story Chapter 2

[Sir Lazeabout]

Malcolm sidles in close to his companions.

"I'll circle around," he says. "See if I can't get a good look at them from the direction they're not expecting. If you hear me scream..." He grimaces. "Run. There won't be anything you can do for me, so you might as well save yourselves. Best of luck to us all, eh?"

[matt_s]

Stoically, the Professor nods.

If that is the path you chose, I will not hinder you. But before you depart, do you make anything of these strange lyrics from our less than friendly rustic choir? My academic knowledge has failed me, alas, but from my understanding your expertise is more esoteric so to speak.

Let us get close enough for a good look at what is transpiring, but no closer. Hopefully they are preoccupied by whatever infernal art they practice, but hope in the wrong circumstance can be an ever so pernicious thing.

[Butchern]

It took Malcolm a minute to realize what they were listening to. At first, it sounded like they were singing words at random with no rhyme or reason to the word salad, but then he realized that the words they were singing over and over were the words to various Christian religious texts: the Lord's Prayer, the Apostles Creed, a Protestant hymn that he only vaguely recognized. But the word were not in any intelligible order, no subject-verb-object, nothing sensible at all. The words were selected to fit the cadence of the tune (which sounded in places like bird song). The words fit perfectly, and the singers sang them perfectly in unison though not always in tune. It was very unsettling to hear, and once the investigators realized what they were hearing, it became ever more unsettling. Even with his extensive knowledge of the occult, Malcolm had never heard anything like it before.

Malcolm began his stealthy flanking maneuver, and Coupard began inching his way forward, but Emma use the moment of distraction to rush forward into the darkness and presumably into the clearing. The singing was interrupted by her arrival only for a few seconds as singers stumbled over the words in surprise. Then they resumed their song.

Coupard found an old fallen tree to hide behind with a view into the clearing. By the light of the full moon he could see a dozen or so ordinary-looking people standing in a wide circle around the stone. They were the singers. Every square in inch of the clearing above the ground (tops of trees, the barn, the house, everything) was covered in the large black birds. All eyes, human and bird, turned to look at Emma as she walked into the clearing but the singing didn't stop. She walked between the singers, climbed up onto the stone in her nightgown, and crawled to the middle. One of the singers tossed her something—Coupard couldn't see what. With one smooth motion, she passed whatever it was she was tossed across the front of her neck and then collapsed onto the stone.

Coupard immediately knew what he had just witnessed. Suicide.

The singing stopped, and the birds all screamed in unison. As they screamed their inhuman screams, a green glowing cloud of smoke poured from their mouths and began to slowly rise into the sky. And then, a huge swath of the birds . . . died. They coughed and sputtered and fell from their perches onto the ground unmoving.

The singing resumed, faster this time, and another person with a small frame, long hair, and a large overcoat climbed up onto the stone and began crawling out to the middle of the stone to where Emma lay unmoving.

[matt_s]

A string of foul obscenities quietly slipped from Coupard's mouth. Bile rose in his throat and was quickly choked down. Losing focus for a moment, he muttered as he trembled in the faint moonlight.

What the devil was that? She - curse them all, burn them all. Lyrics blasphemous, birds wrought of fabric extraterrestrial, innocent blood poured out, what did Broder unearth in his last days...

Maria, you have that sixshooter, yes? Freak with the overcoat - place one between the eyes. Emma may be a suicide and caught in this madness, but by God she still deserves the Christian burial that they are trying to deny. I guess this'll tell the tale.

 

[Sir Lazeabout]

Malcolm tries to get a good look at some of the deranged cultists so he can identify them later... if there is a later. His heart is pounding so hard it hurts his chest. This, then, is magic - real magic, true magic, magic from beyond the stars. He is horrified beyond anything he has ever felt, but at the same time, he can't look away.

[Butchern]

Malcolm could see the singers well enough in the bright moonlight, but he didn't recognize any of them. He would be able to recognize them later if needed. They looked to be a mix of men and women, and they all looked like locals, like they fit the town of Ravenel. Some of the singers, however, were dressed for bed as Emma had been.

After Emma collapsed onto the stone, the singing resumed, faster this time, and another person with a small frame, long hair, and a large overcoat climbed up onto the stone and began crawling out to the middle of the stone.

On 3/14/2023 at 8:52 PM, matt_s said:

Freak with the overcoat - place one between the eyes.

Maria took out her pistol, took a step in front of Coupard, aimed, and fired.

At the sound of the gunshot, the singing stopped, and the singers began looking around for the sound of the noise. They looked alarmed but they did not leave the circle around the stone.

At first it was hard to tell if the bullet found its target. Then the singer in the overcoat, who had been crawling, slowly slumped forward onto the stone. She continued to try to crawl for a few seconds on her belly but she only made it another foot or so to the middle of the stone. Then she stopped moving altogether.

And then all the birds screamed in unison again. As they screamed their inhuman screams, more of the green glowing cloud poured from their beaks and rose into the sky. Another huge swath of the birds, probably half of those that remained coughed and sputtered and fell from their perches onto the ground with the remains of their kin.

And then, tentatively, while still looking around frantically, the singing began again.

[matt_s]

Coupard whispered,

They aren't the quittin' kind, are they? Somehow, gunning down the lot of them still don't sit right with me. They're just ordinary folk caught up in some nonsense over their heads. Well, over *all* our heads I suppose. Still, can't let them finish. Try one shot into the stone. See if that does something.

Then, we could consider confronting the lot of them at gunpoint, drive 'em off that way. This lot seems placid enough as rendered evident by the lack of gunfire in our general direction.

[Butchern]

Maria's hand was trembling when she lowered the pistol again. The shot rang out followed by the "TING ZIP" of the bullet hitting the stone and ricocheting into the darkness. Maria was a good shot.

The singing stopped again, and the singers turned in the general direction of of Coupard and Maria. All of the birds that remained alive turned to face Maria as well. A deathly silence fell over the scene.

[matt_s]

Time to risk it all, Coupard whispers.

Emerging from the darkness besides Maria, he shouts out, trying to draw himself tall.

There's been enough singing for one night, I bloody well think! Quit this place and sod off to your homes, else judgment will be dealt out to you in turn! Just make no sudden movements and back off into the night, I thank you very much.

 

 

[Sir Lazeabout]

Not sure what else to do, Malcolm starts stomping around, rustling branches, scattering rocks, and just generally trying to sound like a large number of men lurking just out of sight. As illusions go, it's not one of his better ones, but perhaps it might lend some weight to Coupard's gambit.

[Butchern]

The presence of Coupard at the edge of the trees with an armed Maria right behind him, and the noise that Malcolm was making stopped the singing. Some of the singers staggered backwards and looked around, shaking their heads like they had been awakened from a deep sleep. The others looked around for who was speaking and who was making the noise.

As soon as they saw Coupard and Maria, four of the singers began walking across the clearing toward them.

The glowing green cloud had coalesced in the sky and was falling like a misty rain upon the stone. The top of the stone glowed green in the light of the cloud.
 

One of the remaining singers began crawling up onto the top of the stone as the other two had done.

[matt_s]

Three shots left by his count. With luck, that could do for three out of the four, and Coupard and Maria could handle the remainder with old fashioned fisticuffs.

Lucky was not how he felt these days.

If you step closer, you will be shot! shouts Coupard at the advancing singers. Quickly, he pats his pockets and looks around on the dark ground for anything that could serve as a crude implement of violence - a rock, sturdy branch, or jack knife, all would have to do in these circumstances.

Malcolm, get that wretched ne'er-do-well OFF THE BLASTED STONE!

Coupard nervously glanced at the advancing four and Maria. Much would depend on her accuracy and their nerve.

[Sir Lazeabout]

Never let it be said that Malcolm is one to fail his fellows in a crisis! He sprints for the stone, aiming to tackle the singer off of it.

[Butchern]

Maria stuck her hand into per pocket and reassuringly felt the other six bullets there. But a quick count of the oncoming cultists revealed the math would be tight.

Coupard found a sturdy stick and a rock. Both were damp and slimy with swamp.

The singer who had climbed up onto the stone was an middle-aged man with brown hair and a mustache. He was dressed in his pajamas. As Malcolm charged the stone, the man felt around in the dark until he found the bloody razor with which Emma had dispatched herself. He only looked up, razor in hand, at the last second as Malcolm reached the stone.

[matt_s]

Coupard motions for Maria to step backwards with him. He wanted to keep some space between the two of them and the cultists. This would hopefully draw the cultists away from the stone and crucially Malcolm and give them some breathing room.

Please, come to your senses. Is it not pointless to have more blood be shed for the sake of your profane ritual? Do you value those foul perversions of the avian form over your own humanity, even over your own immortal souls? How will your heart be sorted out when you come before the Judgment Seat?

But of course, Coupard knew that there was likely no other way for this to end. If the cultists continued to close the distance, the night would be once more punctuated by the sharp crack of gunfire.