Chapter 2.5: A quick Wrap up...

I'll post a flash forward of sorts. Then, anyone wishing to do a one post respond may do so to kinda place your character at the end of this. If you do not want to respond at this time just say "pass". Once everyone has posted something I'll start a set up for the next chapter.

The Oriental is packed tonight with wall to wall revelers. Music, provided by a band of wandering bards, filled the building with a jovial air and the smells wafting out from the kitchen was enough to make any berk sigh. A roar of cheers erupted from the crowd gathered around The Cage, the Orientals fifty foot steel dome that provided sport as much as it served to settle disputes. Tonight the people of New Tombstone were celebrating the fall of the Golden Talon trading house and the quick demise of Wenchalsey and his supporters who thought they would be able to wrestle control of the town from its’ founding father, John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday.

Yet not everyone was in a celebratory mood….

Kreshna, the son of the Mother of all Demons, sat in a rocking chair on the front veranda, watching the shadows and hoping his brother, Vox, was not going to be foolish enough to return. Kreshnas’ mind wandered through the events of the past few days remembering how, during the height of the chaos that had erupted…….

Vox appeared in the middle of Allen Street, in front of the Oriental, and called Doc out. Vox had a woman with him, a curvaceous human wearing a black and red saloon girl’s outfit and a near wild look about her. Kreshna knew who she was and knew what Vox was up to. He tried to stop his friend from going out to face the demon but trying to stop Doc from answering a challenge is like trying to stop the light of the Spire from rising and falling. Kreshna stood at the old man’s’ side while his brother ranted and raved about how things were not the way they were supposed to be, how Doc had allowed things to be twisted from reality because he was weak. Doc listened, his right hand resting upon the butt of his Colt Lightning and his eyes watching the demon and his companion closely.

Vox claimed that the woman was proof of his story. The woman… Doc looked at her as she began her part of the story claiming that in another time she had helped start this town. She said that in another time they had their differences but that she had loved him more than life itself, briefly telling a tale of how he had traveled into the pits of hell and traded his life for hers. Then she just as quickly cursed his existence for letting everything change, for her growing old and dying without him, for not going after the Stone…. Vox silenced her as he joined in the rant again; blaming Doc for the loss of his wife among other supposed wrongs the old man had allowed to occur….

Docs had shifted very little as he listened to the demons words, his eyebrow barely raised when his long dead love told her tale. Kreshna thought for sure that the old man was going to fly into a rage, at least until the small, pale hand of
Blasse slipped into her papas’, gently removing it from the butt of his gun. Silence engulfed the planes for that heartbeat of a moment when Doc looked down into his daughters eyes. The tension in him eased and he calmly addressed his accusers, “The only thing I wanted when I first came to this place was peace. The only thing I have worked for is to provide a better life for this young lady whom the gods saw fit to leave in my care. The gods decided to give me a second chance at life, a chance to make up for the wrongs I have committed since cheating death so many ages ago. This town has become a reflection of that. Of second chances and new beginnings.” Blasse beamed with pride as her papa gently squeezed her hand, “Now I don’t know what cosmic forces brought you two here today or what you believe reality should be but I swear to you both, right here and now, that if I ever see your faces again I’ll send you back to whatever world you came from.”

The woman stepped towards the old man, her eyes searching his, “You truly don’t remember do you? You don’t remember what we had, what we have been through, how much I love you?” Doc met her gaze, “I remember our time on Earth. But, Kate, that was so long ago and so very far away. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was becoming so I thought it best to leave you to live out your days. That is what I remember.”
Kate looked as though she had just been hit by a rampaging bull; she stammered back, the look of shock, horror and despair bringing tears to her eyes.
Vox sneered, “Mark my words; you will soon have to make another choice. Set things right or watch everything you now know unravel.” With that, the demon and the woman vanished into the crowd.

The battle for the town raged on around them through the next couple of days, it wasn’t until tragedy had struck home that Doc decided to put an end to it all. The old man had tried to fight from the sidelines, commanding his guards from the Oriental, only venturing out when he had to and always making sure that his baby girl was safe. Blasse had been his world for several years and he was not about to let the agendas of others bring harm to her.

Then, two days ago, the unthinkable happened….

As the Aspis Consortium, the group of merchants that had banded together under Wenchalseys lead, had moved in more mercenaries to take the town, the battle looked lost. On what would have been the last night, Doc had made the decision to pack it up and moving his daughter to somewhere safer, somewhere away from the greed and violence.

By First Light, plans had changed…..

Mercenaries had overwhelmed the Oriental, quickly and efficiently secured what little opposition had remained by creating a ‘magic dead’ zone…. And captured Blasse. Doc would have slaughtered anyone who even came near her to do harm but, for some reason, there was no sign of the old man.

Wenchalsey had her escorted to the gallows that stood in the courthouse square, the poor girl panicking and struggling against the thick rope that restrained her. The mercenaries kept the crowds at bay as the noose was placed around her neck. Wenchalsey was making some speech about how the towns’ troubles began with the goblins that would attack in the night, searching for their “White Queen” and gestured towards the petrified child. He went on to claim that with her sacrifice, and under his rule, New Tombstone would grow to rival Sigil itself in wealth….

While the would be conqueror gave his tirade. Kreshna, who feigned powerlessness to banishment, stepped from the shadows within the Oriental and set about freeing those captured inside and sending them out to rescue the girl. But where was her father? Kreshna nearly tore the building apart in his search before realizing that wards had been placed upon the office door in an attempt to keep it sealed. The demon prince summoned the fires of hell and blasted the door to ashes only to find his friend, Doc Holliday, impaled face up upon his desk by an oak and iron stake through the heart….

Kreshna, thankful to have at least found his friend in one piece, ran to his side and pulled the wickedly barbed stake from Docs chest. Doc, weak from blood lose, managed to sit up with the aid of the demon who was quickly weighing the pros and cons of what he was about to do. “This is not going to end well.” he mumbled as he sliced open his own wrist to get the old man back on his feet.

The fog began to lift from his mind, the memories of what had happened becoming clearer as Doc drank the demons blood. The blood burned as it filled his veins, burned with a fire that shone through his eyes when he took to his feet and bolted onto the street…

The others, who seem to have been joined by troupers from the carnival, were fighting their way through the mercenaries to the gallows. When the monster, Wenchalsey, saw his rampaging rival charging towards him he made a desperate attempt to claim victory by spinning about and kicking the lever that opened the trap door beneath Blasses feet. A howl from the abyss roared above the sounds of battle… as Blasse began to plunge a sword spun through the air, cleaving the rope seconds before it would have taken the child’s life, allowing her to fall freely to the ground.
The realization that she did not die barely had time to register within Wenchalseys mind before he found himself hoisted into the air by a severely enraged and quite ‘alive’ Doc Holliday. The old man held him high by the throat and never spoke a word as he squeezed until his thumb met his fingers then dropped the corpse.

The blade that saved Blasse belonged to Isolde, the Mistress of the Carnival. Hermos, the Gentle Giant, scooped up the child and the blade and returned the Isoldes side where she stood on the outer edge of the excitement. Doc spotted his daughter and ran to her side, finishing off any mercenaries that stood in his path. Before Doc could calm down enough to give his thanks, Isolde spoke briefly to him before sounding a whistle. The troupers gathered around her and followed her back to the carnival. Doc sent Hermos back to the Oriental with Blasse, who was now sound asleep in his arms, and asked the others to watch after her while he finished running the Consortium out of town…. And, by the end of the day, those who followed Wenchalsey either left town or died for their crimes.

Now….. Now Doc and Blasse were back at the carnival, gone to discuss the events of the past several days. The town was rejoicing in its victory and things seemed to be slowing down.

But Kreshna knew it wasn’t over. His brother was still out there and still looking to ‘set things right’…

After the first attack, Markie had remained at the Oriental for much of the time. Something was happening, and Doc had enough on his hands to worry about without this new trouble. So, she stayed near when she could, helping either with magical tasks, or simply keeping Blasse company while her beloved papa took care of business.

When the other demon and the woman arrived, Markie remained inside, but just at the door, waiting. If nothing happened, then she would stay her hand. Otherwise, she was ready. She cursed herself when Blasse slipped past her and scampered over to Doc, but the man seemed oddly calm. Blasse taking his hand only seemed to help. So, she continued to stand by until the demon and the woman left. Markie had asked Kreshna who that was, but he had said very little on the matter.

As Wenchasely's efforts increased, so did her own. Doc may have built the town from the ground up, but Tombstone was as much her home now as it was his, and she had no intentions of letting that little weasel of a man take over. She fought the mercenaries back with blade and with spell for as long as she could before surrendering the line to her relief. The morning of that last day, Markie had just risen from a deep, restorative sleep. She had not even had a chance to change out of her night clothes when the mercenaries burst into her room.

She gave them hell. By all the gods, did she give them hell! They knew well what she was capable of, and had they not erected the dead zone around the Oriental, she would have destroyed them all. But even with her powers dampened and blocked, she was still a force to be reckoned with, and she killed two or three more with her bare hands before they finally subdued her. In the end she was left hog-tied, gagged, blind-folded, and even her hands had been bound down to the fingers. She was furious for being so captured, and her anger only boiled higher when she heard Blasse's frightened screams.

A year ago, this never would have happened. Even half a year, she never would have been so unprepared. She had hoped that, in coming to this new world, that she could leave everything behind and start over. And even though her old life had not come knocking for her, it was clear that those skills and habits were needed, and she was foolish for thinking that she could let it all go. Were it not for Kreshna, she never would have made it in time, but that didn't stop her from struggling to free herself. It was wise of him to uncover her eyes before he removed the bindings on her hands, or she might have done damage to him. Her only question when she could speak again was a growled, "Where is she?" His answer was clear: Outside, and in trouble. The demon didn't have to ask her to go save her.

In her old life, Markie had been known by many names. Many of those were born from terror on the field of battle. All of them were justified. Markie had wished to leave that person behind, a mere passing moment in her memory, but today she slid quietly, easily back into that old skin. Once free from the Dead Zone, she summed a simple, plain trunk from her small apartment behind the infirmary. She banished the wards that held it locked tight, and with a brief incantation, the contents replaced the nightclothes she wore. It was a military uniform of pitch black, so deep it seemed to absorb light, and accented with red the color of fresh flowing blood. Her gentle brown eyes hardened to cold stone when she laid her hand upon the hilt that rested at her side, and she stepped as a silent wraith into the streets. When the others joined her and the mercenaries moved to intercept them, she drew the blade with war cry and charged forward. The blade burned with white fire, so hot it set the flesh to fire as limbs were lopped off and bodies sliced in two, yet in her hand it was as cold as normal steel. Her free hand sent out powerful blasts of pure energy, sending masses of people, both innocent and guilty, away from her and those who fought to reach Blasse in time.

She paused only long enough to see the wretched weasel die by Doc's hand. Once she was safe, and with his blessing, she would turn her wrath on the disease that had infested their town. Everything that the Consortium had touched, she burned. Everything that Wenchasely has tainted, she destroyed so thoroughly that not even ash remained. It was a reminder to those who remained. They would forever recall what happened to those who resisted.

At the end of the day, when her fires had burned down and the dead were accounted for, she returned slowly to the Oriental. There was grim satisfaction on her face, but also a layer of sad regret. There was no going back to the way it had been now. The gentle, soft spoken healer that the town had come to know no longer existed. Just as those who had sided with the Consortium, those who had seen her act would always remember that there was more to her than just a healer. She seemed to have aged as well, and when she finally passed back inside and moved back to her room, Markie seemed to be almost a decade older in appearance.

The next morning, she still looked haggard, but the age had faded over the night with lots of rest. Now, while the Cage was full of excitement and celebration, Markie stepped out onto the porch with Kreshna. She didn't say anything, just stood and stared out into the street. Her fires hadn't touched anything not associated with the uprising, but where they had burned, there was nothing but black ash and the lingering scent of smoke. The youthful softness of her face had returned, and once more she appeared as nothing more than the young healer everyone knew, but her eyes still held age that could not be eased away by rest.

The older female gnome observed from the open windows of her room as the conversation between Vox, the woman and Doc took place outside on the street. Her eyes narrowed as she listened to both sides but she kept her thoughts to herself. Her companion kept quiet, looking between those outside and to her. She only nodded and said, "Come, Rul'Tai. There will soon be work to do." With an almost cheshire-like grin, her companion nodded, wringing his hands together gleefully. "Yessss, Mistress."

When the skirmishes throughout town first began, Miss Clara was rarely seen. Her companion and two distinguishable owlbears were nowherat all.e to be seen at all, unless you were foolish enough to venture into the graveyard known as Boot Hill. Any strangers who tried to enter the crumbling walls and half-rusted gates were never seen or heard from again. After the first day, it was wisely left alone by the attackers.

On the fateful morning of the attack on the Oriental itself, Miss Clara had already risen and was brushing out her hair when they burst into her room. The spell was literally smacked away from her as the large human backhands her, interupting her casting. As they grab her and truss her up, one screams out, falling backwards in wracking pain before she's fully bound and gagged. One man takes the now lifeless body of his partner as the rest leave her behind and continue on to the next room of the hotel. A frown crosses her bloodied lips as the anti-magic zone is already falling into place before the last man is gone. Once she guesses she is alone, she attempts to struggle against her bonds. Mentally, Rul'Tai hears, "Okay, *now* we get involved. Avoid the hotel but you may feed the bears and anyone else hungry out there."

A dark shape wings through the air above the town, watching what all transpires before turning quickly in the direction of the carnival on the outskirts of town.

Outside, the roars of twin owlbears precedes not only those two but the ghouls and zombies shuffling out of the graveyard into the surrounding buildings. A mad, cackling gnome rides atop one of the owlbears, directing the chaos. Townsfolk are left to cower and hide but any mercenary caught is torn to shreds and feasted upon by the undead.

meanwhile, inside the hotel, Miss Clara is still struggling to free herself without her magics when Kreshna finds her. When asked where Doc is, she answers, "I do not know." As he leaves to go find his friend, miss Clara at least pulls her hair back into a ponytail before setting out to locate the source of the anti-magic zone with a very stern look to her face.

After the carnage and fighting outside picked up with Doc's arrival to the scene, Miss Clara walked out of the Cage area with a mace over her shoulder and the broken remains of a decorated metal box under her arm. "There, now. Much better. I really must find the one responsible for this little toy and thank them." she tells no one in particular. She makes her way out side just in time to see Doc finishing off Wenchalsey. Calmly, while Doc continues his rampage through town, she makes her way over to the fallen businessman. As if he were still alive, she speaks to his corpse. "I do believe you are not finished here, good sir. You are still useful to me." Her eyes glow softly as she casts a rather potent spell over the deceased form. "Now get up."

Once the fighting is complete and the town starts to pick itself up, the walking dead from the cemetary have returned behind the safety of it's walls, the corpse of Wenchalsey nowhere to be seen. Miss Clara walks amongst the fallen, helping out where she can with passing out bandages and directing the removal of the deceased. Her gnome companion walks along behind her, assisting her in turn.

Above the town, from the roof of the Oriental, dark wings settle themselves as Angel makes herself comfortable, watching what goes on silently. Her gaze moves towards the carnival often, a tear forming in her eyes.

Red fought as hard and determined as any of the rest of them. She remained at Doc's side or as near to it as she could. She owed the old man that much. She lost him in the fray. Fearing the worst, Red resigned herself to protecting Blasse.

Even that wasn't enough. Bound and gagged in the Oriental, Red had never felt such shame and fury. She vowed to rip Wenchalsey to shreds if given half a chance. So it was with great pleasure that she witnessed Doc strangle the life out of him.

Vincent had disappeared early on. The carnival had set him at unease, but the sounds and smells of a carnival don't quite overpower those of a caravan. He'd slipped into the carnival crowd and vanished, moving on and out to investigate what the merchants might have and who they were selling to, in his usual way. Hat low, the collar on his cape high, he searched over the goods without ever showing particular interest in an item or a person, but there was a certain tension between some of the buyers and sellers.

He disappeared again, into the shadows, knowing that he wouldn't find anything looking closely at the surface, but might spot something from a distance. He went into a general store a score of paces down the road and purchased a pouch of pipe tobacco, then retired to a chair on the sidewalk to smoke and have his boots cleaned by a youngling looking to make some extra scratch for his parents. The disguise seemed complete, even when rust red eyes watched the transactions not a hundred feet away. Rifles, ammunition, runestones, chalk, dark earth, rock salt, unmarked pouches; these were just the things he saw. Someone was preparing for war. This thought was only strengthened when several of the intimidating types stayed behind when the caravan started packing up and heading out.

Vincent paid the kid a little too much and tipped his hat, gave his boots a once-over and a small smile as he stood, then nodded to the kid before moving down the street to the last wagon that hadn't left yet. After what seemed careful, silent consideration, he purchased a Winchester lever-action and several boxes of rounds.

When the battle came, he still hadn't revealed his presence to either side. In the fray, he'd ended up rescuing a cat that was pinned down between the opposing forces before taking refuge on the roof of the Oriental. Vampire or not, Vincent didn't care to fight in the melee to reveal his face to the enemy, and a bullet could kill most things just as well as a sword...well, that, and Doc still had his weapons. He and that cat stayed there, firing into the enemy ranks with uncanny accuracy, but for every felled enemy, it seemed like three more cropped up. And then, they had the girl. Vincent had no bullets left and was weary. He wasn't able to use his blood magicks, he hadn't fed in days and he'd been on edge since he found himself face-to-face with the Drow and the Werewolf. Now there was combat for rightful ownership of Tombstone and...a cat. It was surprisingly quiet despite the conditions, although one might guess that true terror can do that. And surprise beyond surprise was the strength of Doc's allies. A healer that was a frightening destroyer, even to a nigh-immortal vampire, a crowd of carnies, packs of demons...who the hell was this man? And why, despite seeing all these people who stood for him, did Vincent feel the need to add his own fury?

Finally, Doc ended the battle decisively and the girl was saved. Vincent smiled, lay his head down. The black wide-brimmed hat fell from his head, caught a stiff wind, and landed in the street. The Winchester slipped from his fingers and clattered to sidewalk below, the barrel warped from extended use. Above, Vincent slept such that bordered torpor, while the cat finally seemed to have found its tongue and was mewling and headbutting him, trying to rouse him, but it didn't seem to work. It settled with curling into the folds of his coat and meowling.