward him.

"If'n you lookin' fer some taxidermy Zeke's over that away by the General Store. You can set right here at the bar, or if you were lookin' fer some eats pull up a chair and Lily," he motions to a slight woman with generous curves, "will get you fixed up right quick."

"Can I get you something?"

The bar is quite clearly a small side business. Zeke's Hunter Lodge is primarily a taxidermy shop, various critters of the local area (and a few more exotic animals) are posed all about in startlingly lifelike poses. Tattered Union Flag hangs up above the counter. It is kept meticulously clean, floors swept, counter shined, the preserved critters apparently brushed regularly as they don't have dust or nothing built up on 'em. Looks like it's been doin' pretty good business.

The bar on the other hand is a long counter set off to the side. A cabinet up behind the bar showin' a good selection for a small town bar but not a particularly generous supply. That is to say you can probly get what ya want but if you a heavy drinker you'll probably finish what they got. Glasses are clean enough, counters clean enough, small kitchen's clean enough. Storefront is created by a a wooden wall on a hinge propped up by a couple 2x4s, gives customers some shade in the heat and makes the bar seem more roomy that it really is. Seems to be working. Bar ain't crowded exactly but there's a few folk drinking to forget one thing or another.

Franz Kaufmann

"Dont german me, Kaufman, you know that i hate that!"
Franz grunted. “I was talking to our hapless employees, Blanc. You know I don’t speak French that well either.” Meanwhile, his short search was obviously fruitless.

John chuckled "Es ist in Ordnung, Franz. Ich kann deutsch sprechen, ignoriere diese Kröte.”

Franz nodded appreciatively, but mentally noted once again the man was something of an Arschkriecher. He liked the Brite well enough and appreciated what he’d done in the past and present. But he had a suspicion that he wanted something besides information for his investments. He reeked of ulterior motivation.

Walking over the corpse as well, Constantin coldly stared down at the woman. "C'est des conneries! They mostly hold onto their belts when they die! Check below her, or cut her belt open, some hide their money in there..."

Franz hesitated at that, but he knew any money would be useful and they could find out who the woman was. He unsheathed his knife…

"Typical Frog" John said as he stood back up "You really have no shame do you? I understand looting from soldiers in battle or worthy foes but an poor peasant women? what could she possibly have to be worth defiling her corpse over? Anyway I'm afraid we there is not much we do for this woman." John said approached woman's head and drove his fancy old sword though the woman's skull before looking at his companions "Better safe and sorry."

"Gardez votre bouche anglaise fermée, ou je vous souille..." Constantin’s voice suddenly stopped, as the mercenary looked over to the bushes. "Merde..."

Franz sheathed his knife and stood up with his Gasser raised towards the bushes. Before he could ask Constantin what he saw, "Kaufman, Anglais! Over here!" His head turned to the driver. "Get back into the carriage! You two..." He turned to John and Franz, his rifle still aimed at the bodies. "Do what you have to do with these damn bodies, and then lets get the hell out of here! What ever killed these may still be around..."

Franz was startled, but trusted in Constantin’s instincts. He moved where the Frenchman indicated. Then a growl rose up from the bushes. Constantin didn’t hesitate to start shooting. "SHOT THE FUCKING THING!" He fired off two shots from his revolver too, hoping to catch whatever animal it was.

Off Chisholm Trail, Near to Selina

Reacting quickly to the Frenchman's shout the Austrian fires off his revolver just a few seconds after LeBlanc sends a rifle round into the brush. One of those rounds seems to have found it's mark as the brush stops moving and a howl is heard. Though to the observer it may seem like a long time, the silence and stillness thereafter is actually only another second or two. It is broken up by a sound like a thick wet blanket tearing and a shrill scream.

A second cougar has circled the party and advanced up along the other side of the coach while the party were inspecting the bodies. Perhaps the shooting scared it or perhaps the damnable things were just more treacherous than folk give 'em credit for. Either way the driver of the coach was suddenly having a very bad day. This second beast had pounced on him from the side, grasping onto him with tooth and claw and dragging him into the dirt. The tearing sound, the result of the cougar doing his level best to separate the driver's left arm from his body, is quickly followed by a shotgun blast as the coachman leans around to try to save his friend and begins to climb across the shooter's platform toward the others. He can barely be seen crawling his way across the platform before his eyes light up bright and he is quickly dragged back behind the coach by the second cougar.