In an instant the Pale Moon Rider transformed into the skull blazing specter of the Undying Flame for the first time since.....well, since before most things could remember. As both he and Cash were forced into a geographical choke hold by a carnival of 'controlled' explosions. It had become a preverbal ring of fire. Or ring of death, as Jordyn, hollowed out gaze and all, smoothly pulled his legendary revolver - Geronimo's Curse - and drew down on the increasingly hyper-aggressive X. Who had become somewhat unnerved by the claustrophobic chaos, smoke and movement stifling blazes.
"How easy it would be" the Hangman silently mused before uncocking the hammer and stylishly spinning the supernatural pistol safely back into its holster.
As a Death Riding spirit of vengeance anger and resentment had become a chalice in which to quench his unquenchable thirst for the wicked. Yet the townspeople, as well as the unknown samaritans who had helped stir their rightful anger, suspicion and outrage in a misguided direction, he could not help but to feel a sense of disdain. Their children's unmarked solitary graves remained undisturbed. Undiscovered. Cursed. There were no further signs of the other Death Rider - Blackstone. And the rogue cult itself had seemingly disappeared leaving behind them a catastrophe of strangers and mistrust. Murder and mayhem.
"You have alot to answer for Cash. And one day, one day soon you'll answer to me."
But today was not that day. Though the drunken demolition had successfully created a maze like labyrinth leading to the lost tree of the damned, Westden's esoteric entropy of winter could not be so easily undone. Or even rivaled. New pathways were created and just as quickly closed. Frigid gusts of spontaneous frost bitten air swept through the valley and over the frozen over creek and river beds with authority. Some animals sought shelter from the cold while others desperately tried to flee the flames. The winds would carry the destructive sparks of farm burning flames, kick starting an unnatural chain reaction of unspeakable devastation.
The town's emergency sirens began to blare, and at that precise moment Cash and Jordyn stepped out onto the trail just feet in front of the drunken posse, Showgunner & company.
Jordyn_Hill's forum posts
Naturally the unlikely group of justice seeking strangers were skeptical. Their questions were valid, their tones harsh and filled with doubt. Unable or unwilling to set aside their initial preconceived notions however, two of the strangers had seemingly decided to go it alone. Heading off before the Sin of Saddle Creek had even answered a question or denied a single allegation. Even the unofficial captain of the Westden's unconventional militia had felt compelled to run off into the woods in search of the deadly Bo-Vera. Though his recruitment of Jordyn had taken a more amicable approach, the gun-ho resurrected soldier had still decided against the Hangman of Jericho Hill's advice. Leaving Jordyn with little choice but to stoically reject the Shotgunner's invitation.
"Sorry friend but I dont think so." was all the cold yet collected Death Rider said.
And so with that, the Man of Nowhere was once again alone as the others were firmly focused on the capture or death of the Last Bison. But Jordyn had not come to the supernaturally infected town in search of Cash, or the other Bo-Vera's. His had been a righteous calling to avenge the sacrilegious murder of the town's young children, uncover the dark ministry, and unleash a fiery rapture upon their souls.
"Better this way." he briefly thought.
A true highwayman to the bone the Pale Moon Rider had nearly always rode solo. Almost. His mind drifting back to a time before his murder. Before the betrayal and death of his family at the hands of Momma Bo Vera. Back when he and the Last Outlaw were as close as brothers, as thick as thieves. He was here, somewhere. In Westden looking to track down the splintered faction of misguided occultists. The horrors he would visit upon the guilty would be a biblical punishment. Blackstone was a true nightmare that kept the other nightmares in check. A cruel lesson the excommunicated members of the off-brand Blackfire Cult would soon find out.
Then he felt it. A disturbing chill, an uneasy static in his mind - in his thoughts. An all too familiar sensation which preceded the mental intrusion of Momma Bo Vera. Her quasi-telepathic link with the Death Rider acted as an unlocked door into the Son of the Undying Flame's safe-guarded consciousness.
"Now you wouldnt let em kill my baby boy would ya? Let em rob you of the satisfaction, let em steal your vengeance?" she poked and prodded
"They aint got what it takes. Cash can figure his own messes out. He'll be fine. Until I decide otherwise."Jordyn confidently snarled.
"Yeah but, yeah never know. Say one of em gets lucky? Bags your prize before you get your licks in? What then? What then indeed..."
Her voice drifted off but the manipulative persuasion had begun to chip away at Jordyn's assurances. She had a point, and what was worse, she knew it. No way in hell Jordyn could ever, would ever, let another hunter kill one of his arch-nemesis.
So with that he took off towards the woods, though in a slightly different direction as those who had ventured off before him. He knew exactly where to go. Exactly what to look for. And while it may have taken quite some time, eventually he found himself along the ridge line staring directly down into the hollow opening to the abandoned wolf's den. His boots slowly crunched down on the charred remains of the Xsoteric's fire pit while he smirked at the child like drawings of an imbecile on the walls. A smirk which quickly faded however as he stumbled upon two sets of remains.
"Been busy huh?" Jordyn thought.
But than something stirred in the shadows. Something moved. Instantly the Pale Moon Rider whirled around and just narrowly intercepted the Last Bison's charge, but he was too quick, too overpowering in the moment. With incredible forced the mute murderer tackled the Sin of Saddle Creek sending them both over the edge and crashing down the side of the elevated ridge to the unforgiving ground below.
@feral_nova: lol Uh oh. Got me. Let's see, when I first joined LH I lived in San Diego. When I was active through the Discord I lived in Seattle. When I came back to CV I lived in Detroit. That was all in a....4 month time framish? I may not be any good at being a nomad but I stayz on da move
@the_shotgunner: @wild_cat: lol it's all good I do it too. Also if someone wants to post they can. At this point an xsoteric post would mainly revolve around some of the npcs. But if it feels like it'll free up more narratives I can go. Have to be tomorrow though. It's Friday!!!
Amidst the elevated sense of righteous fury the Man of Nowhere had easily bled into the background of the recently inspired mob. Now convinced that they had at long last discovered the abomination behind their children's disturbing abductions, their willingness to follow the noble rallying cry of a complete and total stranger had seemingly softened their previous 'lock everybody we dont know up' stance for the time being.
In moments of great distress and trauma a ability to keep one's, head while everyone else around was losing theirs, was perhaps one of the reasons the confidently spoken stranger had been able to channel, direct, and weaponize the towns-people's won over trust. Even the Pale Moon Rider had noticed his authoritative competence and the unshakable feeling that the man had had some form of military training.
"You just served those people up on a platter." Jordyn unapologetically stated as the groups broke off into smaller squads and began their ill-fated search.
Their police force, arguably the small town's most capable offensive force, had been decimated. The same 'hunters' and housewives who had been incapable of protecting their own children were now going to go off and facedown a walking war-machine the likes of which they had only read about? The same towns folk who had yet to uncover the true identity behind its endless ordeals, were now going to march off into the unbearable cold, never ending winter, and wilderness - the Xsoteric's playground - under the belief that they could somehow bring down the Hulk of Highland Park with lanterns pitchforks and shotguns?
"That thing your chasing, the thing you just sent those people to track down, is Cash Bo-Vera. Name wont mean a thing to ya but I can assure ya of this, he aint the sorta beast you send civilians to go hunting after. He got some dangerous and long lived family blood-ties. Occult ties that aint nothing to mess'wit. He wont be the one responsible for them missing kids neither. If you really wanna tackle that sumbitch your best bet is to let him flush out the real evil behind them abductions. Something tells me he aint here to join up if ya know what I mean. Once ol Cash does the heavily lifting, you me and your friends there should be more than enough to finally put the murderous bastard in the ground for good."
Lighting up a half finished cigar, the Sin of Saddle Creek waited and observed the energy in the air, unsure if any of the strangers were going to be able to reconcile with the type of indomitable psychopath they had so cavalierly decided to pursue. And exactly what kind of hell on earth that just his mere presence of being there ultimately meant.
Jordyn suddenly sighed. "Theres an unmarked sacrificial burial ground about 2 miles north here, through the woods under a big unnatural honey locust tree. One with no leaves, only thorns. Someone......someone outta tell them folks to get some shovels. Maybe start looking for their missing loved ones there."he somberly suggested.