Chapter One, Part Two: Last Prayers, and All is Ready
Lazily sit in a wagon and take a snooze, shotgun in hand.
[4]You clamber into a wagon as the others wander off to pray or something, cradling your shotgun in your arms as you tip your hat down for a quick bit of shut-eye. You... Do a pretty good job, too. That's some refreshin' snoozing.
She found a comfortable place to sit and waited for the call to start moving.
[2]Still upset about being ignored by Mister Dryman, you climb aboard the equipment wagon alongside Nowan, although he does little to cheer you up, being sound asleep and snoring loudly. Choosing not to disturb him- a man needs his sleep after all- you [3] find a rather comfy pile of sacks of flour and such and make yourself a nice seat, curling up with a good view out the back of the wagon. You sulk.
Get the horses ready and wait for the trip to get going.
[5] Being such a good friend to the Ranch's horses, you have no trouble getting them to come with you and shortly have them gathered up near the wagons, ready for the trip. You whisper a few sweet nothings to them, give a few of them a stroke on the mane and then find a convenient crate to sit on, waiting for the others.
Keethan just double-checked the wagons for any issues.
[6] You check over the wagons and find no real issues, although one of the planks on Mrs Dryman's wagon seems rather loose. Deciding it's best to be thorough, you go over it with a good few nails, firmly sticking it back in place.
Sure, you wasted your entire box of nails, but at least the wagon's not going to fall apart now, right? Right?!
Keep Waiting.
Not being a sociable type, you stay in your small room in the bunkhouse, nursing a bottle of whiskey and staring at the wall.
[2] Damnit, you hate this waiting... Sitting here, nothing to do... The memories...
Suddenly images flash through your mind.
The gunfire. January 8th, the date is clear as anything. The screams, the blood... That one girl who caught a bullet through the spine, trying to crawl away... The vicious, bloodthirsty gang firing at you, screaming for your deaths, screaming with pain as you gun them down... You see the face of Nowan Ilfideme, your 'friend', his eyes alight with the slaughter as you huddle behind the splintering wagon...Abruptly you snap back to the present with a gasp. You take a long slug of whiskey, hurl the empty bottle to shatter against the wall and squint your eyes shut to fight the visions. When you reopen them you glance towards the window... It looks like everyone's about ready to set off. Finally. You take a deep breath and stand up.
The reverend gathers everyone so inclined for a quick prayer before they set off...
[2]You draw a breath, feeling rather pious at the sight of the crowd of folk, heads bowed, listening attentively, and begin. "Oh mighty God, we are gathered here today to celebrate your mercy and love. We ask you..."
Mercy and love?! Ha! When had Rattlesnake Jack ever showed mercy? You push those distracting thoughts from your head and continue, although your words taste hollow in your mouth.
"...We ask you to watch over our journey and grant us your favour, so that we may come through the trials of our lives with renewed optimism, and hope..."
Hope? Hope?! Ahahahahaa! There is no
hope for you
, Jack. Your soul is as black as... You trail off for a moment, grimacing and taking a deep breath as you once again fight back the horrible feeling of your past returning to you. You manage to silence the demons through force of will, but are conscious of concerned eyes on you as you finish the prayer.
After a few moments, with an 'Amen', you conclude your speech, reminding yourself your past is dead. You serve the Lord now, and you are atoning for your sins. What more could any man do? Still, you feel a bit uneasy at how easily your past can resurface.
Join the prayer, then gather everyone around and tell them that since I don't want to leave them behind where Merrick could get them, my family will be coming along with the rest of us. Stare sternly at anyone who looks disagreeing. Then tell them to get ready because it's time to leave.
Thoughts of your family, your ranch, your life fill your mind as you pray. You implore the Lord to protect them, to give
you strength to protect them, to guide you as you lead these people to a new life, to a chance of safety. [1] Surely it's a lot to ask. With people like Merrick around, killing and stealing, taking what they want and causing misery, is there really anyone up there? What's the point? You grumble out your amen, shake off these gloomy thoughts and speak up to the assembled crowd,
"Now, lissen up, people. I know this is goin' to seem like a bad idea, a lot of you won't like it, but... Hell, let's reword this. You know why we're doing this? To get away from Merrick and his thugs. Now he's goin' to be pretty darn mad about all this, an' if my family," You put an affectionate arm about your wife and ruffle your son's hair for emphasis, "is still here when we're off selling our stock off for a decent price, God only knows what he could do! So I'm bringin' them along with us, Marianne here's goin' to set up shop in the middle wagon. I hope you all understand why I'm doin' this." [5+1] Your well-worded speech doesn't seem to garner any disagreement, so you simply glare sternly at an undefined place above their heads for a moment, before giving a warm smile.
"Well, good. Anyhow let's get ready to go, alright?" You clap your hands and the crowd disperses, most heading back over towards the wagons, some bustling off on various last-minute errands.
Jack pays his respects to god with the reverend and hops on a horse.
"Shall we get going soon?"
You pray along with the others, and then head over to the herd of horses milling alongside the cattle and wagons under the watchful gaze of a possibly Hispanic-looking ranch hand. You've seen him around but don't really know him, however you feel a slight pang of worry, knowing as you do the terrible fates that seem to befall those of Spanish descent on journeys such as these.
However, you put aside that thought as he gives a slight nod, and choose out [4] a healthy, strong-looking mare, clambering up into the saddle before looking back towards the crowd. "Shall we get going soon?" You say, to no-one in particular.
Join in the prayer and wait.
Shuffling along with the rest, you join the crowd forming around the Reverend, removing your brown ten-gallon hat and bowing your head in prayer. You mouth the Reverend's words as he speaks, silently imploring the Good Lord to smile upon you all on your journey. You frown slightly, however, noticing the Reverend seems rather... Unsettled, trailing off for a moment before concluding the prayer. This is quickly forgotten, however; you see your boss, Mister Dryman himself, step foward to speak, and he does so rather well. Part of you feels rather proud to be in the employ of such a brave fellow and his family.
Gregor joins in the prayer, as he does so clenching his knife until his knuckles turn white.
You lower your head wordlessly, Reverend Greenmore's words washing over you as [3] dark, unhappy memories torment your mind. You grip the handle of one of your knifes tightly to stop your hand from trembling, clenching your jaw as you pray, praying that brighter times lie ahead for all of you. At length, the Reverend finishes, [3] although at first you do not notice, so involved in your own prayers that you don't join in the 'amen's of the others.
A different voice speaks, however, and you look up to see Mister Dryman, your employer and the owner of the ranch, making a heartfelt speech on his decision to bring his wife and child along for the journey. It makes sense, well enough; you doubt it would be safe staying on the ranch at the mercy of Allistair Merrick.
****
Finally, with all the praying and speechifying over and done with, all seems ready to go.
Mrs Dryman ushers her son into the middle wagon, the indian guide clambers onto his horse and joins the others waiting to leave, and Trevor Hutchins, the third wagoneer, his tubby backside planted firmly in the seat of the third wagon, screws the lid back on his flask of whiskey and shouts down belligerently, "We goin' yet, or what? I bin sittin' up here near two hours now!" The words from the grouchy, bowler-hatted lush stir the farmhands back into action, and before long everything is more-or-less ready, and most folk simply wait for Mr Dryman to give the word to set out. The sun has risen fairly high in the sky and is warming up, although the day's not unbearably hot yet. The cattle flick their tails and twitch ears to fend off flies as they chew their cud, and the occasional bird calls in the distance.
Over the strange near-silence, the squeak of Hutchins' flask lid can be heard, followed by a loud belch that echoes unpleasantly through the lull in sound.
Everything's ready, folk just need to hear the word from Mr Dryman and we'll be off... Slowest GM ever, much? And no, that long wait wasn't mere procrastination, I was actually working on the turn a lot of that time, it just took me a long time to... Well, get it right, if that makes sense.
Thankfully though, I've worked out a better method for future turns: From now on, I'll write out the turn in 3rd-person first, just so I know where everyone is, what's happening and what order it happens in, and then I'll write the 1st-person view for each character.
And I considered having the wagons set off in this turn, but I want to make the big moment pretty cool, and I think it deserves its own turn. Next turn I think I'll just have the wagons start rollin', handle anything people want to do, and then skip ahead to when we reach the town. Sound good, guys?
Also, any suggestions and criticism (other than the obvious slowness issue
) would be much appreciated, I'm still new to this...
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Topic: Blacktree Trail - A Western RTD- First turn of Chapter Two about 30% done! (Read 12305 times)