These troubled times...

This time the cryptic writing in my journal(s) would lead me to the "Mining Town" of Pendelton - immediately notable for high stone walls, abundant food, & luxuries unseen in these modern times.

Gas lit night lamps...will I never experience the famed nightlife my parents knew?

So it was that a motley crew was thus assembled - none familiar to me beyond the Mute medical woman from before...the others? Well, had they been mute as well it would have hardly mattered, yet I digress.

A student of culture & history I had of course heard tale of this wondrous Dr. Snitzel, a Medical Doctor of immense renown. We were tasked with returning some stolen property to him, or barring that, replacing what he had lost with suitable fare. I must say, I entered this with my naivety heavy upon my eyes - yet it was not long before the DuBois intuition shown through.

This was no Mining town - this was an abattoir, where healthy bodies were chopped apart to serve as replacement parts for the wealthy!

Yes indeed, the "property" we were to acquire was nothing less than the surgical livestock that had been brutalized by this madman! After a lengthy chase, we caught up to these victims - I am happy to say the hired thugs of the Doctor were not so fortunate, falling afoul of clever traps set to waylay pursuers.

Gaining a modicum of there trust & having my darkest suspicions proved true, my colleagues & I set out to help these poor souls to make it to greener pastures...yet even so, a Butcher's Bill still need be paid. Sandra Banks grimly acquired the requisite parts from the fallen men, & I sent it back on a horse with the following note:

"I believe this is adequate recompense for your losses sir - the good people you have violated are beyond your reach, & even the villains & thugs you surround yourself with will be ill-prepared to save you once the word gets out. I do hope to be present when you are hanged, & will commend your soul straight to the Devil when that happy day comes to pass.

Yours,
Xander Dubois, Oracle of the Wastes"

A promise I mean to keep, mind - such horrors as these have no place in the new world good men & women seek to create on the bones of the old.

As I leave that horror show behind, I find myself perturbed by some of what I have witnessed. To date, even with some Occult influence, all the evil I have seen was that common to mankind - mainly avarice & the callous disregard for the well being of others.

That actual monsters stalk these wastes should not surprise me...yet somehow I find myself having a difficult time accepting what this eye has seen.

Am I delusional? The Psychically inclined often run on the very razors edge of Madness. I can feel my soul shudder under the weight of the visions that I conjure. That I risk life & limb is known to me, & I wear this eye patch as a stark reminder - do I also risk my sanity?

My immortal soul?

Troubling thoughts as my equine companions once again brave broken highways & lonely trails, at risk of bandits, inclement weather, natural hazards, & yes: even unspeakable terrors.

I must tell myself that the good I have done is a bright light in the endless night ahead.

If not myself, then who?

Oh, the tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive.

While the eldritch Thin Man & it's diabolical machinations has been disturbing, I had yet to encounter the face of true horror.

That is, until today.

The foul entity that approached me in the dark of night puppeted the rotting corpse of a mare to deliver it's message: That I was to get involved in a private affair of Murder & Treachery, & see brutal justice done. It also offered a side-bet: It would do some good for my loyal Daisy if I was willing to bet my very life that she would come to no harm.

A fool's bet, surely - a man's life (& most especially a DuBois) measured against a Jackass? Such that one might buy for a sack of corn?

Yes, dear readers: I am that Fool

a drawing of "The Fool" tarot card is scribbled in the margins

Through some grotesque necromancy I was delivered to the location, there to meet others of the notorious "book club" I had not yet met - all part of a caravan, & apparently in the process of forming a lynch mob...a lynch mob, I should note, to murder what appeared to be a man who had done no wrong.

Well - as a African American, I must say I have a distaste for Lynch Mobs - so it was I put the patented DuBois family talents to use: The man who had been killed in what should have been a duel of honor had in fact been slain by some villain - either a lad (close to one of our party) or a scarred woman (even closer).

In these trying times it weighs heavily on my heart to see children turned into mirthless, joyless, weapons of war.

It was said back in the day - "It takes a village to raise a child"

Seeing the callous rage & hatred in those gold flecked eyes, I should think the motto of the New West should be: "It takes a child to Raze a village"

Speaking the the cooler heads, a mute Doctor & a stout Yeoman named Mason, we began to unravel the plot only to be set upon by the girls own Mother - she swiftly dropped her mask of humanity, revealing herself for the hideous abomination that she was - if not for the valorous efforts of Shawn & mason, I dare say we would have all died that day, as well as countless others to feed the hunger of that slavering beast.

Knowing the old fables, I swiftly set fire to the body, & saw to the grisly work of separating head from body to be buried separately. Having seen the inhuman golden flecks in the iris of the trigger happy young lady, this traveling scholar decided enough was enough & after tending to the wounds of the two other men, bid them a fond adieu.

After all, the apple rarely falls far from the tree.

Where my own mother may have granted me my gifts, I can only shudder to think what horrors lay nascent from the creature I witnessed.

Bonus, Texas. A small township between Mount View and Houston proper. We had tracked the False Doctor to it, and the sight was a terrible one to behold.

The… undead for lack of better word, were overwhelming the remaining townspeople. There were bulls resurrected to demolish houses, and what was left of people had taken on specialized roles, climbing, sprinting and even shooting. We knew instantly that if we didn’t intervene, everyone here could very well die.

Our plan of action was simple.

First we take down the bulls. They could tear through any cover we used and keep up with the horses. We eliminated four out of the five bulls we could find, but the last one vanished.

Second, we focused our efforts into the Specialist zombies. I had managed to shoot down the one with the gun, while Ally covered me from a leaping attack from above. The Sprinters and the Centipede were put down shortly afterwards. This forced the False Doctor to retreat into the Jail.

Third, we were ambushed by a tunneling, multi headed bull monstrosity. It ripped the leg off my horse, and gave me and Mason just enough time to climb up onto a building.

When the False Doctor came out to retrieve my Horse, I sadly put a bolt through its head. This enrage- no, it pissed him off. He started to chase us, and I hit his bitch ass with a Molotov, hoping that the flames would sterilize him or maybe stop his regeneration completely. I was lucky I was right with the first.

What came next was a bit of a scramble as Mason was grabbed by the Multi-Headed bull, and we desperately tried to shoot its heads off. It tried to death touch Mason, only lighting him ablaze.

After a few more seconds of trading blows, the False Doctor was dressed, Mason was put out, and the bull put down. Mason lunged onto the Doctor’s clothed body, moments from passing out from the pain, and I knew what I had to do. I sat on the doctor and began to sew and stitch, his clothes and skin. Regenerative abilities should keep him from pulling out the stitches.

While I was doing this, Alley and the townsfolk sealed with the remaining zombies, including the final bull, which got the jump on her.

When all was done, we threw the False Doctor into the tunnels left behind by the Multi-Bull, and collapsed them.

Seems like it was time for the second job for the notebook club. 

This time we saved a town again. Some sort of ... Sciencey sickness that traveled through the air, but only around certain materials? Not 100% sure I understood it, but Xander seemed to have a handle on it.

Being honest, Xander seemed to have a handle on most everything. Very competent, and talented man that one.

It was a crew of 4 of us. We all met outside the town of white hall. 

Russ, a blacksmith of some sort. Didn't really get to see him in action, other than constructing a tool for containing a dangerous substance.

Jorge, a fisherman of some sort. Did a number on some bandits and am impressed with him for that.

And Xander DuBois, antiquarian, and the undisputed leader of our little band.

We were all told that doom was coming for the town at nautical midnight. We needed to stop it. Now, I'm not familiar with the term, nautical midnight. That led me to some blunders, but well... we all get chances to learn in life.

We introduced our selves as travelers, and traders. Entering the town, it was clear that the people here were afflicted in some way. Some sickness, or some rash. 

I tried to get us some time, and a night at the local Inn... It... didn't go well. Seems like these folks were a bit too high strung for my regular type of negotiation. 

They kept a guard on us, but luckily Xander managed to avoid being tared with the same brush. Probably should have handled that better.

Xander managed to talk to those around, and the mayor, figuring out some information about what was causing the sickness inflicting the town.

Seems some individuals went into a forbidden area of their town's scrapyard, and picked up some dangerous substance. We collected the substance from where they stored it, collected some object's painted with it, and then advised the town to quarantine themselves.

Then, we took over watching the town for the night.

We were attacked by bandits, but Xander and Jorge were able to fend them off. I grabbed some town guards, then patched up their wounds. 

Xander really saved this town. Glad to have made his acquaintance. Now, let's see what I can do for this town.

So it was that my new destiny, having galvanized the latent psychic talents of the famed DuBois bloodline through my interaction with these inexplicable events I had faced thus far, I found myself wandering once more from the borders of the much-dreaded Bayous from whence I hail to the dusty open spaces of the former TANN republic.

A fine thing that, as I have little taste for these large bodies of water!

Abdiel seemed a fine man...his was a fate I was not eager to share.

Deciding to revisit the sites of my earlier adventures with my blossoming extra-sensory perceptions, it seemed an opportunity for a fruitful, even potentially profitable undertaking - perhaps I would see members of this mysterious "book club", as Mr Sal so eloquently put it, on the way.

I may be one eye short of a pair, however my thirst for adventure remains undiminished, even in light of the hardships I & others have suffered - overall, the business of saving towns seems like a right profitable one, for both the pocketbook & the soul.

I had headed West, only to be called East...back to the moss laden Cypress trees of what was once the State of Louisiana.

The sodden, rain swept town of Taylor's Landing was haunted by more than storms - still, I am getting ahead of myself.

Following the directions in this mysterious ledger, I came across two other men shivering in the cold - a wandering priest & some man with a dog. In their trembling hands they held similar leather bound ledgers. So...we pilgrims would save this place from imminent destruction.

Talking to the locals we found tales & legends of a Weeping Ghost. The Diamond Lady of LaBelle, who after her treasures were stolen wept to such an extent that the waters rose, sinking the town.

From the waters rising, it would seem that these events were happening again. Setting off into the Bayou, we went to save yet another town from destruction,

Flood waters...I shudder to remember the cold embrace. We took precautions to ford the river, but it wasn't enough. My panic drove me to shore, the others were not so lucky - Silas, the man with the dog made it to the shore. Abdiel, the Padre...the waters took him.

There was nothing to do but move on. We found our way into LaBelle, came across a foundling of a girl who had gathered the sacrifices made to appease the spirit. Earning the girls trust, it was clear what we must do.

Taking the sacrifices to the grave, I placed them in the Brass Grail I had retrieved from Pinwell - it's storied history of drowning made it the perfect vessel for a spirit's tears - that & a eulogy saw the driving rain reduce to a drizzle, then a mist...soon the waters would recede.

I felt more than heard the gratitude of the Spirit with my psychic talent, & found on the hungry shore the Ledger held by the drowned priest. A parting gift to carry on the story then. Will the Priest haunt these wetlands?

A story for another time.

The grateful citizens of Whitehall allowed for our valiant band to recover from the tribulations we had faced on their behalf with complimentary room & board. I would like to say this was a time of jubilant celebration, but this was not the case.

The Emersons did not last the night, & per my direction the bodies were interred into the dig, their fine family home boarded up: a warning to all that some treasures are best left undisturbed.

Through the unbearable pain of my injuries, I would come to discover that the others I had arrived with also bore unusual talents not so different from myself. Sal had the means to sate all corporeal needs through the mysterious oil that he produced from his own body (?), Russ was a craftsman of some lost technology, & Jorge the Sailor wielded a mighty harpoon to good effect.

Perhaps I will be so fortunate to find a copy of "Moby Dick" for him to peruse, provided he can read.

With my sewing kit I have fashioned an eye patch to cover my disfigurement. I'd like to say it adds a certain dashing flair to my profile, but the pain throbs readily to remind me that I have been forever scarred. While rescuing this town was a worthy goal (& apparently I have taken another step to greater destiny - where I lack an eye I feel my extra-sensory perception continue to sharpen), I would be remiss, even a liar to say that I go forward with heavy heart: Perhaps, in my naivety & innocence I thought that doing the right thing would see me through these trials unscathed.

That illusion, with many others, lays at rest with the Ivy Emerson & my lost eye.

Making light of the mysteries our ancestors have left behind is not without myriad dangers, dangers that were certainly on display in the town of Whitehall.

While mystical methods were employed by the mysterious forces behind these ledgers, the threat that was faced was all too mundane: the horrors of the old world & the brazen cruelty of vicious men.

Led to Whitehall, my strange companions & I received a cold reception from people clearly in dire need. While we won over there resistance (most of us anyway), we had been tasked with saving yet another town before dawn - setting to that task, I would find that the spirits had indeed cursed this town: in the form of terrible radioactive isotopes in the hands of the unwary.

Gathering the town & the strangers that I had arrived with, matters were dealt with as best as could be managed - while I did not find it necessary to enter the house myself, it was simple enough to deduce that the delvers had drawn terrible artifacts of the old world & spread such contamination through yonder village.

The Emersons...little Ivy...could not be saved.

It grieves me to know that, but just as Moff & the others, what one Man can do is limited to the reach of his arms. To pretend to have greater resposibility is a game of Kings & Fools.

Even so, when it was clear that trouble was coming, I took up arms & stood against it!

...to my sorrow, I must say. Scarred, mutilated...what am I to do?

They say I saved this town...yet I weep from my remaining eye wishing my mother was here.

--- Scene opens ---
Sal starts up out of his sleeping back. Something in his throat. He spits it out to the side. A flow of a clear black substance flows out of him covering the ground around his sleeping bag. His hands around the fingernails leak the same substance that he vomits onto the desert floor.

A soft whisper "The cycle never starts, it has always been."

Sal's hands are black, slowly returning to their regular color as the fluid seeps into the ground, and into his skin. Sal doesn't feel tired anymore. Doesn't feel much need for anything.

"The cycle never finishes, it starts anew."

Sal look around his camp. Ace was here yes. So was Sylvester. Sal frowns. He was suppose to be far from here.

"At the edge of the world the serpent slithers, the cycle unending. Life to death to life to death. On and on with no stop."

Sylvester looks at Sal. From his own lips drip a black fluid, that matches the one that drips from Sal's own body.

"I have so much to teach you my son." 

--- Scene Close ---

I've been practising talking some - not just that I've learned ASL from Sandra, but just.. negotiating. 

Saving people is hard work, especially because lots of the time they don't want to be saved.  So... that's annoying.  It's really ridiculous, having to negotiate with people to save their lives.  But so far I've had to do that more than once.  And it's just...

Seriously?

So yeah... been getting practice with that.  Practising rhetoric has been interesting, though. 

I mean, there's also the fact of the matter I've been sitting down a lot and have had a lot of time - I need to stop moving eventually to let some of my wounds heal, and now is when it is, apparently.  Otherwise I'll just keep going until I fall apart, and that saves no one.

Eventually I'll be better, though, and then.. we're planning on going bandit hunting. 

...

I don't know why I relish the thought of hunting.

Ever since I ran out of my meds... I feel like I've been getting urges.  And I don't understand them.

Well, after burying that monster, the other two decided to keep following me back to my caravan.  And given we'd lost another horse, it was only me riding now.

Ah, well.

We loaded my horse up with most of the stuff, and headed off.

On the way back, we saw... I don't know.  Some kind of building.  I don't remember what attracted us to it, but we headed in to look around, and some metal statue started chasing us.

Eventually, we found out that it was actually just a kid in a suit, and she was the oldest - just about my age.  She was trying to keep a bunch of others safe that were from a caravan that had been raided.  We sent them towards Mountview.

We made it to the caravan, and.. well, we're planning to go after those bandits.

After we heal for a bit - I got stabbed again by a tusk.  Dangerous work.