A

>[c] “You look like a big idiot spider down there, bossman.”
Also drop the glasses on his hand.

>>535298
[A]

Also, do NOT say [C] under any circumstances. He might give us to Anansi. Oh god, the puns, the horrible, web-based puns...

A!

Your bootheel scrapes back across the driftwood floor and you tap the glasses with your silvered wingtip.

The glasses skid across to Baron Samedi's questing fingers, and he grabs at them like a wretch in the desert would grab a canteen.

Or like Baron Samedi would grab a full bottle, in his spryer moments.

"Someone tell Bondye up there to turn the sun off for five more hours." He curls up on the ground and flicks his glasses open. "Or just cut my head off." He winces as he eases them onto his face. "Fuck. Was it the habanero liquor?"

"Could be, frere," you say. You retract one knotty arm up through the sleeve of your jacket and scratch your neck behind your high leather collar.
Not many loa in Samedi's train wear leather, but he always says that for a big brusing lunk of a motherfucker like you he'll save the silk to swaddle his cows in.

"LaCroix? That you?" He cranes his neck
"Right on the first try, boss."
"Oh." His head clunks back to the floor. "Good." He rubs his temple. "What I miss, LaCroix? What you waking me up for at this hour?"
"You mean 3 pm, boss?"
"That. What you said."

[a] Don't tell him about the zombie plague he's started.
[b] Break the news gently re: the zombie plague he's started.
[c] "You've started a zombie plague, boss."
[d] _______

C seems most in-character for LaCroix

>>535310
I think I like B.

C

he's hungover and I don't think he'll like it if we just beat around the bush.

>[D]
"There's people walking around looking like they've got a worse hangover than you Boss, we've got a right zombie crisis in town."

also vouching C

>>535310
>[d] _______
"I've got good news and bad news, boss. The good news? There's only one piece of bad news. The bad news? You started a zombie plague."

C

>>535310
C.

Also, ask him HOW he started a Zombie Plague, since the Loa create Zombi, not Zombies.

>>535318
lel.

"You started a zombie plague, boss."

Samedi spazzes, coughs, and rolls over facedown on the floor.
"Shiiiiiiiit," he tells the cracks in the boards. "How did I do that?"
"Hoped maybe you could tell me, boss."
"LaCroix, look into my eyes."
"Sunglasses, boss."
"Look into my sunglasses and tell me in that bull-ass deadpan of yours that you really think I remember more than a third of what we all did last night."
You kneel next to the Baron and prod him with your toe.
"We gotta do something about this one, boss. We're the gravekeepers."
"I know." Samedi folds up and scoots away from you. "Fuck you, LaCroix. I know. You deal with it."
"Me?"
"You. Uhhhh, shit. How many dead guys?"
"Round a hundred."
"How many mortals they eaten so far?"
"Round a dozen."
"Well, get down there, tell everyone I'm good for bringing their chewed-up daddy back from the other side, and get those zombies back in their graves. And fuck! Get me some ice or something." He pulls himself painfully to his knees and creaks back toward his bed. "Any hoodoo-slinging mortal magician assholes taking advantage of our open graves?"
"One or two."
"Kill 'em or make 'em stop. Get on all that, LaCroix."

[a] "On it, bossman."
[b] "You gonna be any help?"
[c] "On it. Also: I'm raiding your chest of arms on the way out the door."
[d] "Can you give this to someone else? I had plans to go out with Diajua. Coffee."
[e]_______

C

C.

"Got it, boss." You straighten, reflexively brush off your knee, and head for the door. "I'm getting some gear out your chest of arms on the way."

"Fuck you," says Samedi. "Keep your grubby fingers out of my stuff."

"BAron SaMEDi you are NOT going to send that boy in to fix your mess without even preparing his black ass." Maman Brigitte bolts upright in bed. You respectfully shield your face from her nakedness and barely look through your fingers at all. "And you are NOT getting back in MY bed, you patchy-ass piece of shit. You start a goddamn apocalypse again I told you what would happen." She kicks him bodily off the bed and back to the floor with both feet.

As you pass the threshold, she is pinning Samedi to the floor between her thighs and shoving a pillow into his face. A mixed blessing, you think.
"Woman what the fuck you doing to me"
"I'm smothering you, baby. It's for your own goddamn good."
"Get-augh. Get your crazy ass offa me!"
"Have a good time fixing his mess, LaCroix, honey." The black roost er wife, guardian woman of the grave, calls sweetly to you over her husband's muffled objections and scrabbling limbs. She probably wouldn't kill him, if killing the Baron were even a possibility. "Help yourself to his little toys."
"Thank you, ma'am." You doff your bowler and retire to the hallway.

The floorboards of the Baron's lodge creak beneath your feet, suspended as they are on stilts above the primordial bayou.
His study smells like the rum-dipped cigars he's constantly smoking, oakey and tarred. Behind the clutter of fetish dolls, love letters, pickled heads, candy-stripe skulls, and porny posters, you find his chest. The lock is a crude brass-etch skull, with fang teeth. A sickly green glow comes up from inside as you approach.
"Calmez-vous, imbécile," you tell the skull on the chest. The light sheepishly fades into a congealing green mist. If you hadn't known about his security, that chest would have blown you to bits and turned your chunks to stinkbugs.

You open the chest and peer inside. The contents changes depending on what Samedi has lent to his friends (or stolen from them). It currently contains:

[]A flintlock pistol, that will strike anyone right through the heart unless they've got a piece of silver on them.
[]A shrunken head that will cuss the air blue at anyone who tries to lie until you stitch the mouth shut.
[]A wand made from a switch of willow that'll set the air around a poor fucker on fire.
[]A pile of condoms. Cute.
[]A notched sword from the island war for independence that'll fight all on its own once it has a taste of its opponent's blood in it.
[]A deck of cards, with a little pool of perpetual flame on the label. You're not really sure what these things do but you think you remember seeing a Petro Loa, one of the war spirits, whip it out last night in a neon-soaked dive somewhere along the line. Must have found its way into the Baron's pockets.

You figure you can take one, maybe two of these things and the Baron wouldn't hardly be able to object, now, would he?

the pistol and the head!

the shrunken head and the notched sword

>>535349

Condoms and the wand.

Wand and cards, You're dealing with zombies and fire is always good against them and if they're is a god in those cards and said god was there last night when boss man started this mess it could tell you how... if you could figure out how to talk to it.

Wand and sword.

A dancing weapon seems a good idea for killing infectious zombies, and everyone knows fire is good against undead.

>>535349
Wand and cards. Zombies tend to congregate in large, flammable clusters.

@ Brom 2013/08/18(Sun)09:49 No. 535410 ID: 4652c9
File 137684456163.png - (310.51KB , 800x600 , 2.png )

You pluck the head from the chest and tuck it into your coat pocket. The wand is a little hot to the touch. It makes your fingers feel greasy.

You shut the chest and flip the latch back in place. A little spin on your heels and a skip-jump out the door take you off into the hallway.
There's a spring in your step as you leave the lodge. Samedi trusted you to take care of this on your own. This is the come-up, LaCroix, you think, taking a strong whiff of that boggy bayou air.
It smells like Bondye's own omnipotent armpit out here, away from the cigar scent and the constant cling of incense. Really invigorates the spirit.
You hop and soft-shoe your way across the planks laid out across the spiritual bayou's murk. There's gates to the mortal realm all over the place, here in the morass. Your favorite is down a well been marked with a dead crow, nailed feet up to the crosspost.

The usual gang of loa are gathered around the outdoor bar some enterprising mambo set up next to the gate.

There's some old white-clad Rada loa sat round a table. Agwe, the longest beard present, sees him, pulls his paddle out, and pushes himself across the dirt toward you, his chair tilting and grinding. The brass-armored Nago shooting craps point at him and chuckle over their shields.
Agwe doesn't much care about what people think of him. He knows if you really pissed him off he could dry the water in your eyeballs, right out your head. You whirl the wand through your fingers, nervously.

"LaCroix," he says, setting his chair back on four legs and folding his arms across his paddle. "Your bag-of-bones boss around?"
"He's around places." You scratch your collar. "What's shaking, water lord?"
"Been a fisherman outside Capotille just got his arm bit clean off," says Agwe. He leans forward. "By a zombie."
A collective ooooooh rings out across the bar. Then the only sound is the ancient, leathery witch who runs the place, calmly wiping a rag across a wooden mug.
A Ghede loa coughs.

"You wouldn't know anything about any of that, now, would you, Boy LaCroix?" asks Agwe.

[a] "Couldn't tell you what that's about, Agwe. Sounds like bad business. Gotta go."
[b] "The Baron up and partied hard enough to wake the dead last night."
[c] "My business is none of your business, fishface."
[d] ________

A

b.

Don't worry, we'll have it good and cleaned up.

A

B

@ Brom 2013/08/18(Sun)12:20 No. 535449 ID: 4652c9
File 137685363553.png - (138.64KB , 800x600 , 3.png )

"Couldn't tell you what that's about, Agwe." You sidle toward the well. "Sounds like bad business."

"LLLLIAR," howls the shrunken head in your pocket. "YOU FUCKING CRAPSACK FLEABAG SHITHEEL LIAR YOU KNOBBLY DRY COW TURD YOU'RE A LIAR"

You hastily smack your coat a few times to get the damn thing to shut up. You didn't know it goes both ways.
The bar are roundly laughing.
"Go clean up, LaCroix," says Agwe, smugly paddling his chair back across the dirt to his table. "We know it weren't necessarily your fault." He chuckles as he turns back to his colleagues. "That's Ghede for you."

"Yeah, knock em dead, LaCroix!" says one Rada.
"Deader," corrects the other, tossing his dice into the shield bowl.

You leap into the well, and feel the cold twin winds of transport and transformation shred the spirit-fueled flesh from your old bones. After you got over the shock the first couple times you rolled with the Baron, this became one of your favorite parts. It's like going commando but all over your body.
Ain't no need for skin over on the other side.

The liminal air of the spirit world thickens and soups around you, until it solidifies into cool, clodding grave dirt.
You gotta dig the last few feet, when you go to the mortal realm.

You scrabble your way back up into the pale light of the Capotille graveyard, just outside town. You come up to a feverish drumbeat.

Directly in front of you, a shabby man in a shabby robe dances in a shabby circle.
"UP!" He whoops and snaps his fingers. "Up and at 'em, restless dead! Frere Fulbert's calling your old bones on UP!"
Nearby, a stumbling horde of about a half dozen slackjawed stiffs bang out an arrhythmical din on a bunch of stretch-hide drums.

Looks like you got a bokor on your hands. Voodoo priest of the type the Good Baron told you to deal with.

[a] "Hey. Buddy. Lay off the drums. Some of us are hungover around here."
[b] "Whatcha doing there, frere?"
[c] Grab his ankle and pull him to the ground
[d] Set him on fire
[e] ___________

D

D

and get as many of the zombies as you can as well.

D

You sit up in the gravedirt and flick the muck off the wand.
You point it at old Frere Fulbert and he lights up like a mardi gras firework.
His dance turns into a blazing stumble, his cackle into a sort of roasting cry, and he spins round to see you lounging in the grave. The wand's lit up very hot, and you're juggling it in your hands to try and cool it down.
"Why?" he asks, screeching over the flames.
"You're a crazy fou?" you offer. He lurches toward you, then falls over stone dead. "And you're ugly, too," you say.

One rogue priest down the drain.

His thralls slowly stop beating their drums and their limbs hang limp at their sides.

One of them begins to passively chew on his leatherboiled drumstick.
Another lets loose a groaning sigh, and starts shuffling his way toward you.
His corpsey compatriots follow suit. Five zombies, and you're still half-stuck in the dirt with a habanero-hot wand you ain't quite comfortable aiming yet.

[a] See if you can't fire it off again
[b] "Back up, boys. The Loa of the Grave commands."
[c] Scramble up and out of the grave and haul ass. You can outrun these easy.
[d] Let them gnaw for a while. You haven't the flesh to feed them anyhow.
[e] _________

E. Do a song and dance number, maybe they'll join you.

>>535461
C.

C

>>535462
yes, give then a 'thrill'

Order the zombies to haul you out of the dirt. You can use 'em yourself before you destroy 'em.

>>535461
Grab the Bokor's drum, use it to direct the Zombies to drag you out of here.

Or pull your ass out of the dirt and haul ass if you can't reach it.

You pull yourself up and out of the grave, kicking clay from your shoes. You turn round to the crowd of undead.

"Any of you know your way around some steps to 'Stagger Lee?'"
"mguh."
"wurhg."
"Thought not." You tilt the brim of your hat at them. A worm drops off and twists its way into the ground. "See you gents later."

You beat feet for the twisted iron exit gates. A score or so of zombies are scattered about the graveyard, glass-eyed and vacant. One or two detach from their woozy posts and follow you a ways, then stay where they are.
You never get the real movers and shakers in the graveyard. They've all gone off to go find a family to endanger.

Sitting on the black rooster weathervein overlooking the graveyard is a Petro Loa, fiery-haired and decked out in a thick military jacket with a bayonetted rifle slung across her back.

"Loa!" she says. "Hey, LaCroix."

"Diajua." You recognize her, even without any skin on. She leaves a pretty corpse. If anything it just draws attention to how nice her cheekbones are. "Mon ami. What you doing here?"

"Killing the dead, what do you think?" She drops with fluid elegance off the gate and swaggers over. "I thought I might catch one of Samedi's stooges coming to fix this."
"Well, you've got me." You shrug.
"More's the pity." She laughs and sizes you up. "No weapons?"
"A wand." It's finally cooled a little. You brandish it, as heroically as possible.

"Nice little twig, loverboy. You and your boss cause this?"
"My boss."
"Right. But you and the gang didn't exactly count your shots."
"And us normally the picture of responsibility."
"The only ones the Petro can't keep up with." She shakes her head. "Goes to show even the Black-and-purple Baron can go too overboard sometimes. What about you? Drink much? Chase any skirts?"

[a] "If I recall correctly I poured a bottle of clairin on my head and ended up plowing a fishwife. Ghede is as Ghede does."
[b] "What, me? Philandererering? I am insulted."
[c] "That's neither here nor there. I've got zombies to put down."
[d] ____________

B
eeeecause it's funny eh!?

c

c

...oh, wait, whatever you do, don't lie. You still have that stupid head on you.

@ Brom 2013/08/18(Sun)16:32 No. 535503 ID: 4652c9
File 137686873873.png - (204.44KB , 800x600 , 4.png )

"That's neither here nor there," you say. "I got me zombies need putting down."
"Lie of omission," whispers the shrunken head from your pocket. "motherfuckerrrr."

"Don't worry, ange. I boned a Nago the other day so we're even, last count." She pivots and walks to the front gate.
"How was he?"
"He was too little and I was too late."
"Did he smell like chum and fish gut?"
"He did not."
"Count your blessings, ma petit musketeer."
"Count yours. Because I'm here on more or less the same business as you are." She closes her bony fists around the iron handle and pushes. The hommes of Capotille understand their graveyard's importance as a great go-between for the mortal and Vodou realms. The hinges are well-greased and the gate opens easy.

The view on the other side doesn't come as easy.

Brom 2013/08/18(Sun)16:35 No. 535505 ID: 4652c9
File 137686894997.png - (168.39KB , 800x600 , 5.png )

Down the scrubland hill, in the river basin, Capotille is aflame.
Great curls of dark smoke plume up and into the air.
"Merde," you say.
"Merde," agrees Diajua. "Great Elizi D'en Tort told me, Diajua, you go and fix this."
"The Baron told me more or less the same thing," you say. "With some cusses and some hangover."
"Us against the world, mon grand."
"This and the next, looks like, ma puce." You rub the ash from your shades off on your pantleg and peer down into the village.

There are lights on in the church. The firehouse's alarm bells are rolling out and up the hill. You can hear them. Out on the docks, there's townspeople trying to float away from the blaze and the risen dead. There are makeshift barricades surrounding the schoolhouse and the hospital.

Long story short, it's a shitstorm.

[]Split up with Diajua to cover more ground.
[]Keep together; she's a lot more dangerous in a scrap than you are.

split up so the author doesnt have to draw as much

keep together

>>535505
Keep together for now, only split up if there is a reason to.

"Stick with me, darling," you say. "We're gonna go save some people and slay some zombies."
"I'm going to slay the zombies," she says. "You just waggle your knobbly little stick at them."
"Wand, Diajua. I'm going to waggle my knobbly little wand at them."
"You want a sword or something, LaCroix? I got my bayonet."
[1]"That's probably for the best."
[2]"You can use that thing better than I can, ma belle. Hold onto it."

There's an awful lot to do in poor, besieged Capotille.
[a] Go down the hill to the church, and see who's holed up inside.
[b] See what you can do for the firemen at the firehouse.
[c] Head for the docks and aid those set afloat.
[d] Get to the schoolhouse and clear the way.
[e] Investigate the barricades at the hospital.

keep together. covering more ground means little if you get your self eaten.

{2}
{E}-if there's barricades, there's probably more zombies around there than normal, and we're here to kill zombies. And maybe raise a few folks for dying from the zombies. Because we got drunk.

"Keep the sword." You start down the hill. "I got nothing to compensate for."

"You won't when the zombies chew your cock off, mon amour."
"So come with me. We're going to the hospital."
"Investigating the damage?" She falls into step beside you. She makes the smell of dirt work. Like a field after the rain.
"Oui. And seeing if I can't fix any."

Like your lord the Baron Samedi, you have the power to shoo away death and bring a spirit back from the grave to occupy the body again. It's a lesser version of his ultimate power over life and death, of course, and only works twice a day. You'll have to pick and choose and tread lightly, or the hommes will be all over you to bring back Uncle Romero or their dog or something, and "We aren't running a revolving fucking door emporium here, LaCroix," as Samedi would say.

The streets of Capotille are dark and motionless. Anyone still at home has boarded up the windows and locked the doors.
It isn't until you get to the fires, and the people who've been driven out from their burning homes, that things get bad. You step over a low, dark pool of blood winding its scabby way between the cobblestones. Diajua unslings her rifle and cracks open the head of a keening zombie that crosses paths with the two of you. His face dissolves in a haze of red and dark gobbets of ichor.

"Why the hospital, do you think?" she asks, tearing open the packet on her next bullet between her teeth. She tips the powder into her rifle. "Too many entrances and not enough windows."
"It's stone. More fireproof." You turn the corner and the hospital comes into view. "And maybe they don't want to move the wounded." Two dozen or so zombies cling and pile below the high walls. A haphazard barricade of beds and furniture is stacked in the front. In the back, the barricade is half-finished, and the zombies are clambering over it to pound ineffectually at the boarded doors.
"That is a lot of dead men," says Diajua.
"That is a lot of dead men," you say. "More than this morning. Something is making more."

[a] Nuke the zombies at the back barricade with the wand. You're worried about setting the barricade on fire, but they're tantalizingly grouped up.
[b] Climb the front barricade and hammer on the door. You can move with a lot more dexterity than the stymied stiffs the barricade's been stumping.
[c] Take the time to kill some of the zombies around the perimeter. Diajua's rifle takes a good long time to reload, and your wand kicks like a mule someone's set on fire, so things could get dicey. Diajua is all for it, of course, but she loves a close-up scrap.
[d] _________

a

C

It would be rude to risk damaging the barricade while you still have corpses walking around.

Going to say A

A, its a stone building, it'll be fine.

C
Fighting zombies without a barricade is all about keeping mobile, and you need to have somewhere clear to fighting retreat towards.

Changing vote to c, i was assuming they could build a better barricade after the undead were redead but we dont know there supplies.

@ Brom 2013/08/18(Sun)20:42 No. 535563 ID: 4652c9
File 137688377973.png - (156.52KB , 800x600 , 6.png )

You crick out your knee, twist yourself round a spindly, gloom-stifled streetlamp, and leap into the air, your leather coattails flapping like a bat's wings around you.
A click of your heels in the air and a quick roll when you hit earth get you neatly past the shamblers near the back gate. You come up packing literal and metaphorical heat. "Brûle, bitches!"

The barricade becomes an instant pyre, the matchstick furniture gobbled up by a mighty blaze of Vodou flame. The mambo-brewed kind, that clings and burns and eats you up quick. The corpse of the barricade's unfinished builder bubbles and cracks, and the zombies themselves are turned into lurching fireballs.
Diajua shoulders her way past you and drops the only one left standing with a snap-aimed rifle shot.

"Tres bon," she says. "I knew there was a reason I was attracted to you."
You execute a neat standing 360 and bow. Then you remember how hot the wand is, cuss heartily, and nearly drop it.
"Is that door going to hold against the fire?" she asks, as you scrabble to retrieve it.
"Sure. Yes. Probably. You know hommes. Wild about stone and metal and suchly."

[a] Do what you can to put out the blaze before it attracts more undead to the unbarricaded door
[b] Brave the fires and get inside here
[c] Circle round to the front and climb inside from there
[d] _______

A is only polite, pull and parts that arnt burning away.

might as well seem like you're helping
A

...the head didn't call you a liar. Does that mean you're right that the door will hold?

>>535581
No, it just means he believes the door will hold. If you knowingly lie, the head speaks up.
Also, let's douse them flames. The hommes are already in enough danger and don't need their one hold-up burning away with the barricades.

You sort of wave your coat at the flames, hesitant to throw it onto the pyre.
"What are you doing?" Diajua walks up behind you and touches your shoulders.
"Cutting the, uh, the air circulation." You feebly blow. "I know what I'm doing."
"BULLLLLSHIT," your pocket screams.
"Scoot over, mon lupe." Diajua pushes you to one side and kneels before the fire. She reaches into the open collar of her jacket and pulls a rusty spit of metal out. She kisses it twice, as good as a body can when it has no lips, then grinds it into powder in her fist and sprinkles it onto the ground.

She stands, backs up a pace or two, and with a yiping cry, kicks the powder smartly into the fire. It quenches immediately, with a sort of apologetic hiss.
"Well don't strain yourself," you say.
"Perks of the Petro, pet," says Diajua. "You do death and we do fire."
The way to the door is now clear but for the ash and the smell of marshlogged bacon. The door itself has been chained hastily closed.

[a] "Think you can get us through this little lock, Diajua?"
[b] Circle round to the front.
[c] See if you can climb up to the roof.
[d] Knock.
[e] ___________

E
pass yourself off as a traveling salesman trying to sell something.

C
We seem good enough at jumping around, and whatever is producing the zombies might be visible from up there.

d. Knocking never hurts.

And that stupid head was the worst choice. Why did we think we'd need an interrogation tool to deal with a zombie rampage? There's no intrigue to cut through, here.

d, we came here to see who was barricading the place, so lets introduce ourselves.

You knock on the door.

There's no response on the other side. Maybe everyone's up on the second floor.
You crack your knuckles and pound hard on the door. "Hoy! Grand Hommes! I gotta horse to sell you! Hey!"
You stick your thumbs into your belt loops, your finger tapping against your death's-head belt buckle, and pace round the doorway, then haul off and give it a kick with one silver-shanked boot. You hammer out a calypso rhythm against the door. You pull your hat off and toss it up to the second window, catching it in your other hand. Diajua giggles.

Finally a pale, shivering face appears in an upper window, and says in a wheedling voice:
"Who's there?"

[a] "I am LaCroix! Ghede loa! Loa of death! And the red right hand to my lord Bawon Sanmdi! And I'm a-knocking, little white man!"
[b] "Name's LaCroix and this is Diajua. We're here to help."
[c] "Telegram here for a Blomie, first name Amanda."
[d] "Zombies are dead. Open the door, homme."
[e] __________

Remember- no outright lies. The stupid head will get in the way.

e]
I wonder if you have heard the good word of your savior? It's open the damn door already.

[You did save them]

B works

B, but say "pop dammit" at some point.

@ Brom 2013/08/19(Mon)12:09 No. 535742 ID: 4652c9
File 137693939532.png - (132.05KB , 800x600 , 7.png )

"The name's LaCroix, mon frere," you say. "This is Diajua. We're here to help."
"Where, where's your skin, LaCroix?" asks the homme in the window.
"On vacation with your balls, boh." Diajua gives the door another kick. "We're loa! Let us in."
"Loa?"
"Loa!" Diajua snaps her fingers.
The head ducks back inside for a few seconds. Diajua detaches herself from the doorway and stands behind you, rubbing your shoulders (what remains of them).
"I take it back," she says. "That's a hell of a wand."
"Think Samedi stole it from someone," you say. "Seems Petro to me."
"Maybe you oughta give it to me, then?"
"You are ma joie de vivre, Di, and the light of my heart, but you crazy and you talking crazy."
"Hmph." She bites the nape of your neck. Which is either a skeletal approximation for a kiss, or she just bit you. It could be either road, with Diajua.

There's a slotting thunk from the other side of the door, which opens to a thin, dark homme, eyes wide with fear. "Loa?" she asks, in a small voice.
"Oui, ma belle," you say. "From Samedi and Elizi D'en Tort. Who's in charge, your neck of the woods?"

The trembling woman leads you through the darkened hospital. The smoke-filtered afternoon light flows in with an unnatural lethargy, trapping out flaking motes of dust in the air like flies encased in amber.
Up a flight of spindly stairs and through a low, lacquered doorway and you're in a crowded, smoky room, wide and long and filled with musty beds. A swarm of villagers sit or lie on these, in various states of wholeness. It smells like formaldehyde and despair, and all eyes are on you and your imperious partner.

An old man with a ratty hat and a sugarpole cane nervously raises a claw. "Honored loa. I'm Fabian."
"Name's LaCroix. You're the leader?"
"Such as it is, grave lord."
"Have you come to help us?"
"We've come to save you," says Diajua. "Maybe you can help us."
"However we can, honored loa." Fabian looks like he's about to piss himself, but that's what you think about most old folks.

[a] Discuss the situation with Fabian and ask about what's going on throughout the town
[b] See what supplies and weapons you can take from the humans
[c] Look for ways to ease the suffering of the hommes who've holed up here
[d] Ask for able-bodied men to assist you
[e] Excuse yourself
[f] ______________

A: get the scoop
we've got the means, we just need directions as to how to deal with this quickly.

Can you hold death away from some of the injured to give them more time to stabilize?

A
If you really want to help everyone the best way would be to stop this thing.

A;
Something is still making more zombies (unless we got really luck and it was just that guy we killed when we first got here), and we need to quickly put a stop to that.

"We're new in town," you say. "Whaddya say you give us the grand tour?"
"List your grievances, homme," says Diajua.

"There are fires all over the town," says Fabian.
"We have eyes, Fabian," you say. "I MEAN we can see that." You hastily jam your hand in your pocket and over the Shrunken head's mouth. It hisses softly. "What else can you tell me?"
"There are people on the water. The clever ones went on the water. They are safe I think, for now."
"What about the church and the schoolhouse?"

"The schoolhouse? Another group of survivors, I think," says Fabian. "We have no way of contacting them, if it please you, lord loa."
"And the church?"
Fabian shrugs helplessly. "What about it?"
"There was someone inside it," you say. "But there were no barricades. Not that we saw."
"That is strange," says Fabian. "I couldn't say why that is."

"YOU'RE LYING," wails the shrunken head. Everyone jumps. "YOU MEASLY FINK! YOU WHEEDLING PUKE! YOU DICK-ROT FUCK! LLLLIARRRRR!"

"its not going to shut up until you tell the truth"

"You might want to reconsider your choice of words my good man."

...the head is rude, but speaks the truth. Perhaps you would care to do the same?

sorry about that, he hates when people lie around him

>>535805
at last. the skullfuck is useful.

i choose C.

That head makes me laugh every time.

"That head's-"
"LIAR! TRAITOR! MOTHERFUCKER! MAY YOUR EYES BE FUCKED OUT OF YOUR SKULL! MAY YOUR MOUTH FILL FULL WITH POISONOUS CENTIPEDES!
"That head's rude but it's right, mon frere. You might want to reconsider your word choice." You have to raise your voice to be heard over the shrunken head's explosive diatribe.
"I don't-" says Fabian. "I don't understand."
"What?"
"I said, I-" Fabian takes a deep breath. "My half brother. Julian. He's my half brother is in the church."
The head falls into glaring silence.
"Now he and I were raised by our ma under the same roof and she were a good and strong woman, but there was something wrong with boy Julian," says Fabian. "Everyone thought so."
A sorry nod around the circle.
"He use to kill animals." An old lady sitting next to Fabian speaks up. "Kill them and arrange them, like. Chanting that bad old vodou."
"We'd thought he shaped up. Thought ma whooped all that out of him at a young age. But no. No, sir." Fabian shakes his head emphatically. His jowels quiver. "when the monsters come up, I suppose he come right up with them. He needs taking care of, when there's trouble. And no-"

"Shut you up!" A shrill, pain-striped voice from the crowd of refugees. "You defend that boy all your life, Fabian. He's the one kilt Jemm Mafoux. Isn't he!" A shaggy-haired young man on a stretcher with one and a half legs speaks up. "Right after the dead men come up. He kilt my brother and run off into that church and shut him up inside. And look see now!" The surviving Mafoux points viciously out the window. "None of the zombies coming near!"
"He- aw, black hell." Fabian looks at the shrunken head. "I suspect perhaps he did. He's an unwell man, loa LaCroix. He's very unwell, is all."

We'll see if we can't help him out [one way or another].

>>535878
Well, if they've got any other ideas as to interesting sites to see now would be the time to bring 'em up, because we've got work to do and they should probably be closing those doors right back up behind us until this all blows over.

>>535878

Best head ever.

Better go investigate this Jules situation, find out what's going on. See if it's all him or if someone else is pulling the strings.

we should ask if they have a spare knife, our wand packs a punch but its less than useless if something manages to jump us.

>>535755
Holding death is for homme healers and two-bit witch doctors. Twice a day the Ghede loa can reverse it.

"Sounds like there's bats in old Jules' belfry." You tap your foot a couple thoughtful beats. "Well. We're getting him out of that church. One way or another."
"Please, loa," says Fabian. "Julian is a violent man, and he's a sick man, but I got no family besides him any more. If you could see yourself through to sparing him his life--"
"Those who take life have no guarantee of holding what they got. Not from the loa." Diajua interrupts him. "No promises, crookleg."
Fabian hangs low on that pole of his. "I understand."
"Anything else you willing to tell us, oldun?" you ask.
"Nothing concerns you." He spreads his hands. "I don't know what a loa would want from a village like ours."
"You got some steel I could have?"
"Sure and we do, lord of graves. You ask my boys at the front gate, they can see what there is for sparing. Anything else we can do?"

[a] "Not but wait, sah Fabian. We'll take our leave, now."
[b] "If I'm solving this problem, I'd like a posse. COuld use me some local muscle, hear?"
[c] "You heard of any other trapped hommes need help? In their homes or the village proper?"
[d] "Well for one, frere, I could use a stiff drink."
[e] ______________

What's a skeleton gonna do with a drink?

C. Or maybe A.

>>535909
Seconding C with some A

You gently push Diajua out the door. You pause in the doorway, hanging from the arch.
"Nothing you can do now but wait, sah Fabian. Any other hommes in the area you can think of need help?"
"We were hammering on doors and rounding everyone up in the hospital, but some folks didn't come in time," says Fabian. "The Nadeaus, down Serpent boulevard. Fires and zombies thick round out there now, I'm afraid. There's a good chance you'd be rescuing a family of corpses."
"We'll see." You pull yourself through the doorway to rejoin your fiery mistress.

She takes your bony hand in hers as the two of you walk back down the death-and-dust hallways.
"Mon lupe. This Julian," she says, when you're out of earshot. "Can we really not just shoot him dead, we get the chance?"

[a] "Fabian seemed rightly concerned about him, bloodyminded as he sounds. No fear, my psychopathic paramour. We'll have plenty of zombies for you to use your powder and shot on."
[b] "What, you kidding? We see him, we grease him, we find something important to do."

A

besides the old man never said anything about us not being able to beat the shit out of him should he be guilty of rising the dead.

c (other):
"Maybe he has a hand in making things like they are, maybe he can be convinced to help us calm them down. We give him two minutes, then greasespot."

>>535934
B. He's a murderer and a zombie-raiser.

We'll see, we'll see.

A.

If he's responsible for making things worse, he might know how to make them better. If he isn't responsible then maybe he'll know who is.

Not like he can lie in front of the head, right?

"We'll see." You run a hand through her hair. "If he brought all this folly bullshit in, he might be the man to ask to take it on out again."
"LaCroooix. Stop making so much sense." Diajua flicks your collar bone. "I want to kill someone over all this vodou in the air."
"We'll bayonet some zombies."
"Someone fresher."
"You a black magic woman, Diajua."
"Mambos and hougans and loa alike gotta serve Bondye with the good hand and the bad, poppi."
"Truth."
"And your aiming hand is bad enough I need to take care of us both."
"Shaddap."

The front barricade is manned by a threadbare crew of men short on nerve and, in more than a couple cases, long in tooth. Most of the able-bodied folks must be out trying to fight the catastrophe.
"Who's that coming down the hall, there?" asks a man in a patchy-ass coat must date back to the first revolution. "That you, Milet?"

"Loa LaCroix, frere," you say. "Loa of graves, dig?"
"You dint dig, I dig," cackles a toothless old fella leaning up against the wall with a musket someone should probably not have given him. "I'se death god, boy. Soldier!" He hiccups. "BANG! Put you under, pick you back up."
"You drunk, fou," says Patchy. He's the most able looking among the sorry company. A tattered gris-gris hangs from his neck and bumps against the pale skin stretched across his clavicle. "Hoy, loa."

"Hoy hoy, old-timer. Need something pokey."
"Pokey, eh?"
"Or cutty. Either/or."
Patchy scratches his coarse beard lock. "Have you a look in that pile, there. Next to drunk old Thimbi. Don't take too much, now. One per customer."

An impressive collection of cutlery is stacked up next to the drunken coot. Diajua coos. "Ooh. Je vous voux."
"You got enough metal to clank along with, honey."
"Enough is a dirty word with weapons, Ghede."
[a] That dagger, there. Thin as a finger, but quick and easy to handle in a close-run scrap.
[b] The cavalry saber. A big, chipped lopper. Longer and scarier than the dagger, but you ain't exactly trained.
[c] A musket with bayonet. Well, it's got reach. Maybe Diajua can load the fiddly old thing for you.
[d] A pitchfork. Self-explanatory and a little crude, but the thing on the other end of those tongs isn't going to be admiring how flash you looked when you skewered it anyway.

I'm thinking A or D.

Well, given that we're dealig with zombies, we probably want something for hacking off limbs rather than piercing organs, right? Probably b, the sword thing.

>>535995
Agreed. Piercing is useless here. Put all our points into hacking!

The saber is weighty and solid in your hand. You give it an experimental flourish and nearly cut your toe off. It'll do.

"LaCroix?" says Diajua, catching the lock of hair you accidentally sheared off her head.
"Yeah, Diajua?"
"Fencer's advice?"
"Yeah, Diajua?"
"Stick with the wand as much as you can, mon enfant."

[a] Time to get to church. Julian needs a lesson in respect for the dead.
[b] See if the Nadeau family can still be saved.
[c] Head for the boarded-up schoolhouse.
[d] Waffle around here some more playing grab-ass even if no one involved has an ass right now.
[e] ___________

I say A

but if that family and/or the school is along the way do feel free to lend a helping hand.

B) Thick with zombies and fire, he says, but we happen to have two specialists right here. Your job is to put them shamblers back down so why not go where you can find 'em? Might be able to locate yourself some useful dead guys to pull back up and drag along on your adventure, too, until your boss the Baron he can pay the big butcher bill.

>>536005
b

A sizable burning beam from the two-story building next door has caved in the front of the Nadeau house. The front door is inaccessible from the flames, which leap and tickle at the conjure charms hung by twine from the handcarved mantle, making them dance and smoke. You can see holes rent in the shingled roof. There are no blazing, home-consuming fires here. Not yet. But this close you can see that the burn is unnatural, too pale in the middle and veined with marshlight, and that the smoke carries the strikingly acrid smell of bad magic.

A zombie is pinned below the beam, cut near in two by its weight and rhythmically thumping its fist against the ground.

[a] Have Diajua put the fire out in front so you can get through the front door. Like your powers, though, hers are restricted, and capable of running out of juice.
[b] Climb to the roof and see if you can drop down from inside. The fortifications are weakening, and your added weights carry a chance of making the place cave in.
[c] Move the burning beam out of the way yourself, risking the burning splinters and the jumping fire.
[d] Raise a supplication to any loa that will listen to help the family escape harm (supplications are available once a day)
[e] ____________

A-her powers might be limited, but I don't think she's going to have nearly as much call for them as you will though! Unless she can do things like, throw flames around, but your wand can do that...If she didn't have her own weapon, I'd say you two would be better off swapping.

A
after if you got it flaunt it.

E) Ask Diajua her expert opinion on this crazy weird fire, here. It have any weird properties? Burn corpseflesh 'specially good, or bad?

>>536094
Throwing my weight behind this one, ask her what her not eyes see in the flames.

>>536094
Seems reasonable.

Brom 2013/08/20(Tue)23:21 No. 536242 ID: 4652c9
File 137706609217.png - (434.20KB , 800x600 , 8.png )

You stand behind Diajua, and pensively rub her back.
"What do your sockets see in those flames, Petro loa?"
"Something off."
"Something sick, no?"
"Mmm." She takes a step forward. "Pale magic. These are manufactured flames, Croix-croix. Smell that?"
"No."
"Exactly. No scent. This fire's damp with vodou." She sniffs. "Euch. Terrible. Like a jelly pastry someone's sucked the filling out. Zombie-fire."

"Does your mojo not work on them?"
She puts a hand on her hip. "Now when did I say that, fou?" She sweeps out her coattails and sits crosslegged on the ground. She hums a looping arpeggio riff for fifteen seconds, then barks:

"Danto! Hey! Help a sister out."

The flames whoosh up and then out, parting like a curtain before her.
"Thank you, mama Danto," she says, sweetly, pulling out a handful of gunpowder and sprinkling it into her lap. "That's yours."

[a] Enter the house. Ladies first.
[b] Enter the house. Gentlemen first.
[c] Climb up the beam to the roof, now that the fire's out. That'll do a better job of keeping the building from falling in around your ears.
[d] __________

We might want to watch our step in here, that voodoo fire could indicate someone inside knows their stuff.

D
divide and conquer. You go through the front door and your lady friend here takes the beam to the roof. Since she has the gun she'll be a lot better at covering you then if you tried to cover her with your wand. Plus you're less likely to take her head off if you have to start swinging your sword.

"Diajua. Ma guerrière." You help her to her feet. "Scamper the beam while I go through the front."
"Why do you give me the hard jobs?" she asks as you boost her up.
"You have things like muscles and training. And a gun."
"And you're not making me climb so you can look at my guerrière derriere."
"Ghede lechery and sound tactics are rare bedfellows, Diajua." You tip your hat and climb the front steps to the door as she ascends, calfskin boots easing up the precarious pillar. "We should regoice and take advantage when they go hand in hand."
"The further I get from your sword arm," she says, pulling herself up onto the shingles, "the better."

Being the bigger man, you choose to ignore that little jibe and shoulder your way into the front room.

The zombie pounding on the other side of the door sees this as an invitation akin to a dinner bell ringing, and it is only your quick reaction that keeps her jaws away from your arm. She stumbles forward, carried by fatal-twitch momentum. Her shredded funeral clothes billow from her ruinous ribcage.

[a] Sword.
[b] Wand.
[c] Pray (one-a-day).
[d] Diajua.
[e] ___________

Isn't this what we got the sword for? A.

Let's see how badly this goes.

>>536279
Yep, this is definitely a swordtuation.

>>536278

A.

Oh, and be sure to get a sharp remark in. Even if the zombie probably won't appreciate your wit.

Swordplay and puns are inseperable.

A might as well get some practice in with your new toy... just don't try anything fancy with it, just chop at her till she's down.

You yank the saber from its leather scabbard and sweep it wide toward the zombie's midsection.
It cuts a wide, gory, and relatively useless rent through her stomach. You bring the saber up just in time to chop a finger or two off the fist she sends your way as rebuttal.

[a] Go for the arms.
[b] Go for the legs.
[c] Go for the trunk.
[d] Go for the head.
[e] Go for the door.
[f] _______________

F. Go for the groin.

THE HEAD

D

just chop down like you're wielding an ax.

A hissed expulsion of air and an overhand chop buries the saber a couple inches into the zombie's skull.

She flails and rasps as you struggle to yank the damn thing back out again.
One half-bone hand clutches at your chest, renting at your jacket. Your grip on the blade loosens, and with a yelp you hastily kick out, catching the zombie directly in the crotch.
She tumbles backward and lands heavily on the floor, still flailing and twitching.
The sword is still embedded in her head.

[a] Wait a moment. Maybe she'll stop moving.
[b] Get over there and pull your sword out. Diajua's probably laughing her mambo ass off at you.
[c] Blast the thing with your wand to finish it off.
[d] Leave the sword in its morbid lodgings and examine the room.
[e] __________

A
just get your wand ready incase to get back up... or has friends.

B!

B? B sounds good.

B-b-b-bandwagon!

B. But do it lewdly.

You plant a foot on the zombie's oozing chest and yank your blade out of her forehead. It comes away with a gush of blood, soupy and half-congealed.
She grabs your leg and tries to peel your boot off. Two more hasty stabs in the face and she finally lies restful.
"Smooth."
You look up and see Diajua looking down at you through the skeleton of the roof's bearing beams.
"You couldn't have helped?"
"And miss your manful display?"
You tut and examine the room you shouldered into for the first time.
It appears that the Nadeaus were a well-to-do family, before the zombie business. Their furniture is carved and well-lacquered, and their table has a knitted cloth with doily-lace edges. Tiny knitted patterns in the shape of Veve, the sigils of the Loa.
The table itself has been crushed into matchwood by a thick chunk of ceiling, but no house is perfect.

This is their front room, by the looks of it, and papa's black coat and pork-pie hat are both on the hanger pole by the door. An ember has found its way into the coat pocket, and is burning with a fitful, silver light.
There was a grandfather clock on the wall, here, but it has tipped forward and lies smashed across the floor. You wonder what it sounded like when that timeteller fell over. There's a couple chairs, one a rocker, next to the fallen clock, and a spiderweb mosaic of broken glass is scattered at their feet.

[a] There's a door to the kitchen on the far wall, hanging slightly ajar. The peach-colored paint on it is bubbling and sloughing off.
[b] There are stairs down into the basement to your right. Wood planks stretched over stone. A thermal stripe of cool air wafts across to you.
[c] To the left, through a smoking chiffon-curtained archway, is the dining room with the smashed table. There's a slatted door to the playroom through there.
[d] You could, of course, search this room further for anything useful, but the longer you take the less likely the family's survival becomes.

Dump the ember out of your pocket first, and make absolutely sure your coat didn't catch. If it did, cut off the burning part. Let's not take risks with unusual kinds of fire.

All right. If we're trying to find the family... we gotta think which way they would have gone.

b, maybe? A basement is good an defensible. The foundation can't burn, there's usually only one entrance to guard, and there are tools to use as weapons.

Although it might be worth taking a moment to listen, and see if you hear any activity from any direction before heading off.

>>536484

B. Stone basement's probably the safest place to hide in case of a fire if the building is falling down, air concerns aside.

Shout down there and see if anyone responds. Don't need a jumpy survivor with a gun mistaking you for one of the zombies.

B

@ Brom 2013/08/21(Wed)23:15 No. 536561 ID: 4652c9
File 137715210140.png - (144.79KB , 800x600 , 9.png )

The ember isn't an ember at all.
It's a little cloth bag, stitched up all around with black horsehair. Whatever is inside is glowing, warm, and granular to the touch.

You stand in the doorway and holler down:

"Hey! Nadeaus! Papa Nadeau mama Nadeau baby Nadeau doggy Nadeau! There's loa about, Grand Hommes! It's safe to come out!

Down below in the darkened cellar something metal falls over and clatters on the floor.
There's no other sound.

[a] Head downstairs. Unless Diajua gets off the roof she won't be able to cover you in the basement.
[b] Turn back from the basement and go somewhere else.
[c] __________

There's a zombie down there. B. Then D. The kitchen is likely a blaze, so opening the door might cook you.

B
Yell down there your leaving so if anyone is stuck down there with a zombie you might want to say something now cause you're probably not coming back.

A. There's a chance there's someone down there, they're just afraid to respond or don't trust your words.

"Okay," you say. "Well, I'mma go now! If you're stuck with a zombie down there, last call! Okay? Okay. Shanti!"

"Wait." A small, terrified voice from below. "Who is that?"

[a] "A friend, here to help."
[b] "A great death loa, here to fix this mess."
[c] "A windowcleaner. Your front panes are a disgrace."
[d] "I could ask you the same question."
[e] ___________

A. They're scared, no need for theatrics.

B, we still have that skull on us, and we don't need it scaring them off.

...although I'm not sure how reassuring "I'm a death loa" is to a terrified child.

D

>>537341
We could just say "I'm here to help".

>>537328

B's a little too melodramatic. A and/or D.

"I'm a friend," you say, taking a step down the stairs. "I'm here to help."

"You're too late."

"Can I come down?" you ask, exchanging a look with Diajua.

"Yes."

You walk carefully down the steep staircase.
Halfway to the basement you need to clamber over a thick wooden table that has been pushed up into the entryway.

On the other side, in an ashy corner, surrounded by thread-strung animal teeth and sawdust stitched dolls, huddle a stony-faced man, a quaking woman, and a barefoot child without half his skull.

The child is pale and dead.

[a] Bring him back (usable twice a day).
[b] Petition the Baron to bring him back (supplication; once a day)
[c] "I'm sorry."
[d] "What happened here?"
[e] "There's two of you safe, anyway. Stay down here."
[f] __________

[f] Ah well, the Baron, he'll be bringin' back everyone who's taken a little trip into the deadlands due to this misfortune around here, said so himself. Could bring the child back now, but best wait 'till all is safe again. Don't want anyone having to be brought back twice, now.

A. If there's anyone who deserves you to fix them getting killed in this mess, it's a child.

>>538556
did he now? i don't remember that. if he did then f.
if he did not then a.

>>538549
A.

A

We have it might as well use it at least once.

>>538576

Yup, he did. Check >>535330

I'm inclined to second/third/fourth F. Situation's still a little risky. At least get them out of zombie territory first?

Voting F. We gotta save our limited deathraisngs for when it will help us actually take care of the situation at hand. The kid'll be revived later on when the baron comes round to clean up the other half of his mess.
Tell them as much, then get them to the safety of the church.

Distant promises of later help aren't going to inspire much faith in these parents. Nor get them to offer us any kind of help.

...besides, do we really trust the Baron to clean this all up just right? He did cause this mess, after all. Sometimes you gotta take matters into your own hands if you want 'em done right. And if there's anyone who deserves us making sure things work out right, it's a child.

Stop hoarding the fenix downs instead of using them when they're needed, guys.

>>538731
>Needed
mate, how on earth is a two year old gonna be of any use to us? Spoiler: It won't.
We gotta use them WHEN ITS IMPORTANT. as you yourself JUST SAID. Kids are all well and good man, but in this scenario we gotta ration it for peeps who are actually going to help us in some way beyond making us feel good.

>>538731
>do we really trust the Baron to clean this all up just right?
He's The Baron, with all the competency that implies! at least when he's sober.
We can all trust the baron's wife to smack his shit if he forgets a single kid.

>>538731

It's not about getting them to help us, or about hoarding. We're here to help them and get them to safety.

Another problem here is that wailing kids might just wind up drawing attention from the walking dead.

So, unless it has to be done right here, right now, for whatever reason... then at least get them to safety first, before bringing the kid back.

You extend a bony hand. "We have to get you out of here. Up you come."

The ashen-faced couple shrink back from you. The woman's knucles whiten around her child's slack wrist.

"Baron Samedi will bring him back. He'll bring everyone you lost to this back. But we need to get you to safety, mon hommes."

She buries her head in his chest. Her shoulders shake.
Her husband shakes his head.

[a] Relent, and bring the child back.
[b] "Fine. Stay down here. You die, I guess he'll just bring you back too."
[c] "Come upstairs or I'll drag you upstairs. All three of you."
[d] "Please."
[e] "Bondye's Balls. If you hommes give up this easy, I don't see as how you're worth saving. You're alive, aren't you? Just make another one, or something. Come on."
[f] _______________

Gee, what did I say.

C'mon, bring the kid back. These humans need more than faith, they need proof. then we can get them back to safety and they can keep the hopes of the others up.

...hopes that will be hopefully fulfilled. I'm still not thinking the baron is very reliable.

Bring the child back, but be clear that this is an exception and most of the newly dead will have to wait for Samedi.

A

whelp there goes our tough guy image. Now we have to go find more zombies to raze to build it back up.

[F]: You're a big guy, clasp the woman's mouth shut and drag her out so she'll still hold onto the child, and the man will follow in rage, making your job easier.

Brom 2013/09/02(Mon)22:58 No. 539192 ID: 8aedac
File 137818792925.png - (120.00KB , 800x600 , 10.png )

You relent, and pick the dead boy up.

He's surprisingly light. The limbs dangle loose and rubber-cool.

"You don't need to do this," whispers Diajua. "He'll bring them back."
"I know," you say. You tilt the head back. One eyelid lolls grotesquely open. "But sometimes belief isn't enough, ma belle."
"You have a funny old heart, LaCroix." Diajua touches your back. "Even if it doesn't beat so much, any more."
You click your teeth together and examine the little black body in your arms.

That's one difference, you think, as Diajua looks over your shoulder, that matters more to you than it strictly should to a Ghede Loa.
Life must make life. No one can be born from what's already died.

You exhale, and as you exhale the boy's spirit is pulled up from below into your diaphragm and out of your whistling nosebone.

The bone seals and the flesh reknits. The color instantly returns to his cheeks. He is healthy, well, alive, and fast asleep.

This trick absolutely kills at parties.

You lower him gently to the ground, and his mother rushes to him, wailing enough to jolt him awake.
He coughs, and says, "Hi."
"Hi," you say.
"You didn't," the mother says, sweeping him into an unabashed bear hug. "You didn't abandon us. The loa didn't abandon us."
"The loa will never abandon you," you say. "Or we'd have nothing to do but sit around and drink all d-"

She hugs you too, muffling you in her copiously fleshed embrace. "The old ways." She's getting your coat very wet. "The old ways. We prayed. We stuck the pin. You didn't abandon us. The old ways."
You try to salvage some grace in detaching her. "Wasn't nothing. Yes. Okay. You're welcome." Diajua giggles behind you.
"You saved our boy." The father has his hands crossed stone-like across his kid's chest, as the freshly alive boy blinks the grave-sleep from his eyes. The lines stoicism has chiseled into his face try to hide his emotion, and fail. His eyes are twinking on the edges. "We will serve the loa in any way we can."

[a] "Can you fight?"
[b] "Know anything about that church business?"
[c] "You have anything useful for me, homme?"
[d] Show him the cloth bag. "This thing, from your coat pocket. What is it?"
[e] "Come with us. Hospital's safe. We'll take you there."
[f] "Stay down here. I'll be back."
[g] ___________

>>539192
Umm... D, B, E.

D and B

it's always nice to have some info. Never know when it will save your ass

>>539194
Seems reasonable.

>>539192
Huh. In retrospect, I should have thought of this outcome from reviving the kid.
Anyhow, I think if they are able to fight well enough we could use their help finding other fleshbags and get them to safety.
If not, then STRAAAAAIGHT to e.

We need information more than anything. Tracking down the idiots taking advantage of the plague is our main priority.

So B,D and then E.

"For starters, you can tell me what this is." You pull the little bag from your pocket and hold it up.
The father starts. "That, uh, what is that?"
"It was in your coat."
"I've not seen it before."
"LYING COCKBREATH YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS YOU'RE AN UNGRATEFUL WORMPICKING FUCKING LIAR!" Your pocket bounces and vibrates. The mother covers her laughing son's ears.
"Just a little loa trick there, frere," you say. "But I do need to know."
"It's sleeping snuff," says the father. He wipes his face off. "It'll, uh. It'll put you right out all quiet."
"Michel snores," his wife says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's to keep from waking me. He's a gentleman."
"They didn't ask about why," says Michel.
"They deserve to know," she protests.
"Some kind of powder, then?" You bauble it up and down in the air with one claw. "How much is in here?"
"Two doses' worth," says Michel, watching it rise and fall.

[a] "You want it back, then, homme?"
[b] "I'm holding onto it, if you don't mind. A little knockout dust goes a long way."

B
think if it as payment for helping your kid.

>>539316
[a] "You want it back, then, homme?"

>>539323
Yeah, I get the impression this stuff is a bit expensive. Might be smart to let them hold onto it, if only to keep some trust goin'.
I say A. Let em keep it.
(plus, I dont think zombies sleep, exactly...)

"You want it back, then, homme?"
He nods, and you toss him the little bag.
"Thank you, sir," he says.
"Sir, now, is it?" says Diajua.

"You know anything about what's going on up there, at the church?" you ask.
"Not I, sir, no," says Michel. "Our family doesn't cotton with the Bondye of Abraham."

"The Bondye of Abraham is the same Bondye above everyone," says Diajua. "Some people just have
funny ways of trying to get to him, is all."
"I don't know about any of that, sir." Michel sniffs. "You could ask my brother in law about the church, I suspect."
"He cleans," says the wife. "Every saturday. He goes in through the postern and dusts and such."
"The postern?"
"Little back door," she says. "The preachers go in and out through it."
"Is it locked?"
"I suspect it is, sir loa," she says. "But we have the key."

[a] Take the key and lead the humans to the hospital.
[b] Take the key and keep the humans in the basement.
[c] Take the key and press-gang the humans into battling off the undead.
[d] Respect church property and leave the key.
[e] _________

>>539362
a!

Hm. Could've been useful for knocking out whatshisface up in the church, but no matter.

A. See the family to safety before moving on. Their safe return will be good for overall morale.

A

You take the humans to the hospital, weaving the bobbing line of father, mother, and son through the flames and the rubble.

Once or twice Diajua wordlessly detaches from the group and moves ahead to visit astonishing bloodshed on a zombie before the child can see it.

"The boy's already crossed the threshold and back again," you say, as she returns the third time flicking fragments of tooth from her rifle butt. "There's little that will shock him now, don't you think."

"Nightmares are nightmares. I had them, when I was alive." Diajua leans into the strap and slings the gun back across her shoulder. "And death is a gentle thing. Dying, maybe not."
"You have some skull on your collar, ma belle."
She brushes it away. "Thanks."

Commander Patchy of the gummy brigade and his second command Thimbi the drunk part as you lead family Nadeau into the hospital.
"You've saved them, have you?" Patchy is chewing something black and foul-scented.
"He did more," says Michel. "He brought Gerard back. From the other side."
"Like Baron Samedi himself," says his wife.
"Izzat so." Patchy chews, pensively. "Izzat so. Well, tall-and-bones, you're to be thanked for it."

[a] "It was nothing. Keep them safe."
[b] "It would have been easier with more cutlery. Can I take more from that pile you're all roosting in?"
[c] "It was the will of the loa. I'm just the agent, homme."
[d] "I scratched your back. Now you mine. Saddle up, old timers. I need manpower."
[e] "I want to talk to Fabien again. Where can I find him?"
[f] _____________

c

C.

Did we want to check if the brother in law had more information on the church, or should we just go already?

C. Now get to the church already.

>>539524
It might be a good idea, but Mr. Nadeau never mentioned who their brother-in-law actually is.

E if Fabian is said brother-in-law, otherwise C since there's likely not much more he could tell us at this point.

"It was the will of the loa." You tip your hat as you turn to leave. "I'm just the agent, homme."
"Where you off to, now?" asks Patchy.
"Church, frere," says Diajua. "We're going to get some answers there, I think."
"You be careful, now," says Patchy. "There's something wrong, thereabout."
"Something wrong just about everywhere." You squeeze past Diajua and out the door. "Thank you for it, though, friendo."

Diajua fires off a lazy salute and follows you. "Whadda coot," she says. "Of course there's something wrong. There's a killer holed up in there."
"I don't know, Di." You take a slow measure to your steps. "I think I can feel it. There's more to it."

The church is in sight. There's a pallid glow cutting out of the stained glass, and the color bleaches out to a sick green. The swooping lines of sealant in them look queer and skeletal.

As you pass through the wrought-iron gate into the courtyard, there's not a zombie in sight.
"Ooh." Diajua shudders. "I think I feel it too, LaCroix. Let's get this business done and be out.

[a] Knock on the front door.
[b] Upper window.
[c] Climb to the roof.
[d] Circle round the back to the postern. You have Michel's spare key.
[e] ________

D, I guess. Might as well use the key.

D it be brother

Give that door the D.

>>540351
D is what we want to Do.

The postern door opens into a close, wood-paneled room, with a stuffy desk in one corner. On the desk is a marble cross, a couple of candles, a yellowing sheaf of papers, and a thin knife with half the hilt snapped away.

Sitting in the chair is a neat little man in crisp, collared shirtsleeves. His half-moon glasses hang crooked from one ear, but he isn't bothering to adjust them because he is dead. His eyes are milky and curdled and looking at the ceiling.

There is a door leading out into the rest of the church. Standing against it is a zombie, repeatedly thwacking his head into it. There is a sludgy dark spot on the mahogany where his head has cracked open and dribbled some of its contents against the wood.

Huh, a zombie as a signalling detection system. Worryingly clever for someone who would summon zombies to begin with.

Can we get a look at the paper without alerting the zombie?

ignore the zombie unless it becomes a problem then just see if there's anything in this room that could be helpful.

Hmm. Can we tell who the dead man is? Or how long he's been gone? He's not the one we were looking for, right?

If it won't prompt the headbanger to attack, I'd think taking a quick look at the papers isn't a bad idea.

The zombie is in a shredded dress shirt, with several long, raking lacerations in the back. You see the white glint of bone in one of his cuts.

He is disconcertingly fresh.

You creep your way across the room, your silver-toed shoes compressing the shaggy carpet. The zombie continues banging, ignorant of your presence.

The papers on the desk are mostly scratched tithe earnings.
For a hands-off kind of pantheon, these people sure get plenty of cash.

There is an unfinished note, perhaps a self-reminder, at the bottom of the front page, where the blood from the stiff at the desk is congealing and curling the paper up.
"We must see about Julia", it says.

ssssneak up and coup de gras the zombie? Perhaps a heavy chop to the neck?

It's possible that the crazy-asshole dude we're looking for now is this zombie, do we have any way to get at the mind of someone that has joined the shambling masses?

How loud is the zombie head banging? I still suspect that it was set up to make noise regularly so the guy inside will know when it stops making sounds. If that is the case, we will need to wait until after a head bang to move, then move fast.

You time the bashing of the zombie's head, and between two sickening slaps you slip into the church, beckoning Diajua to follow.

The church is voluminous, dark, and empty. You step between holy books and over a dead woman of about 60 years old. Her bony fingers are wrapped tight and rigor-mortis around a crucifix.

The green light is coming from the organ, near the front of the church. It pours in snaking eddies of wispy marshfire out of the vaulted brass pipes.

There's a man sitting at the organ, leaning on the keys. It makes no sound.

[a] "Hello."
[b] "You shouldn't be here, should you?"
[c] Approach silently; try to get a better look.
[d] Blast him with the wand.
[e] _____________

A and B, I think?

C
and have the wand at the ready

What I want to suggest is
E: Start humming, "Take me out to the Ball Game," loudly. Fuck with the musician doing something like this by screwing up their concentration. This leads to hilarious, violent overreaction, and we could use the entertainment.

Sadly, that would be a bad idea because we've halfway promised we'd give this dude a fair chance to realize we'll stomp him (probably effortlessly) if we feel like it. Instead,
E: "Homme, I'm busy cleaning up the mess my boss made last night and here I come to see you trying to make it messier. I don't like that, not a bit, and by rights I should be cleaning you up. However, your brother made me promise to try not to kill you, so I'll offer you the chance to come with us and help us clean up the mess, instead of us cleaning you up first and proceeding with the rest. What's it gonna be?"

Hmm, you could also blast the organ. Then he can't do anything sneaky with it.

>>541962
Don't go blasting (or bludgeoning, or touching) unknown magic objects in rooms full of sinister magic if you can avoid it.

@ Brom 2013/09/26(Thu)21:00 No. 542295 ID: 13f1fe
File 138025444656.png - (145.20KB , 800x600 , 11.png )

"You know 'Take Me Out To The Ballgame', Homme?" You walk toward the organ. "That's a nicer tune than the one you've been playing, hmmm?"

The man turns his head. His eyes are sunken. They gleam with something predatory and supernatural.
"No," he says.
"Now, Julian."
"Yes?" he says.
"Fabian made me promise to try and keep you alive," you say. "All things being just you should be dead already, but I'm giving you this chance to come here quiet and even and we'll take you home."
"Fabian," says Julian, pushing another key on the organ, "should be worried about Fabian." Another thin billow of willowisp light curls up from the pipes.
"We're here to clean up this mess." Diajua steps up to your side and unslings her rifle. "You're going to either come along with us or we mop you up with all the deadwalkers. Understand?"
"I'm staying here," says Julian. "I like the acoustics. Can you hear that?" He pushes another key in.
"Can't say I do, Loopy," you say. "Staying isn't an option."
"Then why don't you come over here," says Julian, "and take me?"

[a] Come over there and take him.
[b] Diajua comes over there and takes him.
[c] Blast him with the wand.
[d] Blast the organ with the wand.
[e] Shoot him.
[f] Threaten him.
[g] Reason with him.
[h] _____________

F
threaten to do D but don't tell him you plan on doing it with the wand. Just say you'll shoot it or blow it to hell or something.

G, first. We can always default to force later, if we have to.

"Do you know what I am, homme, and are you really so arrogant as to think you have any choices beyond what I just offered you?"
If he isn't begging forgiveness quick it's time to set him and the damned organ on fire.

Ask why he has to do this, and say that Fabian misses him.

>>542295
set the organ on fire. it's obviously a source of power

>>542295
Whatever you do, don't waste any more words. This is a time for action.

I favor blasting the organ, as it may allow us to take him alive like we said we would.

>>542323
This. Blast the organ. Heh, if he gets upset, say, "Aw, guys usually love it when their organs get blown!"

The organ blasts apart.

The brass pipes warp and crack under the heat. The keys ping off and away like ivory pop-rockets.
Julian does not flinch. The blast whips his mat of white hair back against his head and flattens his grimy workshirt against his body.

He turns around on the bench to look at you. The willowisp smoke from his ruined organ curls up and around his legs.

"You interrupted the show," he says.

"The show's over, homme." You juggle the wand in your bony palms to cool it down.

Diajua clucks her tongue and unslings her rifle.

The banging starts up on the doors, and the keening groan of the waiting dead outside rises in the pit of your eardrums.
Julian shakes his head. "My audience isn't going to like that." He stands up and starts walking toward you. Shreds of the mist still cling to him. His bare feet make little platting thumps against the stone floor. "They like when I play for them."

[a] Shoot him, Diajua.
[b] Let him come closer.
[c] "That's far enough, Homme. Stay where you are."
[d] "You'll have to give them their money back, boy. You're coming with us."
[d] ____________

A.

Aw shit, there's a zombie in here, too- the one banging its head against the door. It's gonna be up in your grill quite soon.

d

Crazy man was keeping them zombies placated, rather than stirring them up. That's a good thing, sorta.

yeah, i'm not sure he summoned them, looks like he was trying to keep them under control and placated.

or alternatively he was trying to controlling them into munching on people.

one of the two.

[e], [d]
"The only audience you could've had is one that should be on the other side, homme. Now your choice is to either help us put them back where they belong or we will put you where you belong. Make up your mind quickly now, before we choose for you."

"You'll have to give them their money back, Homme," you say. "Now you can help us put the poor souls back in the ground, or you can come with us quiet and do what you're told, or Diajua can shoot you in the head, and it makes little difference to me which is which you choose."

"We both know I'm not choosing your company," Julian says. "We knew it right when you walked in here, ghede loa."
An eddy of mist-tinged wind brushes across his shirt again, and you catch a glimpse of something slung across his chest on the inside, tied to a knotted cord of bayou grass.

It's glowing softly next to his heart. You don't know what it is.

"You made a mistake to come after me, sir," Julian says. His voice is low and even. "I am sure not the one who brought these ghouls up and about. I just played the music for them." He looks back at the ruin of his organ and shakes his head. "You ought to go."
"That organ was all you had to keep you safe from the restless dead, Homme."
"I'll be fine, loa," says Julian. He looks behind you. "Perhaps you should fear for yourself."

[a] Turn around.
[b] Shoot him.
[c] Run the old man down and cold-cock him.
[d] Heed his advice and get the hell out.
[e] _________

Get out. He's not the man we came for.

D.

This is what happens when we blow up the magic item before knowing what it does...
Hmm. Seems like he didn't commit the crime we came after him for (as even a technically true statement of innocence based on possession or multiple personalities would count as a lie of omission as far as truth-head is concerned). Something is up with him, but it would be crazy to just shoot him when we have no idea what.

Anyway, sidestep and [a] look behind you. He is likely hinting about that headbanging zombie sneaking behind you.

"Perhaps I was a little hasty in trying to stop you here. Tell me frere, what were you doing with the music?"

And casually stop the zombie that's sneaking up on you.

>I am sure not the one who brought these ghouls up and about.
[e] You speak as if you know who did.

Really, it makes sense. He's the lackey, not the master. That's where he got his charm necklace, why he's entertaining and not afraid of the dead, and why he's confident something can hurt you. He's got a master.

You pivot round into the face of the headbanger zombie and plant your foot on his chest, pushing him into a sprawling heap on the floor.

Julian takes advantage of the distraction.

You turn back just in time to see the flash of green as the cord whips from Julian's chest to his hand and then wraps itself tight around Diajua's wrist. It glows pulsing and ominous.

"What the hell?" Diajua says.

"You're mine, loa," Julian says.

"Like hell." Diajua tugs her arm sharply back, pulling Julian across the aisle. His feet slide and trip across the yellowing pages of the books on the floor, but he digs his heels into a bible and two pamphlets and holds fast.

"Heel," he says, and then: "Now be a good loa and take that friend of yours apart."

"You crazy- uh, oh." The light in Diajua's eyesockets flares bright green. "Awww, son of a bitch."

She takes a step toward you, bayonet pointed toward your chest. "You may want to run, LaCroix."

[a] Take her advice and hightail it.
[b] Fight her.
[c] Kill Julian.
[d] See if you can torch the cord.
[e] See if you can get past her and cut it.
[f] Raise a supplication to the loa (once per day)
[g] _______________

>>546088
I'm thinking F.

This is about as fubar as it can get, so.

We don't know that torching Julian is 100% sure to finish this, I sure wouldn't have predicted he could control a loa. Considering we don't have TIME to dick around here with a crisis to solve we should go all out to fix this: Yeah, I think we should call for support here, our girlfriend is much more badass than we are and it seems jackass here isn't done with being a jackass.

F-Ask for somebody to bail you outta this mess-this guy was prepared to be trouble.

How the fuck did he do that? We're up against some serious firepower--I'm thinking this may actually be a civil war. Get the Baron down here. He needs to step in.

...what does the supplication to the loa do? We used it before to raise the child from the dead. Maybe it has other applications (general purpose wish / miracle?) but they haven't been mentioned before, and rezing anyone isn't going to help, here.

I wouldn't use the fire wand. Her domain is fire, and she might have some way to interfere. (And/or it would 'kill' her if we blasted her). And our aim hasn't been steady enough to think we could hit just the cord and burn the thing off of her.

Killing Julian is unreliable. Maybe it would free her, or maybe all it would do is stop him from issuing new orders. Fighting her is stupid.

That leaves hightailing it, trying to cut the thing off of her, or the supplication, if that has any applicability here.

You back away from the waving bayonet. You cast your mind into the spirit realm.
"Loa who watch over everybody, hear my plea.
Loa. Hey.
Yo. Loa."

"SORRY. Sorry." You think that's Agwe's voice on the other side, he of the paddling chair and the quick wit. "LaCroix? That you, frere?"

"You got it. Agwe?"
"The same. What can I do you for?"
"Take a look out my eyes for a moment."
You feel Agwe budge into your head, and take a peek out of your skull.
"That's no good."
"You're telling me."
"Is that your girl, LaCroix?"
"At times."
"Why not just torch the gentleman?"
"I'd sooner spare him and that fancy rope of his."
"Well, let's see. You want him to drop it, then, no?"
"I wouldn't be opposed."
"A distraction might be in order, then, boy, if you don't want to set the man himself on fire. Those holy books and such he's standing on. They look mighty flammable, don't they?"
"You're suggesting I burn a book of Bondye in his own house?"
"I'm suggesting maybe Bondye would let this one slide, if you're giving Mr. Murder there the hot foot."

[a] See if you can set the books at Julian's feet on fire.
[b] That's a dumb idea, Agwe.

>>546132
A'ight. A.

[A]. I hear Bondye approves of being merciful, so he'd probably be sympathetic to attempts to avoid just killing the man.

A, but still complain with B. (It's not as if you have a better idea after all, bad as this one is).

"Hmmmm. It's a bad option, but it's better than what I came up with, which was running and trying to set up an ambush."

Do it.

Huh; advice wasn't quite what I would have expected out of "supplication", (thought it was more of a Deus ex Machina thing), but whatever. I guess do it.

>>546462
What, you seriously expect the loa to just do miracles when mundane advice will serve? That's greedy thinking, frere.

>>546601
>What, you seriously expect the loa to just do miracles when mundane advice will serve? That's greedy thinking, frere.

You just resolved many IRL years of religious confusion. Seriously, thank you!

>>546660
As an atheist my general religious advice on the topic of miracles is to look up and understand 'confirmation bias.'

"That's dumb, Agwe."
"Shut up and try it, fou. Dodge left."
You twist round just in time for Diajua's bayonet to punch through your chest and in between two ribs. She stabs you about four more times before you break away and she realizes that's not really doing anything to a man made all of bones.
You're a big man, and used to getting knocked around a little, so by the time the rifle butt connects with your stomach you,re ready, and you use the crushing momentum of it to drop prone, sticking the fire wand awkwardly between your knees.
With a snap of your wrist and a fuzzy pop of energy out the tip of your branch, the bibles at Julian's feet burst into flame, and immediately start climbing up his pantleg. The fire's hungry, but it's eating on the leather and paper, not the man himself. He'll live.
He squawks like a hopping grey gull, though, and as he tries desperately to shimmy the fire away, the cord in his hand snaps taut and then slacks as his fingers fumble. It's wrapped still around his wrist, but his grip has slackened.
Diajua freezes above you, the tip of the bayonet inches from your eyesocket. She wavers back and forth.

[a] Push Diajua over and onto Julian. She'll forgive you. Probably.
[b] Scramble past Diajua and try to wrestle the cord away from Julian.
[c] Cut his arm off. Just because you want to spare him doesn't mean it'll be in one piece.
[d] Violence is not the answer! Try to talk him into handing the cord over!
[e] __________

>>546699
C. No real reason not to, it will subdue him much faster than anything else, even if he doesn't feel pain for some reason. Looks like he does, though. So it will be even more effective!

D.
"Hombre, I'll just get on outta here if you'll quit messing with Diajaua! Knowing where to go next would be mighty nice though!"

>>546699
C. No real reason not to, it will subdue him much faster than anything else, even if he doesn't feel pain for some reason. Looks like he does, though. So it will be even more effective!

Arms are a total pain in the ass to hack off, especially with, what, that sword? That you don't even know how to use properly? Total waste of time and effort.

B) Wrestle the cord off him, or E) cut through the cord.

Push her over. She gave you a beating, she can take a little indignity.

...remember to apologize, out loud, to Bondye after this fight is over.

>>546712
Seconding this one.

Pushing our girlfriend on a guy standing on burning books seems like a bad move. Trying to hack off his arm is hard because it's a small, moving target unless we pin the rest of him. If he was prone to behaving nicely because we ask him to that would have already happened and we wouldn't be facing this particular confrontation.
So, by process of elimination we're left with wrestling him, or coming up with a write-in. The sanest write-in we've got so far (and are likely to get) is to chop up the rope, but do we want to do that?

You pirouette past your stunned sweetheart and neatly sever the cord around her wrist.
It might have been nice to keep the thing for yourself, but the vodou snaps to nothing and the spell is instantly broken.

Diajua drops to her knees, cussing the air blue.

Julian falls flat on his kiester, the fire still lapping at his leg.

[a] Help put the fire out and pull him to his feet.
[b] Give him a face full of fist.
[c] Give him a gut full of steel.
[d] Give him a stern earful.
[e] ____________

>>546953
ABD.

>>546954
Yeah, that roughly covers it, although the violence against him should be mostly goal-oriented instead of emotionally-oriented. Also, we haven't put out the fire or apologized to Bondye yet.

You pull Julian to his feet and knock him back down to the floor with one bony fist. He collapses senseless to the floor as you grind the smoldering pages into the stone beneath one silvershod bootheel.
"Sorry, Big Man," you mutter.

Diajua mantles to her feet and stumbles to your side. "That was unpleasant." She kicks Julian in the ribs. He rolls over and moans.

"Crusty old bag of bones," says Diajua.
"I could levy the same charges at you, ma belle," you say.
"Not if you value your coccyx." Diajua gives you a light slap on the tailbone. "Let's finish this and get some skin back on you."

[a] Take Julian and dump him at the hospital.
[b] Take Julian and dump him in the river.
[c] Leave Julian here for his dissatisfied audience and jet.

A-but ask him why he tried to control the girl. We HAD gotten the point and would have left at that point.

A. We need some answers. Yet, as much as wringing answers out of him may help, save question time for when you're all at the hospital. Plenty of company outside, remember?

a. We want to find out how the heck he was able to do that, which means we need him alive to question.

Take him to the hospital and question him, yeah. It seems we may need to get his brother to help him cough up useful details, or him to make his brother cough up useful details--either way.

[A], but first check him for any other tricks he might have hidden on him.

>>547033
Don't check him, ask him. We can detect lies, remember?

>>547086
Oh, yeah, that's right. Which means he was either being completely truthful (or at least believed what he was saying) with all the crazy talk before.

"Why did you have to go and do that rope trick of yours, homme?"

You lean in and look at his bruising face, as Diajua hauls him through the streets. The remnants of his magic cord bind his hands and feet.
He turns away from you, sullen and quiet.
"We'd gotten the message," you say. "We were going to leave."

"You were trying to stop the happening," Julian says. "You'll ruin everything."

"What will we ruin?"

He says nothing.

"You got any more trinkets on you, homme?"
"No," he says.

"FFFFUCKING LIES YOU'RE A CLEFTFACE LYING FUCKBLOSSOM YOU PUKING WORM TURD FUCK." Your pocket vibrates and howls.
You hold up a hand. "Hold on, Diajua. I'mma frisk the fou."
Diajua stops and turns around. "We pulling his pants down?"
"It's not in my pants," protests Julian.
"IT IS"
"Listen, homme--"
"IT IS AND HE'S A LLLLYING PILE OF GREAT APE SPUNK COOLING IN A SHIT-CAKED..."
"Listen, homme," you say, furiously open-palm thwacking your coat pocket. "It'll be easier if you just tell me where it is."
"Damn you, loa."
"A few have, frere. It never sticks."
"Down the cuff of my pants," he says. "A card."

You pluck a playing card from the sewn cuff of his pants. Looks like a joker card. Idiot-looking fella riding a bicycle.
On the other side someone's etched out in pencil a Veve, a religious symbol for a loa. Everyone has one. It's sort of their magical signature. A veve acts as a kind of beacon. If you have it, you can use it in rituals to harness the loa's power. Hommes love it, but you've little need. You don't recognize this one.
Even its presence makes the card tingly and warm to the touch, though.

As you straighten up, Diajua taps you on the shoulder.
"Look," she says, and points up at the ridge from whence you came, toward the graveyard.
A pulsing light picks out the overcast clouds out there in a swamp-gas glow.

[a] Take Julian to the hospital first and foremost. No investigation yet.
[b] Whatever it is, you need to get to it quick. Take the trussed-up homme with you.

Hurry him along to the hospital, but ask him a couple questions before we get there, and this one before we leave: "Anything else we would want to take away from you?"

Other questions to ask would be, "Do you know what's up with that pulsing light?"
"What exactly are we ruining and why shouldn't we ruin it?"

Dump the man at the hospital. Maybe his kin can get him to talk more than you can. Bringing a prisoner along to the fight always just ends in getting them killed before they can talk, anyways. And you're all out of get out of grave free cards for the day.

If you're really worried about investigating the spooky stuff, you could split up.

Take him to the hospital quickly and tell him if he wants us to not ruin this "happening" then he had better tell you what is going on.

Because if he does not you will have to go poke your nose in things and probably break everything.

Also tell him you are being very reasonable because the Baron just said to kill any magicians messing with things and here is is very much alive and not burned to death horribly.

A+other-ask him did he intend to use his powers selfishly.

Fabian pulls himself to his feet and limps over to you as you drag his bound brother in.
Diajua deposits Julian at the patchy toes of his calfskin boots. The crowd in the hospital gather round, unblinking and silent.

"That's your killer brother for you, Fabian," you say. "You'll see justice done, now, no matter what that means?"

"I will, loa," he says, and your shrunken head cries no foul.

"What were you trying to do, Julian?" you ask. "Were you directing these zombies?"
"Some," he says. "But I did nothing to bring them up."
"You certainly seized the opportunity."
He doesn't respond.
"Did you make them kill? With that organ of yours?"
"Some." He eyes your coat pocket.
"Why did you have to go do that, imbécile?"
"You have to tear down if you want to recreate," he says, through gritted teeth. "I was going to fix things after it was all through. We would have rebuilt."
"With you in charge, then?"
He nods. "It would have been better. I could have helped. Who will help us now?"
"The loa."
"We need no loa any more. Humanity helps itself."
"Be honest, Julian." You bend down to Julian's eye level, the tails of your coat curling into the dust on the floor. "You did this for yourself and yourself only, didn't you?"
"No," he says.
"Liessssss," hisses the shrunken head.
And it's smart enough to know it didn't need any cusses to make that one sting.

You stand up and turn smartly on your heels from Julian's ashy face, tip your hat to Patchy and Old Nimbi outside the hospital, and join Diajua on the street, looking up at the glowing ridge.
You can hear the faint sound of drums.

>>547327
Hmm. This could be a big problem. I think we'd better get somewhere high up to see over the ridge without being on it, to see what's going on over there.

Binoculars? Any decent cop car should have a pair I'd figure but how many of those left unattended have you passed?

If Agwe or any of the others are still game for answering questions, might be wise to consult them, too. They might know what's going on. Or at least have some kind of idea of what it might be.

>>547341
I figure we're all out of phone-a-friends.

>>547333
I think the area isn't that developed... or it might be earlier in earth's history... or both.

Do you have any other Loa powers at your and your GF's disposal? Can you go on back and get more friends from the other side?

>>547328
Capotille is too far down in the valley, and the graveyard is too far on the other side of the ridge for you to see it in town.
Folks just don't like to be reminded of their final lodgings, you guess.

>>547333
Cars? Not here. That's more or less for the rich, and especially after the Great Big War took most all of the gas and metal people had. You've heard some of the wealthier mainland hommes are awooga-ing all over the place, but not in Capotille.

>>547341
Everybody gets one a day. Them's the breaks. You're not sure if you even could reach Agwe at this point, and he gets grouchy if you badger him too much regardless.

>>547590
No friends on the other side, but you've done a lot to ingratiate the townsfolk. It might be possible to get a tidy little posse going at this point to investigate.

[a] Round up the hommes and break out the torches/pitchforks
[b] Go up the ridge on your own.

B. If it's a zombie uprising, no need to bring them canon fodder and reinforcements.

Besides, group management ain't exactly our strong suit.

Brom 2013/11/12(Tue)23:50 No. 547877 ID: 610c86
File 138432905086.png - (303.89KB , 800x600 , 12.png )

You're around halfway up the ridge when the brass starts up.

"What the hell?" Diajua cranes her neck. "I recognize that sound."
"From where?"
"Listen, fou." She gives you a light slap on the back of the head. "It's your crew."
"What?"

You listen closer.
That's Ermas' trumpet, unmistakably.
The glow intensifies, and solidifies, and then cresting the ridge you see them.

A troupe of ghede loa, whooping and singing, with a certain skinny black top hatted motherfucker leading them.

Ermas takes a break from blowing the brass to lead the chorus:

"Who's the lord of the dead
With the white Death-Skull's head
The cigar-smoking Law of the Land?

The man who's smooth talkin
And Vodou-path walkin
With a bottle of rum in his hand?

A hard partying ghost
With a skeletal host
Is it Anubis or Pluto or Charon?

Naw, they're all just fakes
So behold ye and quake
At the greatest death loa:"

"THE BARON," says the Baron. "Hoy, LaCroix. Miss me?"

>>547877
Hey boss man, things are mostly sorted out here. Got one of the perps, but he wan't working alone. He had this:

Then show him the card. Ask if he recognizes who it belongs to.

We got one of the guys behind it, and we are headed after what looks like his boss right over there in the cemetery. The guy had that card and a loa-controlling whip, and I would be surprised if there weren't more where those came from. (Particularly the whip. The guy over there probably has probably plotted an ambush by this point.)

There was also some newb magican trying to hoodoo the grave we rose out from. He's been baked crispy.

"Could definitely use the backup boss, because investigating this shit gets weirder and weirder. You wouldn't happen to know who might be stupid enough to hand out ropes that can control Loa, would you?"

>>547877
Miss seeing you standing on your own two stilts talking too much sense like yon touris rather than getting hand fed pillow-stuffing like a dying miser? Mwen pa séten. I think you'd have to have been sober if I'm supposed to miss you that way.

"Miss you? Je ne sais pas." You exchange glances with Diajua. "It was funny when you were hungover with a pillow in your face."

The loa in Samedi's train laugh. He clicks his tongue at them and flips you off.
"All right, cackling hens," he says. "Did you deal with the wannabe vodou slingers?"

"Sure thing, bossman." You scratch your neck. "One's locked up and one's char-broiled."
"Thought I smelled some barbecue when I came in." The Baron sniffs. "Well, you did a job of it, mon taureau furieux. Now why don't you and your little lady stand back, and I'll show you how a Death God handles some tall-dead-and-smellies."

He holds his arms up above his head, lets out a hissing cackle, and takes a caterwauling leap forward into a stilty lunge, pointing his fingers down at town.

A single piddly green spark falls out of one sleeve and drops to the ground.
Baron Samedi, great loa of death, blinks.

"Oh," he says. "Hmm."

Someone coughs.

>>548032

"Don't worry boss, it happens to all men sometimes. Particularly if they've been drinking."

Seems like the town is warded. How about we go in and take care of the zombies manually?

Show him the card if we haven't already. He could be the unlucky loa who's mark is on that card.
Alternatively, ask him if his mojo needed there to be an undead in the direction he shot at-we DID fry quite a few undead.

Maybe somebody was prepared for when you came knocking. He had some kinda freaky rope for making a loa puppet. And this. *show card*.

"Performance anxiety?" you ask.
"Shut up." Baron Samedi winds up again and executes another hopping hex. A weak puffing tendril of smoke and then nothing. "Shit."

"Could it have anything to do with this?" You hold up the veve.
The Baron squints at it. "I don't think so. No. That's just a fucking playing card, LaCroix."
"It has a veve."
"Everyone has a veve. My balls have a veve. Fuck veves. Where'd you find that?"
"Someone in the church. One of the zombie jockeys."

The ghede loa have gathered around. Hommel tips his hat to you. Ermas clears his throat.

"I don't get it," mutters the crouching Baron. "Where did my mastery of the Dead go? And furthermore where did my mastery of hangovers go?" You shrug as he straightens up.
"Something fishy is going on," says the Baron. "I couldn't have just set it down somewhere, or, or given it away, or-" And then below the etched skull all the color drains from his face.

"Oh, fuck," he says.

And that's when you remember.