Footsteps bounced off the simple wooden walls, the sounds misrepresenting the preacher’s sole presence. It still surprised the aging preacher how much the small church echoed. Timothy made his way down the aisle in between the pews, resting his hand on each as he passed. Soon the pews would be full, but not with people seeking spiritual assistance. No these people would be seeking a form of spiritual protection.

Timothy slowly trudged up to the podium at the end of the church. Gazing out at the empty pews, he could already imagine the people nervously seated in them. Staring out the windows they huddled together and occasionally glanced at him for some kind of guidance. Last night the unholy horde had even ridden by the church, Timothy could still hear the collect gasp of the congregation, punctuated by several screams. The decaying faces of the riders gazing through the windows, assessing the souls contained in the church. But the corpses rode on, their toll for the night taken.

Taking a glance at the flimsy thin walls, Timothy wagered it was the churches proximity to the center of town more than its holiness that had kept the undead at bay last night. It had seemed that everyone that had taken refuge in building along main street had been spared, for now. Some had taken to drowning their fears at the saloon; others took relaxed amid the supplies at the general store; others at the sheriff’s office for protection. But his people came to him for a sense of hope.

“God, how can I give them hope in this time of terror? I’m low on it myself.” Timothy asked the ceiling. Timothy’s thoughts raced back seven years ago. The images of that day blurring together as he recalled them; the fear, the violence, the grim celebration afterwards. Had he been wrong in rallying the townspeople to defend themselves? They had taken lives. The gang members were most definitely evil, but that alone did not give man the right to kill man. “No.” Timothy reminded himself, his reasons had been to remind the people they had the right to defend the gifts of life God had given them. But, if they had not rose up to smite the gang, would the town be in its current state? How many would have died if the gang had maintained its hold on the town? Would the deaths have been worth it?

Timothy shook his head as he glanced out the windows at the quickly descending sun. In a few hours darkness and evil would be upon them. “God help us…”

At last, some customers.

The dozen or so men, mostly local guys who worked around at various businesses like the livery, blacksmith's, and post office. But, this time, there were a couple guys who looked to be new in town.

Angela Riley, standing behind the bar with her arms crossed under her ample chest, arches an eyebrow at the bartender and owner of the Dusty Spur, Orville Rodgers. At the moment, he's cleaning shot glasses.

"Oh boy. See one ya like already, Angel?"

She chuckles, her thick irish accent clearly distinguishable.

"Aw, Orville, that ain't th' only thin' on mah mind!"

"Oh, I bet it ain't, lass. Looks like there's some new blood in the crowd tonight."

"Aye, ther' is. Mm, and tha' one's lookin mighty fine ta me..."

Angela's emerald eyes fix themselves on the young man, who has taken a seat slightly away from the rest of the group. Orville just shakes his head and starts pouring shots of whiskey for the long night ahead as a few of the men start up a card game. The rest sit at the bar, pounding said shots and making passes at Angela.

(OOC: Feel free to interact.)

As Alistar enters the barren, deserted streets of Sigil he quickly notices that the only sound is coming from from what looks like a house 300 or so paces away. The sound, now recognized as music, is getting louder with each footstep and Alistar soon realizes the 'house' that is playing the music is not a house, but a saloon.

If he's anywhere.. he's definetly in here

As Alistar opens the saloon doors, hes is surprisingly overwhelmed with how many people are in the saloon.
Alistar finaly decides to take a seat, far away from the crowd of men who are drinking their lives away, and watches them, and listening to their conversations hoping to get some-what of a clue to where his father may be hiding. Quickly realizing his attempts are futile due to the fact that their are just too many men and too many conversations, let alone the hooting and hollaring of some of them off into the distance.

It's possible i may get a better view of all of them men here from one of the stools by the bartender.. but then again, i dont want to attract to much attension to myself..

Alistar rises from his chair and starts walking towards the bar.. as Alistar is walking through the crowd of drunken men, he accidently knocks one of the mugs filled with boose onto it's owner, who was savigly swinging it about hollaring what was supposed to be a song, but sounded more of cry from a disseased cat.
Alistar stop the second the man yell's at him..

"Hey, Yo-ou!"

Alistar turns his head, signifying that he's listening.

"Look at me when im t-talking to you!"

Alistar now turns his body, facing the portly man, who looks around 6 &1/2 feet tall and more than Alistar thought a man could weigh.. under mans eyes is a shiny crimson red color, he clearly had to much to drink.

"Now you have to buy me 10 more drinks! haha, with that sac of money there"
The man reaches down towards Alistars leather money sac trying to grab it, but Alistar simply steps towards his right side.

"I guess ill have to teach you some manners-ss"

The man raises his right fist and streches it straight towards Alistar's head.
Alistar smile's.

Alistar quickly ducks from the mans fist and swipes the mans right and left leg out from under him with astonishing speed.
The portly man lands on the foor with a loud *thud* Alistar lets out a little laugh.

"Ha.."

Alistar now had what he did not want.. attension. Alistar failed to notice that the saloon whent quiet when his oppenent was yelling at him. Some men gave him strange looks, their eyes told him their thoughts,

How could such a little man take down such a big one?

But Alistar still new one thing they didnt, he wasn't a man.. but a boy, only 15 years old.

Alistar turned around, the fat man lying face down, and passed out, and began his walk towards the bar, stepping upon the fallen man at his feet. He sat down upon one fo the stool and slowly, but surely, the whole collamity of the saloon soonly whent back to normal.
Gazing among the crowd, Alistar did not see any man who look anything like hsi father, so he yet again sat back and listened to the conversations that the men where having. Alistar grew bored, none of the men had mentioned the name Gregory, Zepütan, or even New-comer. Alistar turned around, facing the numorous mug glaces and types of wine and boose. To the left was the bartender who was talking to a lady.

Hmm i thought it was only men in here.. what would a lady be doing here? or.. is she a lady?

He soon noticed they were having a polite conversation and Alistar soon overheard them mention eachothers names, the bartender's name was Orville and the lass's name was Angela. Tired of the long walk through the rough terrain of New Mexico, Alistar placed his head upon his arms and rested his eyes.

Which poison to pick, which to pick. Whiskey, beer, opium? All of these had become swirled into his mind, and he couldn't think of anything else. Counting day to day with few thoughts other than who was more frightening to confront: God or Clemens. Counting the days with each shot and each hit, wearing himself down to the bitter end.

Whiskey. Today feels like a whiskey day.

He slumped in his chair, pouring the whiskey slowly into the shot glass, spilling most of it onto the counter. The bartender gave him a sharp eye.

"Hey what the hell are you doing!"

Noticing the waste he was creating, he opened his slightly closed right eye and continued to pour. He smiled and looked up at the bartender.

"Sorry about all that, I'm sure I could pay you back somehow."

He lifted up his poncho and reached into his pocket. He felt around for a few seconds and realized that he didn't have any money. Nervously chuckling, he continued to feel around his pocket, checking to see if he had missed somewhere.

"That's it Ike, I'm tired of all your bosh, now you go on and get out of my saloon!"

This had been the third time this week he had been kicked out of a saloon. Didn't matter too much, there were plenty other he could scout out, but this one had always been his favorite. He picked up the glass half filled with whiskey, and downed it quickly. Furious, the bartender gave him a slap across the top of his head, sending the drunk to fall down on the floor a few good feet. The bartender reached for a rifle behind the counter and aimed it at him.

"Alright alright im goin' im goin'" Ike stumbled to his feet and left the saloon in a half dash, causing him to knock into one of two men about to enter the saloon.

"Watch where you're goin' you stupid deadbeat!" yelled the man that had been knocked into. The other man he was with started to examine Ike's face, squinting his eyes and studying him carefully.

"Hey you know, I think that's 'ol Shaymes. Be careful now John, he might tell the priest where we are and then have some one like Clemens come after us." Both men began to laugh at Ike as they went into the saloon. Ike stood on the edge of street with his back arched and his legs spread apart, standing very awkwardly. His vision began to blur from last night's drinking and today's sun. He collapsed in the street, looking up right at the noon sun.

Whiskey. What was I thinking.

The rifle was perched too close to the edge of the seat atop the stagecoach. As the rickety wooden vehicle hit yet another bump in the road the rifle tumbled off the seat and toward the ground quickly rushing by below. A quick blur of movement intercepted the rifle on its downward descent, leaving Philip leaning off the edge of the seat secured only by a foot stuck under the wooden seat. With one hand firmly gripping his rifle and the other busy keeping his hat on his head, Philip provided an interesting site to say the least.

As Philip pulled himself from the edge of the stagecoach and returned to his seat, the stagecoach driver could not help but laugh. “Quick hands there boy.”, the dusty middle-aged man quipped with a mirthful grin.

“Lousy driving, old man”, Philip replied with a wiry smirk as he placed his rifle safely across his knees. He was just happy his glasses had not fallen off.

“I still do not see why you want to ride up here instead of IN the coach like everyone else.”

Philip’s smirk blossomed into a full blown smile as he looked out at the desert as it flew by. “I rode shotgun on a mail coach for five months. If something bad happens, this is the best place to be, one can react to almost anything.” He replied, his eyes lost in what he viewed as fond memories. “Besides, your partner looked like he could use a rest.”

“Yeah, John pulled a long haul last night.” The driver said as he chided the horses to run a little faster.

Night. Philip sensed the man’s apprehension as the sun neared the end of its daily descent beyond the horizon. The man fears were not unfounded; the Clemens gang only seemed to be attacking Sigil at night. Philip did not begrudge the man wanting to be in and out of Sigil before sunset. Nothing to worry about really, he though as he adjusted his glassed and looked at the town in the distance. We are almost there.

Any thoughts Philip had about reassuring the driver where lost as the horses drawing the stagecoach began to whinny and neigh loudly. Despite the driver’s efforts the beasts veered away from town and to the north. It was then that Philip felt it; the deepest part of his gut letting him know something was wrong. It swirled around in his stomach, mixed with anxiety and a twinge of fear. He had felt that sensation many times in his life, always when he knew something back as about to happen. A quick glance to his side and Philip knew the driver had felt it too. The man’s eyes had gone wide, darting everywhere trying to find the source of the fear. Philip swallowed and steadied himself. A quick survey of the area revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Eventually, the driver had managed to calm the horses down and bring the coach to a stop. The occupants of the coach poured out, each of their faces pale and drawn; all had been touched by the sensation. As the passengers milled about discussing the incident, the driver tried to get the horses to turn around, but the creatures would not make a move toward the town. Philip reached into the coach and retrieved his saddle bags, slinging them over his left shoulder and placing the barrel of his rifle casually on the other shoulder.

“What are you doing?” John, the other driver, asked. Apparently rudely awaked from his nap, the man seemed to be trying to figure out what had happened.

“I’m going to Sigil.” Philip replied matter-of-factly as he started walking away. “I’m the only person headed there, no sense in you all being delayed because of me. You all have a safe trip.”

“Wait!” the man shouted out after him. “It will be dark soon, and the Clemens gang will be out!”

Philip turned around and waved to the group with his rifle. “That’s kinda why I’m going.”

The sense of fear faded away as Philip strolled toward the town in the distance. It was a short walk, only twenty minutes or so, but the sun had still vanished from the sky before Philip came upon the main street in the town. Both sides of the street were lined with buildings of one sort or another, the only common factor being the soft glow of lights spilling out of their windows and doors, indicating the presence of people. Yet, the street itself was empty. Philip had seen he share of small towns and large, but never before had he seen one that looked so empty just after sunset. The muted sounds of a saloon drifted through the night air, but it was only the ghostly echo of what a normal saloon sounded like. The stillness and sense of quite almost brought a sense of uneasiness over him.

Philip strode down the main street, his rifle grasped loosely in his hand, its barrel hovering a few inches above the ground in front of him. Making his way toward the Sheriff’s office which he spied at the end of the street, Philip peered into the buildings as he walked past. The people inside stared back at him, their faces a mix of fear and bewilderment. Philip assumed the confusion was due to his being the only person out on the street.

A soft drumming sound caught Philip’s attention. He had heard its likeness many times back home. The sound of hooves hitting the ground far away. Philip turned around to see a horde of riders galloping down the street. Their arms raised in the air, firing off shots, their bodies shaking as some of them laughed, some with their heads thrown back howling to the sky, and others generally looking like they were whooping and hollering. The thud of hooves, the firing of guns; these filled the still night, but hardly a whisper issued forth from the mouths of the riders. Philip stood staring at the gang as they drew closer, confused by the lack of sound coming from the riders who were obviously making a lot of noise. At the riders got closer, the lights from the building began to illuminate them more clearly and one could clearly see the cause of the silence. Philip reached up with his left hand to make sure his glasses were in place. Most of the riders seemed to be missing the necessary organs to make noise! Tattered remnants of clothes, provided more than a glimpse of the riders bodies. Decaying flesh pockmarked with holes and gashes was drawn tight over exposed and weathered bones. Wrinkled and oozing, faces with maggots holding on for dear life, glared Philip down. Several flesh deprived hands began raising weapons toward him.

Philip had been absorbed in the horrors approaching him, only now did he notice the weapons aimed at him.

(OCC: Sorry if this post is a bit rambling. I was up late last night working and am up late tonight writing. I thought this would be a good place to leave off seeing as it gives you guys a reason to go outside despite their being a horde of zombies. Plus I honestly think, no matter how observant the person, you would be distracted the first time you saw zombies! I do not expect you guys to kills the zombies, merely drive them off to pursue lest resistant game. Feel free to use any NPCs you want. It should be more than just the four of us driving these guys off, it is the main reason why the main street is still safe, so many people with guns. )

Alistar awoke to a slight rumbling, nothing too noticable, but enough to gain his attension. This time however was different, this wasn't the usual vibration pattern that the drunken men gave off when they were dancing around the saloon singing their out-of-sequence songs, No, this one was definetly different.

Alistars' head rose to the vast assortment of beer, wine, and whiskey. They all had something in common though, the liquid inside each and every bottle was moving to the steady beat that had awoken Alistar. Looking around, Alistar soon noticed that most of the men in the tavern where seated, leaving only one possible explanation, it came from outside.
Stepping out of the saloon and looking through an alley, Alistar saw a man walking along one of Sigil's roads.

One man couldn't possibly make such vibration's, there has to be more, much more.

Using the shadows in-between each alley, Alistar made his silent approach to get a better look at the new-comer, but as Alistar grew closer, the thing's giving off the vibration's were getting closer, fast. Alistar quickly saw what was giving off the vibration's, a group of horse-men, but as he heard their hooting and hollaring, the group of 'horse-men' seemed more like a gang.
Alistar stepped back into the darkest part of the alley he had taken to see the new-comer so he can avoid being seen by any or all members of this gang.
Looking around for an object to hide behind to gain more invisibility, Alistar stumbled over something that resembled some-what of a ladder. Alistar picked it up and as quietly as he couple posibly be, rested it upon the house to his right. The ladder made a slight Thud but was hardly noticable and it seemed like no one had heard it.
As Alistar was climbing up the ladder, the gang of horse-men came to a stop as they had approached the new-comer and gave hostile glances at him. Now nestled ontop of a house, Alistar had a better view of everything around him, and Alistar blended in well with the night sky. With little fear of being seen, Alistar glanced at the gang of horse-men who had confronted the lone new-comer, and was completely awestruck, shocked, and left speechless..

This isn't an ordinary gang of m-men.. this, this is a gang of.. of.. undead h-horse-men! W-w-what k-kind of.. of trickery or... or magic, is this!?

((OOC: Damnit, turn that huge sig off when you post.))

Angela cringes and wraps her arms around one of Orville's, squeezing it tightly and whimpering a little.

"Oooh, they's back ain't they? Those da'ed fellas?"

Orville moves a silent hand to the 12 gauge shotgun stown under the bar's edge.

"You stay close now, Angel."

She watches as the boy sleeping at the bar suddenly sits up and rushes outside and into a back alley.

"Crazy damn fool! Where's he goin'?" asks Angela.

"Dunno. Better try and calm these here folks down though."

At this, Angela spots the young man practically frozen with fear, standing near the entrance to the saloon, and in the path of the undead riders. Angela, showing off her brashness and her plain dumb luck, rushes quickly outside and grabs the young man's arm and pulls as hard as she can. He stumbles a bit, shocked at the sudden movement, but quickly stumbles into the bar with Angela beneath him. The two fall through the swinging doors and the young man's face finds itself planted firmly between his saviour's cleavage.

"H.. hey, fella! You a'right?"

((OOC: God, how I love writing up these uncomfortable situations.))

The very embodiment of death was staring him down; the stench of rotten flesh filling his mouth and nose. Suddenly the image had blurred and Philip felt himself falling backwards. He could recall gunshots, three if he remembered correctly. There was also the sound of a swinging door. Philip then remembered hitting the ground, a bit softer than he expected. Then darkness had surrounded him, soft pillow-like darkness; and the taste of fabric?

"H.. hey, fella! You a'right?"

Blood rushed to Philip’s cheeks as he quickly extricated himself from the lady’s chest. The embarrassment, quickly faded however as he viewed the lady who was still beneath him, an un-recognizable blur. Damn! Where the hell did my glasses get to? He looked around for his glasses and spied instead a blur which was recognizable as his rifle.

“Fella!” The lady beneath him repeated with a thick Irish accent. “Mind letting me up?”

“Sorry Madam.” Philip apologized with a grin to the woman under him. “Between being shot or smothered, I must say I prefer the later. But, my apologies for intruding upon you.”

Several screams from the room and the slamming of the saloon doors behind him let him know the things from outside had followed him in. Philip quickly rolled off his prone rescuer towards his weapon; praying he did not crush his missing glasses in the process. Nimbly recovering his rifle, Philip ended the roll on his back with his gun leveled at the door. A vaguely cowboy shaped figure stood in the doorway, it was a bit thin and pale to be a person plus that stench seemed to follow it, but without his glasses he could not be sure it was an unholy terror before him.

“It that thing dead?” Philip cried out unsure of himself.

A small bang was the immediate reply. The woman beside him on the floor appeared to be holding what Philip assumed was a small revolver. “Course, hes da’ed! Are you blind?!”

“Just mostly.” He replied stoically as he pulled the trigger, sending a .45 caliber rifle round square into the chest of the blur in front of him. The rotting corpse staggered backwards a bit as the bullet tore through its leathery skin and dried organs. But, the zombie’s dead flesh only offered minimal resistance to the bullet and the thing took a jagged step forward and brought a weapon to bear on him. Gonna have to hit something more sturdy Philip admonished himself as he ratcheted the lever on the rifle, bringing the next round into the chamber. Adjusting his aim, he pointed the barrel at one of the blur’s thigh and once again pulled the trigger. Skill and luck were on Philip’s side this time as the rifle round shattered the creature’s femur and practically tore the leg off above the knee, decaying flesh and rotten tendons straining to hold the limb together.

The corpse slowly tilted forward, firing its weapon as it fell. Fortunately, the undead human’s aim had been thrown off due to the jarring motion of the shot and it’s rapidly changing orientation with the floor. The zombie’s shot dug into the wooden floor between Philip and the woman a moment before the creature itself fell in the same spot.

Philip quickly chambered another round in his rifle in an attempt to put another bullet into the decaying blur next to him. However, the bartender beat him to it. Apparently during the few seconds that had transpired, he had made his way over to Philip and the lady. Lowering the barrel of his shot gun to the thing’s head the bartender quickly pulled the trigger. A deafening roar proceeded the splattering of zombie brain by only a heartbeat. As Philip wiped what he knew was bodily remains from the side of his face he could only bemoan, “Well, atleast I can’t see it.”

(OCC: Man I can not write a short post. Elhaym, sorry if I used your characters incorrectly. And yes, Philip is still sans glasses.)

(minor grammar and content edit)

(OOC: No problems on my end. Lemme know if there's anything wrong with how I handle Philip.)

Angela scrunches her nose, the smell of the decayed flesh still ripe by the doorway. Luckily, she didn't get hit by any of the zombie's grey matter as Orville's shotgun tore the thing's head clean off. Orville, on the other hand, opens the breech of the double barreled weapon and pulls out the empty, smoking shell and replaces it with a new one.

"You two all right?!"

Orville helps Angela to her feet and then offers a hand to the young man with the rifle.

"Here, son."

The young man doesn't even seem to see Orville's arm at first, but grabs onto it after a moment.

"You'll have to excuse me. I'm a bit farsighted, and.. well, it looks like I lost my glasses in all the commotion."

Meanwhile, Angela pulls the hem of her dress up, tucking her revolver back into the white garter belt that doubles as a holster. She peeks out the saloon doors again, making sure no more riders were still lurking about. She pokes her head out the door and spies the glasses, thankfully unbroken, lying in the street. She dashes out and grabs them, handing them back to their owner.

"Found 'em! Here ya go, mister."

She helps the young man put the glasses back onto his face.

(OOC: Just because I don't want to write your impression of her. xP)

Alistar, sitting on the rooftop, watches the whole scene from a safe distance, hoping to get a better idea upon how to face this new.. problem.

Well, it looks like tonights event has sub-sided, for now. At leaste now there will be something interesting to ease-drop on.

Alistar walks along the top of the roof, and stops where he placed the ladder. Still there, Alistar swings himself around the ladder and places both feet on the third to last step. //Crack//

Son of a bi-

At that moment, the step burst's into tiny pieces from force of Alistar's swing, and he lands on the fourth-top step. A chain reaction now, it also breaks, along with every step he lands on.
After the last step that burst's, or break's underneath him, Alistar lands on the ground with a slight Thump. Alistar looks down at his hands, now burning with pain because he tried to hold on or possibly stop himself. His hands may be burning with pain however, but also bleeding. He takes a closer look at his hands, and notices several splinters on each finger and palm.

Taking these out should keep me.. ow.. occupied for a while.. ow.

Alistar walks across the street, towards the saloon, and simply walks ontop the decaying foe once he got in the doorway. Alistar sits back down where he once fell alseep, and places his left hand upon the table, and places his right hand inside his leather pouch tied to the inside of his cloak. Taking out two coins, Alistar now begins to take out the splinter's in his left hand, using the two coins like a pair of tweezer's.

Ow.. one.. t-two..

[Earlier in the Day]
The vast plain was silent. The place was empty of birds, animals, or even a wind to blow the loose dirt. Only the sharp, flat hit of the horse walking along the seemingly endless land. Richard gave the brown horse a soft pat, trying to calm its nerves, as it to felt as if it was forsaken.

The west is a lot different from Indiana. Not much green and even worse, not a whole lot of water.

Richard shook his small container which held the last mouth full of water. He had filled up at the last town, but riding twenty miles under the hot sun, which Richard could normally handle, was a little more than he could bear without shade or a breeze. A local told him the next town was only about ten miles to the west, apparently the man was mistaken. He only had two choices. He could turn back and return to the town or he could continue.

Richard didn't want to doubt the man. He said it was to the west. He was not going to just call that man a liar. That man deserved a chance for truth and Richard was going to give it to him. Richard estimated it should only be a few more miles before he found some type of establishment. As soon as the thought hit his mind, his stomach began to spin. He gasped for air as a memory of childhood bully punching him in the stomach, poured into him. His horse had frozen at the feeling as well. Richard tried to draw a breathe, but something was coming.

His jaw locked as his head went to the side of the horse, fully ready to let it all come out. At the last instant, a breath filled his lungs, releasing his jaw. The feeling was totally gone. Sweat poured down his face after only a few seconds of the ordeal. He wiped the sweat off and gave the horse a pat. He gave it a slight squeeze for it to continue on. Its head turned to the side, as if wanted to plead to Richard. Another slight squeeze gave the horse enough to shake off its own sense of danger and continue on.

[Present Time-Late]

The town seemed to come out of nowhere. Richard didn’t know if it was his dehydration or just weariness. In a matter of seconds, the silent town was filled with wild shouts and gunfire. Richard was still a ways off, but the light from the gunpowder showed enough of the town to let him know there was one. All the commotion seemed to be happening near the edge of town.

As Richard slowly began nearing the town, the odd riots seemed to continue. The horsemen, who he could now at least outline, looked bare. Their clothes seemed limp on their bodies as their arms shook around, firing guns randomly. He did not want to ride in the middle of a town uprising, but to stay out in the middle of nowhere was just as dangerous, especially in his current position. His tongue worked around his mouth, attempting to wet his mouth enough in case he needed to speak.

Once again, Richard looked up at the horsemen. His eyes strained to see what was there, or as he thought, what was not there. Suddenly, a bullet whizzed by his head. Richard shook his head, trying to wake himself from his daze. He gave his horse a sudden kick, only knowing that being shot at was a bad sign. He was too weak to accurately guide his horse and he could only hold on as he bounded into the middle of the town, through the horsemen.

OOC: I wrote as if all of the horsemen hadn't left yet. I wasn't quite sure when the storyline would be advanced to the next part.

“Thank ya kindly.” Philip said as the lady helped him with his glasses. Instantly, the world nearby came in to focus and Philip found himself staring into a pair of green eyes. Despite being in disarray from the recent encounter with the zombie, the woman’s beauty was still shocking. The woman’s red hair cascaded down around her, blending in almost perfectly with the smooth silk dress she was wearing. The black corset tightly wrapped around her mid-section showing off where he had previously been imprisoned. Yet, Philip found himself drawn back to the pure green eyes which seemed to be asking “Are you alright?” while at the same time screaming “Are you nuts?”

Philip’s concentration was broken as the bartender cleared his throat. “Name’s Orville, boy. And this lass here is Angela” The man introduced himself as he extended a hand, the shotgun still being held in the other. “You might be?”

Quickly shaking the offered hand, Phillip introduced himself. “Philip. I’m a deputy from Sands Bluff. I came to help with the Clemens gang, but… this… this I wasn’t expecting.”

“It’s been like this every night.” Angela commented, obvious distress in her voice.

“Well, at least we can stop those …“ Philip replied as he turned to indicate the zombie corpse, but stopped when he could not find the ghastly creature. “What? Where did it go?” He asked as he dropped down into a half crouch and quickly scanned the room for the missing body, muscles tensed, gun at the ready.

“Relax, lad.” Orville said as he put a hand on Philip’s shoulder. “They always do that. No matter how many times we kill them, they just disappear and come back the next night.”

Philip’s head swam as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that the undead were walking around, much less attacking this small town. The blur of thoughts was interrupted by Angela. “It’s a lot to take in.” She said, offering him an unclaimed drink from the bar. Her face told him she was still trying to make sense of it all herself.
As Philip inspected the drink, the thundering from earlier that night retuned. All eyes in the room turned toward the windows. “Not again.” Angela muttered, seemingly half-filled with dread and half annoyed.

The thundering built up to a roar as the horsemen flew by the window. Their attention seemed to be focused directly ahead, their eerie mounts carrying them to someplace other than the saloon. The room let out a collective sigh and relaxed as they realized they were safe for the moment, well everyone except one.

Philip cursed and slammed back the drink, quickly pushing the empty glass into Angela’s hands. Every eye turned upon him as Philip bolted for the doors of the saloon. He had almost reached the doors before Angela cried out, causing him to pause.

“What in the He** are you doing? You can’t stop those da’ed things!”

Philip looked back at Angela his face a mask of concentration. He cracked a smile as he turned back around and dashed through the swinging doors. “The guy in the front was not undead.”

(OCC: Sorry about the quality of this post. I’m trying to make a quick post because this weekend is setting it self up to be busy and I wanted to keep the story moving along plus I had an idea for working Rudy into it. Just to review if you kill a zombie, they disappear, so if you are going to do something to them, do it quickly. Also, if it was not clear, the band of zombies was chasing Rudy’s character Richard. Apologies if I screwed up an angle you were working on Rudy.)

Not dead.. not dead.. not de-
"Hey, are you just going to sit there and bleed over my counter?" Said Orville.
"Tip" Said Alistar in a low whisper while dropping the two coins on the counter and walk's out the door.

That new-comer said the one in the front wasn't dead. Im guessing he's their leader.. Well, that answer's one question, but raise's so many more.

Alistar stepped through the two saloon doors, the night's warm humid air still carried a faint smell of decaying flesh. Looking upward's, no bird nor bat in the sky.

This town just get's creepier by the minute, but i guess i should pursue those undead creatures with the new-comer.. But i think it would be best to stay out of his way, and if he gets in some sort of snag, help him out.

Bending down, Alistar takes out both of his hunting knives, one from each shoe, firmly grasp's each knife so the blade is under his fist but facing away from his body, and hides it underneath his long-sleeves.

Just in case something sudden happends.

Crouching down, trying to remain hidden, watching the man with glasses, waiting upon his depature..


[OOC: Yea, sorry about the short paragraph's.. its 11:30pm and i cant think of.. well, anything good. If there is any problems.. just contact me, ill eventually get the msg :-) ]

"Its your turn stranger."

He was sitting in the corner of the saloon playing poker with three other men, the game was getting a bit interesting. So far, the man to the far left had two blue chips, one red chip and six white chips in his pot. The man with his back to the door had a descent size pot on him. Nearly cleared out everyone else, the man to the far right was practically cleaned out and giving away his personal possessions. As for the stranger, Jericho Simmons, he was doing fair. He had a descent hand on him and wasn't one to clown around. Something told him the one with the most in his pot was cheating somehow. Jercho didn't know why, but he had a gut feeling that the guy was cheating.

"Come on, stranger. I haven't got all night."

Jericho looked to the man across from him. He was sitting against the wall taking his time checking his cards. He had something good in his hand. A couple of aces and two kings. He removed the eight from his hand to the dealer and drew a new card. Another Ace, the ace of spades. It was his lucky night. Jericho looked at everyone and placed two red chips, five blue chips and ten white chips to start the pot. The rest of the men followed, one folded. The man across from him threw in more and tried to get Jericho to throw in every thing. Jericho played with it, but left some over for the next game if it did happen. Just enough to place a wager and a few more games. The men placed their cards on the table, two pairs, the man that folded had nothing obviously, and Jericho had a full house. However, the man across from Jericho pulled a Royal Flush but didn't show anything yet. The man across from him showed a Royal Flush and smirked at everyone before actually letting Jericho show his hand.

"Heh. Better luck next time, boys. Lady Luck is with me tonight."

Jericho looked at the man and shook his head. Just as the man was about to draw in his pot Jericho spoke. "You gonna let me show my hand?"

The man looked to Jericho. "Look stranger, it's blatently obvious that I won. I have a Royal Flush. Spades conquers all." The man reached to grab for the pot again.

Jericho glared at him and replied. "That would be true, if you hadn't slid that Ace of Spades out of your sleeve." Jericho looked serious now. He was content in nailing this guy for cheating. He knew he struck a nerve with the self-proclaimed winner of the Poker game. Jericho could see the tension build up.

The man glared at Jericho and said, "You callin' me a cheat stranger? I play an honest game, stranger. You can ask anyone around here."

Jericho looked around and saw that most of the group seemed a bit nervous with this guy. But Jericho shook his head. "And I still say your cheating." he said to the guy. He noticed the man was reaching for his gun, however, Jericho had his revolver already drawn before the man could pull the six shooter out of its holster. Jericho gave him a cold glare dead in the eyes. "Don't even think about it. Drop the weapon." His voice sounded harsh and close to a Judge in a courtroom. The man blinked a bit. "I don't care who you are, I play an honest game and I don't like it when someone cheats me or anyone else on this table of their money." Jericho watched the man carefully and said. "Now drop the weapon or you will face your sentence early mister."

The man looked a little nervous and may had a somewhat idea who he was, but like a civilized man, he did what he was told. The six shooter on the ground. Jericho then got up and walked around with his weapon still pointed at the man. "Slide it and roll up your sleeves." The man was a little edgy, but cooperated. He slid the gun towards the card table. He hesitated a bit until he heard the click of the hammer and saw Jerichos eyes. Colder than winter, he then rolled up his sleeves revealing a two of diamonds to drop on the floor. Jericho just watched the man and said, "Pretty sneaky. Hope you like the sandman." The man looked confused until he felt the hilt of Jerichos six shooter meet the back of his head. The man fell unconscious and Jericho holstered his weapon. He turned to look to the server. "Contact the sheriff. I think this guy will like his new home." He held out his hand showing the fullhouse and the actual Ace of Spades to everyone before returning to the table.

The other two looked to Jericho and were a bit nervous watching as Jericho collected his winnings from the dealer. Before they knew it, they saw Jericho hand both a wad of cash in their hands. "You guys need this more than I do." Jericho said to them. "Go get some rest. I have a feeling its going to be a long night." The two thanked him, got up and left the Saloon. Jericho walked up to the bar and looked to the server. "Whiskey please." he said. He had been there for a while. He herd that trouble was stirring around and didn't know what it was exactly. He hadn't been involved with it either. No reason to. He wasn't a Lawman anymore. He was just a trader and a miner now. He was looking to strike it rich in the west coast.

Jericho relaxed a bit and walked over to get the mans gun returning to the bar handing it to the server. "Sorry about that, hate it when people break the rules and try to pull a fast one." he said.

(OOC: I'll jump on it.)

Angela takes the offered handgun, tossing it under the bar. She pours the man a whiskey.

"Nae problem. Thanks fer breakin' that up, fella. I always knew that bloke was up ta sum'thin."

The man tips his hat and sips his whiskey, tossing a couple coins on the bar. Angela grins, showing off her gorgeous smile to the new customer.

"Keep it, stranger. We dunnae charge honest folk, 'round here."

The man smiles back and tips his hat again.

"Much obliged, ma'am."

"Call me Angel. S'mah name, ya know."

"Angel, huh? It's a good fit."

Angela chuckles and leans on the bar, resting her arms on the surface while her chest lays atop her arms. It's a trick she learned quickly that gets her customers going. Besides, making men stutter by showing off her 'assets' gave her some amusement.

"Thank'ee, sir. You enjoy that whiskey, m'kay?"

"Nae problem. Thanks fer breakin' that up, fell. I always knew that bloke was up ta sum'thin."

Jericho tipped his hat to the woman who was pouring him a glass of whiskey. He had tossed a few coins earlier for the mess and slowly took the drink when she was done.

"Keep it, stranger. We dunnae charge honest folk, 'round here."

Jericho smiled back tipping his hat to her again. "Much obliged ma'am." he said to her. He sipped his whiskey and looked around before looking to her again. The woman at the bar had a gorgeous smile. Too bad Jericho wasn't one to fall for women much.

"Call me Angel. S'mah name, ya know."

Jericho smiled warmly to her. "Angel, huh? It's a good fit for a lovely woman." He smiled to her once more tipping his hat to her again. Although she was showing off her "assets" as they were, Jericho didn't really go nuts like most of the younger guys around.

"Thank'ee, sir. You enjoy that whiskey, m'kay?"

Jericho chuckled softly nodding to Angel. "Will do, Miss Angel." He turned around to watch the Saloon's action. He had been in town for a day and didn't really catch much of what was going on lately. He had heard something going on the other night, but didn't really ask what it was. That is, until now. He turned to Angel again.

"What was with the ruckuss last night? Some trouble stirring in town?" he asked her in a polite manner. Being a former Lawman from Dodge City, it was kind of difficult to be polite in some cases. Most of the actions he did earlier to the cheat at the poker table possibly proved that. Not many rustlers and cowfolk know how to knock a guy out like that without firing a single bullet. Sometimes it was a bit difficult to intimidate someone that is causing a stir. Jericho learned most of those tricks from training under a few lawmen himself. Sometimes he would take a sawed-off shotgun to lay down the law in town. It was something he picked up from a friend of his. Jericho wasn't one to toy around with. Those who knew him already knew that. But out here, away from the East Coast, he didn't have to worry about that.

Jericho took a sip of his whiskey again. "How many hands does the Sheriff have under his wing?" he asked her curiously. Some sheriffs have a couple of deputies that follow them. Minimum of about two to four depending on the situation. Sometimes it could be six to ten. Jericho knew the drills and the enforcement levels. This one he wasn't too sure of.

The wooden doors of the saloon swing back and forth rapidly as Philip burst through them onto the dark street. Glancing to his left, he could see the riders quickly making there way down the street, the lights from the buildings flashing on them as they rode past.

Poor guy looked scared out of his wits. Philip thought to himself as he dashed down the street. Not that I blame him. Pulling up fast behind a barrel left outside one of the buildings, Philip knelt down and took aim over the barrel’s top. Need to see if I can distract some of them, and give the guy a chance to get away. Quickly sighting his rifle on the nearest undead rider and squeezed the trigger.

The round blasted through the zombie’s skull from behind, removing a good portion of the creature’s face as it exited. Judging from the run in with the other zombie and the limp manner the corpse titled and fell out of the saddle, Philip guessed the zombie would not be getting up. They are moving too far away and it’s dark. I’m not going to get another shot like that. Need a bigger target.

Chambering another round, Philip took aim at one of the coal black mounts and fired. The rifle was known as for being one of the few rifles able to bring down a buffalo, so a horse should be no problem. The beast reared back and fell to the ground silently as the bullet tore through its flesh. While the fall would have injured or killed a living rider, the undead had no such worries. The now horseless rider, slowly began picking itself up off the ground. This is not working. I’ve only got one or two more shots until they are too far away.

Shifting his aim from the back of the pack of horsemen to the front, Philip sighted the lead horse and squeezed the trigger one more time. Through the wisps of smoke trailing from the gun barrel, Philip watched as the lead horse fell to the ground in a heap. He continued watching as the newly created obstacle tripped several of the horses following closely behind it, resulting in a pile of horses and moving corpses. That should give the guy some breathing room. Philip assured himself with a smile.

Two more shots echoed through the darkened street. Wooden splinters flew up at Philip as the first bullet tore into the barrel in front of him. Philip only had time to flinch before the second bullet sunk deep into his right arm. His rifle clattered to rest on top of the barrel as Philip instinctively grasped his wounded arm and duck down completely behind the barrel. “Damn!” He had underestimated how fast the zombie who had fallen from his horse was picking himself up and the corpse had gotten the drop on him.

A shadow quickly flashed past him toward the zombie. Peeking out around the barrel Philip recognized the figure as the boy who had entered the saloon after his run in with the zombie. A few flashes of lights revealed the knives in the boy’s outstretched hands.

Not wanting to be surprised again, Philip looked at the mangled pile of horses. Several of the zombies were pulling themselves free of the tangled mess. Soon he and the boy would have more company. Philip ducked back behind the barrel and began trying to move his right hand; His entire arm still numb from the impact. That kid was going to need more than knives if the rest of those creatures got free.

(OCC: Ok Gamer have fun. Rudy, it should now be easier for you to get out of the situation I put you in :) . Reno if you want, you can either help out Rudy or me and Gamer. Elhaym, I feel bad that you do not have much to do at the moment, but after we get everyone safe we will come back to the saloon to recover and end the night. I will try to make an effort to get Angela more involved.)

[OOC: how many of them are there? and, Are their horses dead to?]

This new guy has a good shot. Shooting out the horse from under the rider at that distance, plus causing a chain reaction for several other ones too.. I just hope he stays on our side.

A shot was fired, but this shot wasn't fired from the new-comer, but at him.
Looking back to see if the new-comer was O.k, Alistar saw that he had been hit.

If there was a time to help him, It's now.

At the end of that thought, Alistar revealed his two hidden huntering knive's and ran towards the undead zombie that managed to fire at him. Alistar took the knife in his right hand and sliced downward at the zombie's gun-holding wrist, detaching it. As the severed hand hit the ground, the gun managed to bounce away several feet. Now, Alistar was face-to-face with the zombie, all Alistar could smell was the decaying flesh falling off the zombie. The zombie raised it's left fist, and tried to hit Alistar. Once its fist was close enough, Alistar took the knife in his left hand and stabbed it, holding it in place. Then taking his right knife, and thrusting it upward, detaching the zombies remaing hand, and a little of it's elbow. Raising his right leg, Alistar kicked the undead zombie at his stomach, but to Alistar's surprise, his hit didn't send the zombie back a little, but his leg whent through the zombie. Thinking fast to try to get out of the creature, Alistar did what came first to mind, he simply pulled his leg backwards out of the zombie, and with that motion it fell at Alistar's feet in two pieces.

A feeling of acomplishment overcame Alistar since that was his first zombie he slayed. But that feeling was quickly washed away.

Alistar soon realized that by the time it took to slay his first zombie, it's friends managed to pull themselves together and surround him.

Spreading his feet apart, taking a fighting stance, Alistar tried to be as ready as possible for all of the on-coming attack's that were about to happen.

Richard was too tired to care. His horse galloped toward the crowd of horsemen. The forms of the men gradually became more thin as the distance between them shortened. Richard blinked his eyes as he held on wearily. It made no sense. As he got closer their builds should have gotten bigger, not smaller.

As Richard charged through the cluster, he could finally see why their shapes were so lean. They were mostly bone. A chill crept its way down Richard’s spine. He had no idea what he had rode into, or even if he was in reality.

After passing the horsemen, they turned to pursue Richard, something he did not want to happen. He looked to the sides of the street for some life. A few lights were shining through the windows of a few buildings, but the rest seemed abandoned. He noticed a saloon, as he soared by, with people seemingly frozen in mid-conversation, and then they were gone. Richard looked back at the creatures behind him. They were catching up.

A shot rang through the air. Richard looked back quickly enough to see one of the men fall of his horse. A second later, another shot followed; dropping another rider, as well as his horse, followed by a third shot taking out the lead horse. Richard could only watch as his horse continued to run. A large portion of the horses tripped over their fallen peer, tossing their riders onto the ground as well. Richard continued watching the chaos behind him build up.

Two more shots were fired. The two bullets ripped through a barrel, where a man seemed to be positioned.

I guess he shot the first three. I can’t leave him there...well...actually I can’t leave either. I’m exhausted.

At the thought, another man ran by, quickly slicing up one of the undead. However, once the corpse hit the ground, the rest of the unsaddled riders began advancing toward the man. Richard had to do something. These men were trying to help him out, as far as he could tell, so they deserved the same chance.

Richard’s pulse was already racing and he was as hot as he was earlier in the day. Due to the lack of water, though, he was as dry as the dirt itself. He pulled in a deep breath as he grabbed the reigns and pulled them hard to the right. His horse, surprised by the sudden command, reared back. Richard held on with his legs until his horse sat back down and finally began to turn. Richard reached for his rifle, as the strap was slung over the saddle horn.

Two riders had made it safely through the obstacle and were still charging at Richard, except now they had their guns raised. Richard raised his rifle and quickly shot at the horse, for a better chance at hitting. The bullet tore into the front left thigh, making the horse veer to the left, crashing into the other horse. Richard managed a grin as it appeared his luck was improving.

Richard let go of the reigns as he pulled the lever to release the cartridge and place another in the chamber. He shouldered the gun once again and locked the hammer in place. He aimed at a cluster of the creatures and quickly pulled the trigger. Immediately afterwards, he changed rounds again.


The bullet tore through the ribs of one, while it continued on and hit another pelvis, knocking both from their feet. Two of the men turned toward Richard as the rest continued to advance toward the lone man. Richard had five shots left. He couldn’t miss.

He raised his gun once more and aimed at one of the bodies nearing the man with the knives. Weariness began seeping back into him as he fired his third shot. His body dipped forward as he pulled the trigger, making his shot fall short of the entire group. He shook his head, trying to keep his body in focus, as one of the corpses raised its rifle and fired at Richard.

The shot was low. Richard pulled the reigns to the left quickly, but the shot still found a mark in his horse’s hind leg. Richard’s horse tumbled over, sending Richard to the ground, already weak from his day’s journey. He looked up to see the two men, not walking toward him, but running.

OOC: I decided to stop there...let someone else end the fighting scene or keep it going. I couldn’t think of how to end it. By the way, my horse isn’t dead, just injured. I only did a quick spell check and proof read so it might be kind of....like rambling.

[Earlier during the day]

Though it seemed that Angel was entraced by him or something, Jericho was a bit occupied to what was going on around town. He had heard rumors that a gang of brothers or friends thought they ran the place. He was curious to what the law was like here. He asked her earlier, but didn't catch a response.

"Miss Angel?"

He blinked a bit drinking his whiskey. She looked a bit tranced out or something.

"Miss Angel? You alright?"

Jericho wasn't too sure, but it seemed like Angel had her mind elsewhere and not really paying attention to his questions. He was curious and not many guys asked about the law. He was a former lawman himself and didn't know how the law worked in some parts. But he was willing to find out. But he could tell something was on Angels mind. He didn't know what though. He couldn't tell either, it wasn't his business really. He just looked around and took a sip of his drink watching the customers a bit.

[The Evening. Now]

Jericho was sleeping for a while until he heard the sounds of gunshots outside, that woke him up a bit and made him get up to find out what was going on outside. He looked out the window, still in his shoes, and without the vest and coat, he was watching while something happened in the streets. Some of the locals were fighting others. Looked like there were men on horseback and not backing down. It was weird that the townsfolk looked like they were fighting one another. Jericho didn't know what the think of it as of yet. Though something was odd about this scenario. Some of the locals that were hit were still moving. He noticed a kid on horseback shooting a rilfe at some men on horseback. Not to mention Angel was probably helping out too. He had no idea what was going on. But what he did know was it looked like the guys weren't going to stop. Jericho sighed a bit.

'You going to raise your gun again against an innocent Jericho or you gonna let the others deal with it?'

Jericho was safe for the time being, and there was a lot of things going on, but there was nothing he could do. His past seemed to be haunting him a little while watching helplessly. He wasn't a lawman anymore, he didn't really live here, plus he wasn't here for very long. A part of Jericho wanted to do something about it, but Judge Jericho no longer exhisted. Whatever it was that happened in Dodge City, got the Judge real good. All Jericho could do was possibly find someone and see what was going on.

Jericho placed his revolver holster on his waist and moved downstairs quietly to see what was going on. He heard shooting an screaming going on, he looked around the Saloon and noticed the street was packed. He saw a few men get pinned by their mules. Jericho moved behind the bar looking around to see if anyone would tell him what was going on. He seemed a bit confused.

Blood was seeping between the fingers wrapped around Philip’s wounded right arm. His breath hissed between teeth as his dealt with the waves of pain emanating from the wounded limb. The numbness was beginning to fade and pain was taking its place.
Glancing around the edge of the barrel he was still sitting behind, Philip saw the situation was not much better than before.

The man he had tried to help had turned his horse around and tried to help the youngster with the knives. The man had a rifle to take out a few of the zombies closing in on the youngster, but he had gotten thrown from his horse in the process. Now two of the shambiling corpses were making there way to the prone man with a speed their undead bodies should not have possessed.

Grunts off to his right caught Philip’s attention momentarily. The kid had found his initial luck with the zombies had not held up. The knife blades were being turned aside by weathered bone. The kid was trying to repeat his earlier success by attacking the creature’s joints, but the undead things seemed to have learned their lesson and were being cautious. Despite the weapons grasped in their decaying hands, the zombies seemed to be trying to surround and wear down the young man instead of killing him outright. To his credit, the kid was doing an excellent job keeping the two zombies at arms reach.

Shifting his attention back to the unhorsed man with the rifle, Philip saw the man was in a more desperate situation. The man had worked himself onto his knees, but was clearly shaking. Exhaustion, Philip had seen it before. The man was in no shape to fight, much less fight the two walking nightmares quickly closing towards the weakened man.

Grunting, Philip pushed of the ground and resumed kneeling behind the barrel. Forcing his right arm to move despite the pain, Philip picked his rifle of the barrel top and sighted one of the zombies closing in one the exhausted man. Uncovered, Philip’s right arm began pouring forth blood freely and he slowly forced his right forefinger to squeeze the trigger. A scream echoed the gun shot as the recoil shoved the rifle into Philip’s right shoulder, jostling the wounded limb. The bullet was unaffected by the scream, shattering the skull on the zombie’s shoulders. The headless creature’s body silently collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Through tears Philip saw someone emerge from the alley between him and the fallen man. With a smooth motion the stranger drew a revolver from his hip and fired two times into the remaining zombie approaching the man. Spinning around with a practiced air, the man fired two more bullets into one of the creatures crowding the knife wielding youngster. The undead horror turned around to find out who had put two bullets into its ribcage. Taking advantage of the creature’s lapse in judgment, he revered the grip on one of his knives and brought it down overhand blade first into the zombie’s skull. The remaining two shots from the newcomer’s gun put down the remaining horror.

The sudden stillness and silence caused the four men to pause as they took turns looking at each other, all trying to comprehend what had just happened. The short interlude of silence was interrupted once again by the thundering of horse hooves pounding the ground. Far down the street the remaining members of the Clemens gang rode onto the street and turned out of town; the screaming echoes of a young boy trailing off along with them.

Philip stood up ready to give pursuit. But as he stood his head began to swim as his blood continued to drip down his arm. Philip stumbled slightly and roughly sat back down beside the barrel.

(OCC: Sorry for the short post. In case anyone is wondering, the new stranger is Jericho. Reno feel free to explain why he joined. I just did not want to leave him out of the action. I hope I used everyone’s characters correctly. Please let me know if I need to edit.

For now , let’s head back to the Saloon, rest for a bit , and do some character development.)

What was left of the undead retreated and the beaten ones dissapeard. Looking around, Alistar realized that when he was helping the new-comer, he himself was also getting help. Two new men had arrived just in time, one on horse-back and one who came from the saloon. The man who had arrived on his horse was no longer on it, yet he was lying face down in what seemed like exhaustion. The one who came from the saloon looked to be just fine. As for Alistar, mearly out of breathe. The four had seemed to have won the battle, but not the war.

Alistar ran towards the new-comer who was still hiding behind the barrel that did not stop one of the undead's bullets from hitting him. His arm was now bleeding, and fast. Alistar knealt down beside the new-comer and took the knife that he was still holding in his right hand, and cut off around a foot and a half of the bottom of his cloak. Dropping the knife so he could use both of his hands, Alistar gestured to the man to let go of his bleeding arm so he could wrap his wound.

"This should s-stop the b-bleeding a little" Alistar said in a low voice.

While wrapping his wound, the man said,

"The names Phillip, but you can call me Squint. Yours?"

"Alistar.. Just Alistar."

Looking up to the standing man, who was giant-sized compared to Alistar..

"Jericho, Jericho Simmons." He said in a deep voice.

Turning around, gesturing to the fallen man who arrived on his horse.

"We dont know yet" Said Phillip. "He kind of just rode in and helped."

Finished wrapping Phillips wounds, Alistar turned around facing the fallen man and said,

"T-take him inside J-Jericho please." And ran off.

[OOC: Sorry if this post is bad, wich it probably is. Im not too good with RP socializing. I left off where i did so Reno could have something to go with, or at leaste i tried.. If theres any problems feel free to tell me. Sorry again.]

For the moment, Jericho seemed a bit confused and noticed the men were in trouble. He had no clue what happened to Angel or anyone else, but there was three men outside who needed his help. Despite his past, Jericho knew what he had to do. Whatever it took to get those three to safety, just like old times. Citizens safety was more important than anything else.

Creeping out the back way, Jericho found himself in between the Saloon and the General Store, it was dark enough so he could see the situation from here, looked like the folks that were attacking were mindless. He noticed they were dead already. He wasn't one to kill others, but in this case, killing something that was already dead wouldn't matter. He emerged from the alleyway noticing one of the men behind a barrel and injured. One person was on his knees suffering from exhaustion and had a zombie on him and a kid was fending off two more with knives. Jericho had to act quickly, his instincts kicked in and he reached for his revolver firing off four shots at first. Two on the zombie that was focused on the exhausted man, and on on each zombie on the kid. They had turned to face him and were approaching. He just glared at their dead eyes and waited. He was between the man behind the barrel and the two others in trouble. Considering this got their attention, and his movements were swift, Jericho didn't flinch. His eyes were cold as ice and his ground was held firm. There was still some distance between him and the three Zombies. He had only two bullets left. He might as well spare those for later. Instead, he attempted to finish off the one zombie heading his way from the deperate man by pulling out a Bowie Knife and chucking it towards the Zombie. In a swift motion, he fired the last two shots on the two zombies the kid fended off. For now, it looked like the undead was retreating. He had no clue as to what was going on at the moment.

Jericho emptied his cartridge and reloaded it quickly without missing a beat. He looked to the remaining three and met up with them spinning his revolver and holstering it. The Desperate man ran towards him and the one behind the barrel taking a shot from one of the Zombies. He heard the man stutter a bit while speaking to the rifleman behind the barrel while tending to the wound:


"This should s-stop the b-bleeding a little" the man said in a low voice.

"The names Phillip, but you can call me Squint. Yours?"

"Alistar.. Just Alistar."

There was a long pause and Jericho looked to see Alistar looking to him. He looked around while replying in his deep, tone: "Jericho..." he paused for a moment looking around. "Jericho Simmons."

Squint and Alistar were talking about the man who fell on the horse. Jericho watched for a bit keeping an eye out for any more trouble. His revolver fully loaded and ready to make some more holes if needed to. Jericho wanted to be sure though. He heard Alistar speak to him after treating Squint's wound:

"T-take him inside J-Jericho please."

Jericho watched Alistar run off and looked to Squint. Helping him up, Jericho escorted Squint back into the saloon and seated him on the chair. "Never thought I would shoot at a man again." he said to Squint. He looked around and saw no one inside the saloon at the moment. He looked to Squint. "Some whiskey should help with that. Not sure where the bartender is."

Richard survived. It was a miracle he had not expected to happen. The fact that one man came out to help him was remarkable, but now, in the end, that three total had come to help seemed impossible. He looked up for the satisfaction of at least seeing the corpses of the creatures, but they were gone.

Richard coughed, pushing himself up slightly. He coughed a few more times, finally putting the fit under control, but his body wanted to keep coughing. The lack of water had long ago started to drain his strength, but after such a quick encounter, as well as the fall, liquid was the only thing on his mind. He looked over to where the man who was shot was laying and found him being carried into the saloon, with the younger of the men running toward him.

Richard pushed himself up onto one knee. He felt that he didn't even have the strength to do that. The young man was almost to him, but Richard wanted to stand with his own power. He shifted his other knee forward and finally was able to get onto his feet, but movement still seemed impossible without help. He stood, limply, with his thoughts only on getting a drink of water. He wasn't a drinker, in fact, he had never been in a saloon or even picked up a bottle before in his life.

Richard looked over to see his horse, once again, standing, but with its right rear leg crippled. It seemed he was going to have to stay in this town for a little while longer than he had anticipated.

OOC: Very short post...I just couldn't think of anything else until Alistar got to me.

“I’m pretty sure they are all down in the cellar.” Philip said with a strained tone he eased himself into the chair.

“Where?” Jerhico asked, the question slightly muffed as the man leaned over the bar looking for the aforementioned whiskey.

“The door to your right, behind the bar.” Philip answered as he gingerly peeked beneath the hastily bandaged wound. “It was open when we left, looked pretty dark, so I figure it is a cellar.”

“Hmmph.” Jerhico mused as he hoisted up a whiskey bottle from its resting place behind the bar. “Sharp eyes.” He mentioned absently as he grabbed two free glasses off the bar with his left hand. “I’d hide too if those things out there were running around.”

“But you didn’t.” Philip said with a grin as he grabbed an offered glass with his good hand.

“Old habit.” Jerhico quickly responded, a hint of sadness mixed with the words as he sat down and began to pour. “Speaking of, what in they hell were you doing out there?”

Slamming back the shot, Philip took a deep breath and motioned toward the saloon entrance as Alistar entered carrying the other man. “Helping him out.”

The kid’s hooded face swiveled back and forth as he helped the exhausted man to an open seat at the table Philip and Jerhico sat at. “W-W-where is everyone?”, he asked as he shyly took one of the other vacant seats.

“The deputy here thinks they are in the cellar.” Jerhico answered as he offered the exhausted man his empty glass and began to pour.

Sharp eyes yourself, Philip thought as he glanced to his deputy start affixed to his vest..

“N-no.” The man croaked through a parched throat. “Water please.”

Jerhico frowned and got out of his chair. “I do not even know if the guy keeps water back there.”

The exhausted man fought a losing battle to keep himself in his chair. As he slowly tilted to the side, Alistar reached out and pulled him back. “Why don’t we let them know its safe?”

“If I remember correctly that bartender had a big shotgun. I’m not going to open that door and get my head blown off.” He winced as he clenched and unclenched his right hand, forcing the injured limb to move. Not good. “They are probably more scared now than they were earlier. Probably, thought we were going to bring the entire mess of those things in here.”

(OCC: Short post. Ok, so I did not wrap it up . I apologize for using anyone’s character incorrectly. Please let me know if there needs to be any editing. Rudy, feel free to introduce yourself, I did not want to take that away from you. Well, here we are, do some character development. Do not worry if character interaction is not something your good at, neither am I . Elhaym, feel free to come out of the cellar.)

Hes parched, and so am i. Where does that bartender keep water?

Once Alistar was done helping Richard with his seat, he decided to walk around the saloon for some water, or at leaste something that water might be stored in. Most of all the chairs in the saloon where tipped over, clearly those drunk civilians that are now hiding down in some dark cellar were definetly in a rush to save their own butt while Phillip, Richard, Alistar and Jericho were doing it for them.

"D-do you think w-we will get s-some sort of g-gratitude for this-s?" said Alistar while passing behind the three men.

"Pssh, those cowards down there are prob trying to think of their own heroic story. How they saved everyone, while the truth was that he or she was scared out of their wits like the rest of them." Said Jericho

"We did what we should of done. Thats all." Said Phillip.

Richard's response was a simple groan, he was clearly too parched to even attempt to talk.

"It seems that we all know eachother except for him" Said Jericho, looking over at Richard's direction.

"H-his n-name is Ri-Richard." Said Alistar, followed by a nod by Richard saying that what Alistar said was true.

"Alright then, now that everybody knows everyone, lets find Richard some water before he passes out." Said Phillip while struggling to get up himself, his wound still limited his movements. Alistar continued to look for water for Richard, glancing at the cellar door every once and a while. I wonder when they plan on coming out. Eh, probably after they've all sobered-up. Frustrated now, Alistar's search for water seemed hopeless then something caught the corner of his eye. "Are y-you serious..?" Said Alistar.
"Hmm?" Said Phillip and Jerhico near simultaneously. Alistar simply pointed to the past out man who he had 'fought' before.
"Are you telling me he slept through all of that?!" Said Phillip with an astonished tone.

"He clearly had too much to drink." Said Jericho

"Aye." Responded Alistar stepping on the man. Stepping off the man, Alistar noticed he was waking up.

Slowly trying to stand up, the man probably had a bad hang-over because he kept groaning. Blinking furiously "What the hell is going on?! Where is everyone?! Did I pass o-ou.." The man noticed Alistar standing several feet infront of him at that moment. "YOU!" Said the man raising a fist.

Click.. Click.. Click, the man stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of a gun being cocked, he knew it was being aimed at him. Turning around, the man saw Jericho aiming his revolver at him. Sweat gathered along his forehead. The man paled and lowered his fist. "G-get h-h-him some water,'' said Alistar pointing to the cellar door.
Phillip looked at Alistar as he said that, and noticed that he could see the bottom of Alistar's face, and he was smiling. Alistar puckered his lips and pressed his pointer finger against them, signalling Phillip, and who-ever noticed him, not to speak. Jerhico whent along with it, although he seemed that he didn't want to take part in what Alistar had thought of, or was hoping for but he knew he had to keep the peace, so he flicked his revovlver to his left, telling the man the same thing, just without any words. Jerhico had a look of uncertainty on his face, he clearly didn't want to have any part of what might happen.
The man approached the cellar door with great hostility, reaching for the doorknob, his hand was shaking furiously. Turning the knob ever-so slowly the door opened slid open easily. Inside was dark, and a damp draft overcame the saloon moments after the door opened. The man stuck his head inside to take a peek,
"Gahh!! Die you bag of bones!" At the moment, the man who opened the door was rifle butted across his lower right cheak.
Thud. The man hit the floor with a great force, but was yet again, sleeping.

Ha ha, that looked like it hurt. Thought Alistar.

"Raaah!" Screamed Orville, jumping out of the darkness onto the fallen man pointing his shotgun at his head.

"No! wait!, hes not dead.. or undead!" Said Phillip reaching outwith his good arm.
"Lad?" Said Orville glancing around the room looking at everyone. "You all lived?!"
"Orville, where do you keep the water?" Asked Phillip

[OOC: Apologies for any and all wrong spelling or if i used anyones character wrong. i dont think Angela is coming back, click here to see why]

[OOC: Orville is hardly a lad. I imagine he's rather old, even for the west. So, around his late 40's. Should have pointed that out.]

Angela carefully walks back out of the door, just a pace behind Orville.

"Go'damn Orville, ya nearly took the poor boy's ha'ed off! Look b'fore ye shoot!"

Orville just rubs his head and pulls the man to his feet. "Sorry, son. Can't be too careful. Besides, these old eyes of mine ain't what they used to be, I'm afraid."

The cowpoke nods, "Yeah. Thanks, old timer."

Angela slips herself behind the bar and starts pouring whiskeys. "So.. ya drove 'em off again?"

The men nod in unison, Jericho being the only one to say anything, "Looks like they've ridden off.. for now, anyway. No tellin' when they'll be back."

Angela nods again, "They always ha'ed back to the graveyard. S'where they were buried. I wasn't here when they died, though. But, the last sheriff managed to get a posse ta'gether and go up there. And even then, all the graves was.. empty. Not a corpse ta' be seen."

Looks of confusion, followed by a question from Phillip. "Empty?"

Angela nods and leans against the bar, showing off her assets again. Apparently, this had become habit for her. "Aye. And I've heard people say'in they'd drag someone back with 'em. At least one person, each night."

"Wh-what would zombies w-want a de-dead body for?" asks Alistar.

"No, no. The person they'd take.. he or she'd always be live." corrects Angela.

"Alive? Jesus Christ in heaven.." mutters Richard.

Angela just looks down at the bar, seeming far less cheerful than before.

[Worked some of the stuff from your PM in, Shadows.]

Richard’s throat flooded with water almost faster than he could drain it. Alistar had managed to get information from Orville about a well out back and went and gained enough for all the men, who were not whisky drinkers. Richard leaned over and once again dipped his cup in the bucket of water for his fourth glass. He knew it was not healthy to drink that much that fast, but it felt so good. After swallowing the last drops of the cup he set on the table beside him to take a breather.

Richard finally began piecing all the events, that night, together. The words of the saloon girl had shocked him and he could not even imagine what this town was going through. All of this talk about the dead wreaking havoc was not what Richard expected the western United States to be like. He expected it to be a bit rowdy, but not altogether off-the-wall. Richard sighed at the thought of being back home where he at least knew a gang of the already dead would not be attacking him.

“So you’re not from around here are you Richard?” asked Phillip, moving his injured arm to the table.

I must have been a wreak, then again, I don’t even have a hat or the sense to get some correct information.

“Nope. I’m from the East. Indiana, actually. I’m used to a hard days work in the sun, but apparently not when I am in a frying pan,” replied Richard, fiddling with the glass on the table. His eyes only occasionally made eye contact and instead traveled between Phillip and the floor.

“Well, how did you become so dried up by the time you got here? I just arrived earlier, but at least had enough sense to bring enough water for the trip,” asked Phillip, watching the movement of Richard’s eyes.

Richard turned a little red, from what the others could see under the dirt. “I had enough water...but... let’s just say next time I’ll get more trustworthy directions,” said Richard, feeling kind of dumb. He didn’t like the silence in the saloon, other than him and Phillip. It made him nervous, especially around all these people he didn’t know. Plus, the one asking him all the questions was a deputy and all the rest seemed to be quite scary in their own ways.

OOC: Sorry, been busy. Hopefully this will help to get things moving a little. The end of the first quarter for school is this week, so I had a lot of big assignments due last week. In my last paragraph, that is simply Richard beginning to panic a little as he feels he is being tested and examined by everyone.

"Theres water in the back, you can get it from the well." Said Orville.
Im not anybodys slave thought Alistar with a sigh.

Looking over at Richards way,
Just this once, he needs it.

Before stepping out the back door, Alistar takes a look over his left shoulder, starring at everyone.

This looks like it miht be entertainning. I think ill stick around. He thought with a smile

Looking up, admiring the moon. Not a cloud in the sky to cover the moon. The light from the moon seemed to reflect off of the most rusted objects, and yet, still seemed so beautiful.
Looking at the well, Alistar saw a handle, attached to a crank. Turning it was one task, getting the water inside was another. Each crank seemed to be louder than the next
This thing is so loud, it could wake the de-
"Ha ha." Giggling at the thought
Maybe its this thats waking them up!
"Ha ha ha."
Finally, it wouldn't crank anymore. The bucket was filled to the brim with water and at the top of the well.
How to get this down. He thought.
Smiling, Alistar looked over his shoulder at the back door to the saloon. It was closed. Placing one of his hands behind his head, and underneath his cloak. Alistar slowly pulled out one of his long katana's. Hand crafted with the finest metals, this was one piece out of two.
Holding the sword in the ready postion he was taught, Alistar quickly sliced the rope above the bucket filled with water. It sliced through smoothly and easily, almost too easily.
Acting fast, Alistar sheathed the word back behind his cloak, and grabed the bucket before it fell.
Damn, I'm good.
With the bucket in his left hand, he entered the saloon. Orville had already placed glasses for everyone who wished to drink the water. Richard already had one in his had.
Walking towards where Richard was sitting, he placed the bucket down on the table, making a loud Thud as it was heavy. Alistar wasn't built for heavy lifting, so he was glad to have it out of his hands.

No sooner did Alistar put the bucket down did Richard start gulping down water, glass after glass. Just when Alistar thought he had to go get more, since Richard was drinking so heavily, he stopped and slowed down his pace.
"Ha ha, drinking like that, Im actually glad u chose not to have whiskey!" Said Jerhico in one of his deep, assertive, but friendly voices.
Putting down his fourth glass, "Eh, Im not much of a drinker anyway." Said Richard half tired, half exhausted.
Reaching for a glass, Alistar's hand was shaking. With excitement, but the rest of them didn't now this.
"Hey, buddy, your hand okay?" Asked Richard.
"Y-y-yess, uh.. uh.. uhm, e-excuse m-mee. P-please do-dont foll-ow." Alistar was smiling under his hood, but noone could see.
Alistar noticed that Richard gave a worried look at Phillip before he ran out ofthe saloon.

The moon shined briliantly down upon the deserted town of Sigil, Alistar turned around, now facing the saloon and saw that the roof was shaped like a triangle, like most of the houses and buildings. Walking to the side of the saloon, Alistar was nestled inbetween the saloon, and another building, a good eight foot distance between the two. Putting his back against the wall, Alistar ran full force at the opposite building, running up it, jumping off it, and turned himself to grab the top part of the saloon roof. Pulling himself up, he found it hard to balance as the shingles on the roof were slippery even though it hadn't rainned resently. Getting his footing on the tip-top part of the saloon roof, Alistar looked upwards, at the moon again. Feeling its dull warmth Alistar breathed in deeply, letting his hood fall off. Alistar had dark grey hair that fell down past his eyes and ears, not too short, not too long. He had multiple scars down his left and right cheek, one of his scars whent from the end of his right eyebrow, to the bottom left of his chin. Feeling them slowly,
Why.. why, me? What have i done, to.. to.. to deserve this?
Reaching behind his back, Alistar grabbed not one, but both of his katana's, wich have never left his side ever since he fled from his home town. Turning and twisting his hands, twirling each blade in a seperate pattern, leaving a slived streak of light, from the moons reflection. Alistars anger strengthend at the thought his mother. Thinking about how much he hated his father, even though he has never met him.

Gripping the blades tighter, Alistar said to himself silently,
"F-f-faster.." and sped up his movements.
Closing his eyes, "F-f-faster.. f-f-aster.. f-aster.. faster.. faster, faster."
His blades where moving faster than could be seen, the only thing that was seen was the streaks of light they left behind.

[OOC: im not trying to 'god-mod' but you get the picture of not being able too see his blades moving. Sorry if it was too much.]

Damn, that explains the scream I heard. Philip thought as he quickly drained another shot of whiskey. What do they want with live people?

Holding the shotgun out in front him, Orville poked open the saloon doors and glanced up and down the street. Several other people had steeled themselves as well and were peering out the windows facing the street. The doubt on their faces questioning the group’s claim to have driven away the ghouls

However, there were more pressing matters than disbelief. “You said the ‘last’ sheriff.” Philip commented as he turned his gaze toward Angela “Where is the ‘current’ sheriff?”

Angela averted her gaze. Her silence answered his question.

“The deputies too…” Jericho added to Angela’s silent answer. “I stopped by the sheriff’s office earlier today.” He paused as he gulped down his drink. “Deserted.”

“Has anyone else arrived to help?” Philip asked, concern in his voice.

“You’re the only man in town wearin a star that I know of.” Angela replied as she leaned on the bar, her chin resting in her hand.

Philip jumped a little as Orville toss a mass of worn leather on the table. “Saw these saddle bags outside.” The old bartender said to Philip with a knowing grin.

Philip chuckled, “Been losing a lot of things tonight.” Reflexively, Philip raised his right hand to adjust his glasses. His laughter cut off sharply as shots of pain tore through the wounded limb. Eyes clamped shut in pain, Philip reached out, this time with his left hand, and grabbed the empty shot glass. “I’m gonna need a few more of these madam.” He said raising the glass up so Angela could see it. “One for me and one for my arm.”

It was only, now that the lady noticed the black bandage around Philip’s arms and the slow trickle of blood coming from it. “You’ve been shot?” The surprise in her voice caused the small group to pause in amazement. “How bad tis it?” She asked, as she quickly made her way back to the table with the bottle. Philip chalked the concern in her voice up to seeing enough death for one night.

Richard broke his silence as he stood up unsteadily and reached out toward the bandaged arm. “Here, let me take a look at that before you go pour alcohol down the wound track.” Philip instinctively pulled back his arm and hissed at the resulting pain. Richard cleared his still parched throat. “Please,” he asked indicating Philips arm, “I know a bit about treating wounds.”

(OCC short post just to keep things moving. Let’s finish up the night in the next few posts)

Sitting on the saloon roof, Alistar is crying. He is still very young, and the child inside of him still shows from time to time. Speaking in a faint, dull voice.
"Mommy, w-why you? Why."
The moon is going down slowly as the night seems to almost slip away. Alistar had his two blades jammed inside the roof so he doesn't have to hold them. One next to the other, glimmering in the setting moons light.
The blade he held in his left hand had on its handle, two differnt colors. Emerald green, and a dark red. They entwined with eachother until the top of the handle, twisting and turning in unison together. Inbetween then handle and blade, was a unique design of lines the jutted out from all angles, identicle with the other katana. The blade Alistar wielded in his right hand was almost the exactly like the left, except instead of a dark red entwined with the green, it was a dark blue.

Slipping his hood back on and putting his katanas back underneath his cloak, Alistar decided to take a walk around the deserted town. Almost every house he past by, there was someone looking at him, watching him. But, every time Alistar turned to make eye contact with whoever it was, they would quickly hide behind the curtains, or run away. Looking at the road ahead, the moon was goign down, and tiny strands of pink light started to make its way across the sky.

Only an hour or two until dawn. I think its time for us to do the hunting now, instead of begin the hunted.

Near the edge of town, Alistar decided to stop, and head back to the saloon.

Its a good thing most of us aren't hurt. Too bad for Phillip though.

On his slow return to the saloon, the slightest means of life were starting. A baby started to cry, and some animals were scratching at peoples doors to either be let out, or in.

I wonder how long it is going to take to exterminate this.. problem. I hope I come across even the slightest information on his where-about too.

[OOC: short post. I got the sun rising. Yup..]