1880, March -- East Texas (IC)

EAST TEXAS, March 1880

Somehow, each of you ended up in the middle o' the night, in the middle of a drivin' rain storm, off the beaten path in an East Texas pine forest. A full moon gives brief, faint light periodically as the strong wind moves the clouds cross the sky.



Yer miles south of the last rail line; a single muddy track winds its way through the forest, slightly uphill. At last; lights!

You'd then find yer self in a small, old lumber town, in front of a pinewood saloon, yellow lights glowing from the windows. All the other small buildings round you are dark and closed up.

Time ta head in an' get out of the storm!

Being a scientist, Horace knew exactly what ingredients had gone into his potion, the Elixir of Everlasting Life. And while it didn't actually work in the intended way, it did release an ethereal entity that could possibly be a ghost, and it was this potion that Horace hoped to sell to anyone and everyone. In the meantime, he had been investigating ways to contact these apparitions and to date had been unsuccessful despite being sure that they were indeed otherworldly.

As he enters the saloon, his forefinger slides the bridge of his wire-rimmed glasses back up to the top of his angular nose but it's hard to see what with the raindrops dotting his spectacles. Hooking his thumbs into his suspenders that serve to hold up his worn and therefore shiny trousers whose waistband gathers below an ample belly, he strides confidently toward the barkeep. His waistcoat contains pockets of small vials containing his conction ready to whip out at a moment's notice and a halo of stale cigar smoke seems to follow in his wake as he takes in his surroundings looking for a mark and a drink.

As the heavy rain fell outside, one could barely hear the sound of a horse being brought up to the stables alongside the quaint tavern. The stablehand, a young and bored man, would make his way out towards the stallion that strode up with the mountain of a man atop it. Handing over the reins, the dangerous fellow would unsaddle and pat his horse before eyeing the younger fellow down.

"Be gentle with Mac. Understand?" The kid would nod and gesture to go and pay inside, watching the intimidating figure mosey his way inside of the tavern proper.

Coming in through the door was a tall, broad-shouldered man standing somewhere around six feet and three inches tall. His duster and chaps were soaked by the weather but one could see the dark brown common pants of a worker, a stained cream shirt with suspenders keeping his pants secured to his being. A derby cap hid most of his face underneath thanks to the light but one could make out burn scars along his neck that disappeared underneath his collar. Each step of his was heavy as he walked in with a rusted, yet impressive, rifle on his back, a heavy pistol on his hip, and a bowie knife on the other side.

Taking a seat at the bar, he would take off his hat to reveal the extensive damage that had been done to his face. Hairless and with hard eyes, he'd give a nod to the barman.

"Is your kitchen open? I want something to warm the bones. A glass of water otherwise." His voice was low and rumbled like a rockslide starting would sound like. He begins to take off his coat, hanging it on his seat to reveal a tattoo along his right arm of a snake that coiled around his arm to his hand, its mouth open on his trigger finger.

Saloon Interior | Horace
The saloon is backed with locals--it'd feel like more than should be normal for this time of night and for this bad'a storm. Folk are near elbow to elbow crowded at tables. Candles round the room give the place a dim glow.

All faces turn toward you as you enter. Rain beats against walls and rattles the windows.

The barkeep would watch you approach, suspicion clear on his face. He nods to Horace in a curt greeting. "Bit late an' inclement to out, eh friend?"

Near everyone in the place is still watchin' Horace.

A boom of thunder.

Saloon Interior | JeremiahBefore Horace can respond to the barkeep, your heavy tread causes all eyes to turn to you now.

The barkeep looks away from Horace and turns to you. "Ah, what'in the hell is this now..."









The barstool would creak under you as you take a seat.

The barkeep looks from you to Horace and back again. "Ya'll together?" He winces at the scars on your face.

He shakes his head. "No food cooked tonight." He grabs a pitcher from the shelf behind him and pours water into a rocks glass. "An' there's yer water."

Jeremiah makes no mention at the man's words as he takes the glass of water and sips away from it. The tall man looks at the older gentleman beside him covered in vials and other strangeness. He looks up at the bartender, shaking his head as he finishes his glass of water.

"Can't say that I am. One more glass, please. Thank you." Jeremiah says, looking around the room at all the eyes on them. "Don't get visitors much, I'm guessing?"

JeremiahAn old timer sitting at your left elbow leans in and is the one who answers your question in a Texan drawl.

"Not on a night like ta'night we don't." Thunder rumbles in the sky. Rain drums on the roof.

The bar tender glares at the old man something fierce as he pours more water in to Jeremiah Cross' glass.

Horace doesn't care about the glares and stares. He's used to it after all. Well doesn't he hawk his wares at carnivals surrounded by crowds?

"Bah, barkeep, it's nothing but a spell of rain, and water never killed anyone far as I can tell," Horace says in that nasal voice of his, looking up when the thunder clap goes off. "Time is an illusion. The hour doesn't concern me." Horace scans the room to see if he can spot those curious eyes that might suggest an easy sale.

Looking back at the barkeep he adds,"I'll take a bourbon if you please." Horace removes his hat and pats the rainwater off it, replacing it on his bald pate with care.

"Together? Not as far as I know."

Disappointed that there would be no food tonight he sucks in his lower lip and studies the broad-shouldered man at the bar wondering at his ruined face and the interesting snake tattoo and why he only asked for water.

Horace
You hear a resounding *pop*; *glug, glug, glug* as the barkeep pours your bourbon.

There are a likely group of marks near the roaring fireplace--desperate looking lumberjacks, all stained flannel, unkempt beards and dirt smeared faces.

You'd also notice an odd symbol painted on the wall to the side of the brick chimney--intricate and gleaming wet.

"Why's that, old-timer?" Jeremiah asks, giving the man as nice of a smile as he could with his face as it was. It hurt to move it but he did his best as he could. He could see the man next to him studying him for a bit, looking over the various burns along his face, neck, and down to his arms.

"I was caught in a burning building. A church, if you'd believe it. Preacher saved me in more ways than one." The large man explained, lifting the refilled glass and savoring the cool water on a thirsty throat. Nothing worst than being caught in the rain and being thirsty.

"I have a horse in the stable. How much for the housing?" He'd ask the bartender, noticing the hard stare he gave the old man to his right.

Lumber Town Saloon Interior | Jeremiah Cross
Whisky hot on his breath, the Old Timer leans in to you, Rex, and begins explainin'. "Well, ya see, when the m--"
--but the barkeep interrupts him. "Let off Rex. Yer mauled, and ain't no one want ta hear yer flappin'."

To Jeremiah, "I'll take a dime for it's feedin' is all." He gives a stern look to Jeremiah, despite his size. "Is that all yer drinkin' tonight friend," motions to the water in Jeremiah's glass, "Adam's Ale?"



The room lights bright for a moment, lighting flashing through the window.

Rex leans away and sulks over his whisky. "I ain't even drunk."

Horace's curiosity about the big man is slaked when he mentions a fire so he turns his attention to the bourbon. His throat is parched and that amber liquid will slide down his throat real ... nice. He licks his lips in anticipation.

He notices the fire and then the group near it that looks ripe for plucking. Lumberjacks might be looking for some entertainment. The kind with an uncertain ending. He chuckles inwardly at that and asks himself if he is really that cruel a man and decides that he might just be. He has no idea what happens when these apparitions come from one of his exploding vials and that would be the fun of it.

As he continues to muse and look around the room he sees the red design on a wall by the chimney. As he slaps a coin on the counter he looks back at the symbol. "Hey what do you reckon that thing is Barkeep, and why is it wet? Did someone just put it there?

Cold, hungry, and wet to the bone with all the never-ending rain, Nathaniel wishes for the hundreth time that he was back at his parent's home, in his warm bed, safe and sou ... and for the hundreth time he quickly cuts that thought from his mind, that life is gone, I need to move on.

As he places his small hand on the doorknob of the saloon entrance, he whispers what's become a personal mantra in the past few months, do the job, get paid, keep moving west, before turning the knob and heading inside.

Immediately the warmth hits him and he inadvertently smiles. He holds the smile and nods hello at those closest to him. A few of those folk raise quizzical eyebrows, probably wondering what an average looking but scraggly 14yo kid is doing here on a night like this. Perhaps some of them look closer though, beyond the kind face and sympathetic eyes, and notice the slightest hint of hauntedness around the boy.

Nathaniel can see the place is pretty packed, as he looks around for a free seat. He spots one up front, near two men that seem rather out of place in a small town like this. heh, I'm sure I'll fit right in than as he makes his way through the crowd, apologizing as he accidentally steps on a few toes along the way.

He pulls up a chair next to a bull of a man. Though fascinated by them, he tries not to glance at the man's scars and tattoos, as he calls out to the bartender, "Excuse me sir, can I get a water please?"

While waiting for his drink, he takes a quick look at the other odd looking patron, noting the resemblance to Nathaniel's old school headmaster, Mr. O'Bannion, what with the wire rimmed glasses and pot belly. He catches the last bits of conversation, and looks up at the symbol that's being questioned, raising his own quizzical eyebrow now, what the heck *is* that?

Thunder rumbles as a calloused palm touches the batwing doors. Well-worn boots brush the floor as their wearer steps forward. Raindrops fall from the wide brimmed black hat revealing mid-length salt and pepper hair. The face is careworn--eyes that have lost a distinct blue and faded to grey over the course of long travels. Sandblasted skin and bristled cheeks travel to a neatly knotted bandana, a black duster is hiding a checkered shirt and leather vest. This man is good natured, shrewd, and ready to meet some new people.

He ambles towards the bar hoping for drink and a warm meal. He sits down carefully because his left hip still bothers him when it rains. His fingers tap the bar idly as he takes in his surroundings.

Two more enter into the bar; a boy that was just about the right age that he had gotten wrapped up with the Smithy Boys and began running wild throughout the territories during the war. Another came in dressed in a soaked duster with a checkered shirt underneath a simple, if well-taken care of, leather vest. His eyes study the man's hips for weapons, scanning the room to see how well armed everyone was, before his attention was brought to the symbol painted on the wall.

"The hell is that..." Jeremiah mutters, squinting as he sits up from his seat. He approaches where that wet symbol laid, looking it over with a concerned look. He wasn't the most knowledgeable of men but its strange iconography didn't seem godly at all.

Lumber Town Saloon Interior | Horace, Nathaniel & Jeremiah
The barkeep looks between the three men. He picks up the water pitcher and *glug, glug* pours Nathaniel some in to a rocks glass.

He places the glass in front of the boy, firmly. He responds to Horace. "That..." faces from all the nearby tables have all turned to the newcomers at the bar, listening to the bartenders response..."well. That's a town matter." More thunder rumbling off in the distance, but the it sounds like the rain is beginning to lessen. He seems hesitant to freely talk about the symbol.



The man begins to wipe the wooden bar top with a dirty rag.

"Ya'll are lucky to be out safe in here. On a night like t'night."

He moves down the bar slightly to Kaladin. "What can I do ya for, stranger?"

"A bit of vandalism then eh? But that sure is pretty for some kids playing around but suit yourself and keep your secrets," Horace says to the barkeep.

"Speaking of kids, aren't you a little young to be running around and especially in the likes of this weather?" he says to the boy with the haunted look. "And what is with all you fellas ordering water?" That makes Horace giggle. Such a terrible habit but he's too old to bother with it now.

Horace examines the man that sits down stiffly and orders nothing. He looks like a man that has lived a hard life.

Jeremiah wasn't a learned folk at all, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the symbol upon the wall. It looked wrong though, surely like nothing he had read so far in the good book. What it was though, he was not sure. When the old man asks him why he ordered water, he would reach into his shirt and pull out a worn, slightly burned, Bible.

"The good book speaks against getting drunk. I don't like to tempt it." He answers calmly, eyeing the bartender before nodding. "Has the town been having problems? Lots of folks saddled up in 'ere despite the kitchen being closed..." Jeremiah would look at the man as gently as he could, offering a smile as he did so. It just didn't look right on his face.

Shrugging at the question, "Better dry in here than wet out there I guess." He's a bit perturbed by the man's giggling, Mr. O'Bannion definitely didn't do that

Noticing the barkeep's hesitancy, with an entreating look Nathaniel asks "Excuse me, sir. My teacher, Ms. Rudabaker, gave us a task to find out something neat about history, with a prize for the most interesting fact. I would really appreciate it if you can tell me more about that up there..." pointing and looking back at the symbol, trying to recall if maybe it's something he's seen in his travels.

The fact that he hadn't been to school for several months now was something he kept to himself. He didn't mind fibbing if it was for a good reason.