Harry sits on the opposite side from Elihu, but leaves an empty stool between herself and the sailor. She beckons to the barkeep, slaps a few coins on the bar, and jerks her thumb over her shoulder to include everyone. "Buyin' a round fer th' house." She lifts her chin toward the kitchen. "Includes you and th' cook, too."

"...In that case, yeah, y'may..." It's clear that the sailor at the bar feels that Harry speaks his language more than may the doctor.

"Ah yes, well, we are assisting the constable look into the mysterious disappearances of some people recently here in Collinsport."  Elihu gives a nonchalant shrug.  "We're merely curious if you've seen or heard anything strange the past few days.  Even the odd rumor might be helpful."

(CHR roll please, Elihu...)

16:51, Today: Elihu Cromwell rolled 1 using 1d20 with rolls of 1.  Roll vs CHA 15.

I hope this doesn't mean he's fallen in love with me.

20:11, Today: Harriet MacLeod (aka 'Harry') got the result "Don't count on it" on the magic 8-ball.

"Mm. Well, since you're buyin'... Uh... I dunno... There's all these strangers around... a beautiful redheaded woman I seen... some foreign fella who looks like trouble-- he's stayin' up with the Collins family, no surprise there... I heered dogs howlin' late at night... one sounded like a wolf. Been a long time since we had a wolf in these parts... Uh..." The man wracks his brain, trying to think of what else has been unusual lately. "That's all I kin think of, mister. Honestly, I'm almost surprised no one in the search parties lately've gone missin' while they were out there wanderin' around in th' woods..."



(OMG since when has RPol had a magic 8-ball?!?!?!?!? I am amazed.)

Harry grunts in response. "Made damn well sure th' search parties were organized t' head off anyone new disappearin'. God bless sailors and soldiers fer havin' brains enough t' follow orders."

"I'd have thought the wood would have been full of wolves for at least a few more decades," Elihu muses.  He shrugs his shoulders.  "Score another point for mankind."

"Can you tell us more about the woman?  Any idea where she may be?  We think her life may be in danger, like that poor Mary girl."

Harry pivots on her stool to lean back with her elbows atop the bar, and turns her gaze to the other two sailors in the room. Like as not we already know more than these poor sods could tell us, she thinks to herself. Should ask them for scuttlebutt about sailors gone missing, a topic they'll take a mite more serious than missing landlubbers.

(Hmmmmm. Roll CHR again, Elihu... but subtract 1 point from the result, so as to represent that you're already slightly on a roll with this guy)

17:04, Today: Elihu Cromwell rolled 5 using 1d20-1 with rolls of 6.  Roll vs CHA 15.

Harry lifts her chin at the other sailors and asks them, "Been in port long? Ain't been dockside of late, what's the scuttlebutt? Heard tell there's sailors gone missin'. Dunno whether 'tis folk jumpin' ship, bein' press-ganged, or gettin' killed in a brawl."

"No, sorry. I guess all I can say is that one time when I saw her, she was coming from the north. Felt like she was just-then walking into town. That might not mean anything, though."




The men mutter fearfully about "the strange doin's." One mumbles about how Collinsport has always been "under the shadow of darkness," and he crosses himself. Another man at his table does too (though not as reflexively). "Sooner I ship out again th' better," says a man.

MEANWHILE, back at the doctor's house, Hans, tied up and seemingly sleepy or at least drowsy, rouses a little.

He stares at Adam, apparently studying him.

"...You are dead," says Hans. "Like me."

Now, Hans is NOT dead as such, and one can also argue something similar for Adam, but Adam gets the wretch's drift. They each have certain qualifiers that make them not exactly-- well, they may each still be alive for the moment, but there's definitely a conceptual asterisk next to each man's living* status.

Harry grins wickedly. "Oh aye, cursed as they come is Collinsport. Salem's only got witches. Worser thin's hereabouts by far. Queer old families like th' Stockbridges and Collinses... devil-bought, th' lot of 'em."

In reply to They (msg # 226):

Adam grunted, "I believe you are mistaken. While my status as alive is perhaps imperiled, yours is about to be cut off." He made his way over to the *alive* man and placed his foot on the man's jaw to hold him in place. Then he placed the bladed edge against the man's neck just under his skull. "Don't fret, though, for hell only lasts an eternity." He planned to bring his free foot up and step down with all his mass, removing head from body.

"The north, you say," Elihu says.  He looks to Harry.  "What do you know about the north of town?  Where could she have been coming from?  Other than the Collinses, I mean."

Harry grunts in reply. "Lot of abandoned farmsteads out that way. Some predate Collinsport, most are more recent. Plenty of folk lost all their able-bodied men to one war or another, and the women moved to town or left the area. Least them as weren't butchered by Indians, survived the winter of '79 and '80, or the drought years before then."

Hans gives Adam a look of-- pity. "You don't like being dead? ...You must hate the one who turned you. Who was it?"





The man Elihu's been talking to just nods at Harry's words... but gives Harry a slightly odd look. "The Injun troubles weren't so bad in Collinsport as people say. Lots of 'em were smart enough to be afraid of this place, even more than modern folk. But you... I somehow got the idea that you were new to this town, but you talk like you grew up here-- sort'a. Which is it?"

Harry eyes the fellow, snorts, and points to the southwest. "Hike along the coast for a couple days and you'll reach where I grew up. Place called Seal Cove."

The

The man frowns, but accepts the answer without comment. He's clearly suspicious, but he's not sure what to suspect Harry of, so he's just gonna mentally file it away for now.

In reply to They (msg # 231):

As the man finished speaking, he stepped down on the shovel to sever his head.

19:24, Today: Adam DeLacey rolled 7 using 1d20+1 ((6))

Assuming he accomplished this feat, he used his shovel to pick up the head and pitch it into the fire.

Dead body in the doctor's house.

Head in the roaring fire.

Lotta blood on the floor.

Well, not really a lot comparatively speaking. Definitely less than if one were to sever the head of a normal human with no * next to his living status. But, like, more than if you just dropped a glass of wine on the floor...

No crying over spilled blood, I guess. Not yet, anyway...

Adam will go about dismembering the body, burning it in pieces. Once it is ash, he will gather that into a beg or sack for transport.