Castle Gulch: The Cavalry

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Thrax wobbled on his feet after exiting the portal. He instantly felt the inexplicable need to make sure all his limbs were intact, as there was a crackle of static, a smell of ozone and singed leather, and the strangest feeling of being stretched, like an aggressive form of yoga.

Whew. Everything is still there and fuzzy but, uh...

"... what in tarnation am I wearing?" he asked.


Thrax had slid a little along the phylogentic tree. He was still plenty fuzzy, his reddish-brown fur still having him look, well, like himself, but talking felt a little funny. His muzzle had become narrower; a bit more wolfish than normal. Or, perhaps to be more accurate, more coyote-like. A quick physical inspection of his face confirmed it was still his -- even his broken fang was still there -- though he had developed some darker patches of soot-grey fur here and there, almost like he had been burned -- or struck by lightning, perhaps? The shape of his new muzzle and teeth would take a second to get used to, but it didn't feel unnatural -- like it belonged to him, even if it wasn't normal. Talking out of it might be a little more challenging, however, developing a twang and droppin' more g's at the end of words than Thrax would ever be thinkin' about doin' under normal circumstances.

His fancy spacesuit, however? That was entirely different.

He wore a long, weather-beaten leather duster, with brass rivets reinforcing the seems. There was a slight spark as ran his fingers over the rivets, conducting his natural control of electricity. His hat -- wide-brimmed and black, tilted down over his face -- also had thin strips of hammered copper on the inside, which faintly hummed if he tried to spark up. That theme continued onto his vest and shirt -- a crimson canvas vest over a storm-grey shirt, with small brass buttons that could warm up and glow. His trousers -- custom-made, with a hole for his tail behind him -- were dark, tucked into boots with steel-capped toes and small copper plates, etched with faint swirling patterns, reminiscent of the wind in a storm. If he would channel his lightning, his entire outfit would spark and channel it as well, the metal carefully placed throughout his outfit providing what had to be a terrifying, sparking, glowing sight for any who dared cross him.

Strapped to his back was his Tiruga -- if you could still call it that. It now resembled a hybrid of a banjo and a strange, experimental rifle. The brass theme continued here -- the body was polished wood and brass, while the neck had stylized lightning bolts etched along it's length. From the tip of the neck was a long, slender repeater rifle barrel -- but with vents along the sides that glowed faintly if he channeled his power through it. An experimental strum of the strings had them humming with a low, thrumming energy -- twangy and rough, like a classic old west banjo mixed with a Tesla coil.

A wallet in his pocket had three dollars in it, and a card identifying him as Thaddeus Rakar, storm-wrangler. And, from the looks of it, outlaw balladeer.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"I dun know what the blazes is happenin' here but I can't argue with its sense of style," Thrax commented as he let electricity roll over one arm and spark between his fingers. He felt like he could channel his powers more easily with this outfit than even his advanced suit. Still, he definitely hoped this was temporary, as he rather liked his face the way his mother made it.

And why was he using such strange words? Was his translator glitching? Wait, was he somehow speaking English without it? Bah, that was making his head hurt. Best to just roll with it.

"We should get goin to that town over yonder and try to get the lay of the land," he said as he started walking.

---

Once in town, Thrax was drawn to the noisy saloon like a moth to a flame. Whether or not Haley followed him, he pushed his way inside. But, aside from the siren call of booze and gambling, such places were a great source of information, so he wasn't being completely unprofessional. Just mostly.

He cozied up to the bar, his hat low as if he was purposely obscuring his face. In truth, he was just unaccustomed to wearing a hat. Looking to the barkeep he asked, "How much to wet my whistle?"

[Narrator]

The Lucky Spur Saloon had with it a familiar blend of whiskey, smoke and sweat, wafting out through the swinging doors. Inside, the light was dim and amber-hued, thanks to the dusty glass oil lamps and what little light filtered through the smoke-stained windows.

A few more people had meandered in at this point, including the man in the duster coat and low-brimmed hat pulled down over his face. He had a glass of whiskey, the bottle left on the bar in front of him, ignoring the din of the people sitting at the round tables, the man in the bowler hat at the piano, or the noises beginning to come from up on the balcony.

The bartender looked at Thrax and Haley dubiously, as he polished a glass. "Now, look here, mister, we don't want any trouble, you get me?"

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Do I really look that dangerous? I'm nice!

"No trouble intended, barkeep. Jus' lookin' fer some refreshment and a little information," he answered, rolling with the effect the portal had on his speech pattern.

[Narrator]

"I'm just givin' you fair warning, stranger. We've seen troubles with your type before, and they don't end up doin' as well as they would hope, by the end. Most don't dare come into town, no mores.

Two bits for a drink," the bartender added, double-charging Thrax.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"I'm not from around these parts. What sort of troubles? There's someone I'm lookin' fer and they tend to make things real silly, real fast."

He had no clue he was being double-charged, so he slid over two bits from the wallet he didn't have before.

[Narrator]

"Was it just a wagon filled with bounty hunters?" the barkeep groused, sliding over a glass of whiskey towards Thrax. "The governor up a reward or something?"

"And the usual trouble with you man-beast types. The Wendigo. Skin-walker. Chupacabra. Whatever the heck they're calling themselves at any point in time."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Thrax weighed the option to go along with being a bounty hunter. He had actually flirted with the idea after doing once out in space but decided it wasn't worth the potential heat once he saw the bounty on himself. Here, though, that wasn't a problem.

"I can't say I haven't dabbled in bounty huntin' but, today, I'm just a travelin' balladeer lookin' fer a friend of a friend. Green-haired fella name of Stanton. Mighty impressionable sort, so it's possible he's landed in some trouble without even knowin'."

[Narrator]

The bartender stopped wiping his mug for a moment. "You know, you're the second person today to come in here talking about a green-haired guy named Stanton. What's going on, precisely?"

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Must be the headmistress or Morrigan.

"Group of us came to find 'em for a mutual friend but got ourselves separated. Nothin' that should cause anyone trouble. If you could direct me to who else asked, I'd be most obliged," he answered, sliding over another two bits to grease the wheels a little. Such places were good for information but that information wasn't free.

[Narrator]

"She walked out of here after having just a cup of coffee, of all things. Said she was here to survey a railroad. Didn't say she came out here specifically lookin for someone," the bartender said, his eyes narrowing.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Storm. Why did she have to go and make something up? Also, what's a railroad?

"Well, she has an important job to do on top of findin' 'him. I, on the other hand, am free to focus on the search. But, as it seems my welcome has expired, perhaps I ought to go," he said before knocking back the glass of whiskey.

[Jonah Kane]

"How much money do you have?" the grizzled stranger at the end of the bar asked.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"Twenty bits. No more, no less," he answered, giving the man his attention. He didn't know if that was much, but if a drink was worth two—or one if the hostile bartender had overcharged him—then it was a decent chunk of money. Doubtful it was enough to hire help, though. "Hardly enough to hire any assistance, I'd wager."

[Jonah Kane]

"You'd wager rightly, unless you have more to go on than just that. Gotta find your fortune before you can find your friend," the man said, turning back to his whiskey.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

The way the man spoke of fortune got Thrax's spirit of adventure all riled up. It was way off mission but it couldn't hurt to ask, right? Not that he expected anyone present to share anything useful even if he hadn't been cast in an unpopular role. "And what sort of fortune is to be had in these par?"

[Jonah Kane]

The way the man spoke of fortune got Thrax's spirit of adventure all riled up. It was way off mission but it couldn't hurt to ask, right? Not that he expected anyone present to share anything useful even if he hadn't been cast in an unpopular role. "And what sort of fortune is to be had in these par?"

"Where there are fools, and there are money, there are ways of making them part. Just don't expect any get-rich quick schemes here. That's a good way to find yerself at the bottom of a shallow grave."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"I reckon doubly so for a—what was that he called me? Skin-walker? Are there a lot of folk like me in these parts?" he asked, straying off his goal for further curiosity.

[Jonah Kane]

"Didn't call you that. Yer just a beastman. Folks don't take too kindly to coyotes in these parts, but yer at least what they expect. Beastmen are rare enough, but you hear about 'em, from time to time. Most normal folk don't trust 'em. Instincts and all that. Existing betwixt the laws of man and nature. But I don't have to tell you that.

The rumors are that something more sinister stalks these hills. Something you can't trust from moment to moment."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

The alien didn't much care for being called a beastman. How would humans like it if he went around calling them ape-men? Sigh. It wasn't like he could correct these people without starting a whole unpleasant thing.

"Can't trust how?" Will wasn't sinister but you definitely couldn't trust that a rock was a rock when he was around.

[Jonah Kane]

"They say that folks go missing if they spend too much time out after dark, wanderin' away from the lights of civilization. That people who go out lookin' for treasure never turn up again. Not just men, either; womenfolk and children, lured into the wild by somethin, and then gone."

The man took another slug from his whiskey, and patted his revolver. "It's never met me, though."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"Or me," Thrax responded with a smirk, letting electricity play between his claws. Only then did he realize that might have been a mistake. There was no way of predicting the reaction displaying his powers would get. It was so normal to him that he hadn't thought about it.

[Jonah Kane]

Thrax is certainly drawing attention to himself, and some of those sitting on the tables were definitely looking his way now. Subtle, he was not.

"You best stay out of my way while I'm hunting it. Otherwise, I've been fixin' to replace the lining in my boots, and I don't much care where I source it."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Storm, this guy is intense. A real lone zelku if there ever was one.

"Not one for a little honest competition, I see," he chuckled dryly, hiding a small gulp.

[Jonah Kane]

"This is how I make my fortune. You find some money, I'll find your friend for you. Otherwise, you'd best stay out of my way."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"Wouldn't dream of interferin' with your payday," he answered. He looked to the bartender and asked, "I don't suppose you have any information on any other suspicious happenins that the locals aren't keen on handlin' themselves?"

[Narrator]

"Well, what is it you can do then, boy?"

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"Me?" Thrax asked with a confident, almost mystical air, "I can do many things. I am the wind and the lightning. While I am no agent of the law, I have been trained since I was twelve to stand between the innocent and those that would do them harm. As such, I am uniquely qualified to deal with any unpleasantness that falls outside of the purview of lawmen."

It hurt to speak as though he never strayed from his calling. But, at the same time, it felt inspiring to pretend for a moment that he was a wandering hero. And also terrifying... but mostly inspiring.

[Narrator]

"Trained by who exactly? Last I heard, the army didn't accept beastmen into service, and I've never heard of one in a respectable sheriff's office or anything like that."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Shit. I'm just digging myself deeper.

"An independent outfit in the east. One that accepts all kinds. If that makes them disreputable, then I'd rather be disreputable."

He really hoped the east wasn't an enemy nation or something else alarming. If it was then he was in trouble.

[Narrator]

"Ah. You're a Pinkerton. And you're out here looking for a man. I see how it is," the bartender nodded.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

The alien had zero idea what a Pinkerton was but he was grateful his vague answers let the bartender fill in the blanks. Maybe now he could get somewhere... unless people didn't like Pinkertons.

"Indeed. We suspect Stanton has gotten caught up in a spot of trouble, so if you could provide any leads on unusual happenings around town—preferably ones that following won't get me shot—I'd be most obliged."

[Narrator]

The alien had zero idea what a Pinkerton was but he was grateful his vague answers let the bartender fill in the blanks. Maybe now he could get somewhere... unless people didn't like Pinkertons.

"Indeed. We suspect Stanton has gotten caught up in a spot of trouble, so if you could provide any leads on unusual happenings around town—preferably ones that following won't get me shot—I'd be most obliged."

"Well, the strangest thing around town is probably that damned cult."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

The mention of a cult piqued his interest, seeing how the cults of Leucrotta's old gods had risen up against the golden age of Saintism. He knew well how dangerous cults could be.

"A cult, you say? Please, tell me more."

[Narrator]

"Y'wanna know about the cult you best ask 'em yourself. They love tellin' folks all about it."

"They're harmless enough, I s'pose, mostly sticking to their homestead or what-have-you outside town. They mostly show up in town when the stage coach's due cause most everyone in town is either sick of hearing their pitch or already up and went with them to their supposed saint. Some folks started calling 'em Saintologists, but they don't like that very much." he chuckles to himself.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

The name sent a shiver down his spine. It had to be a coincidence but it was quite the eerie one. But It was a different reality and he supposed a lot of religions had their saints. Still, it was the only lead they had and he was curious if that was where the coincidence ended.

"Then my last question is how to get there."

[Narrator]

"There's a sorta beaten path south-east of town that hooks around the rise of the canyon but easiest is to just ask them to take you. Coach came today, so they're bound to be in town, looking for folks to come along with them."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"Thank you. And, with that, I'll be out of your hair."

Once they were outside, Thrax started looking either for Ashlie and Sam or anyone with a cultist vibe.

[Alleah]

He spots neither Ashlie nor Sam by the time he steps outside, but the two people trying to accost folks on the street are still there and upon noticing Thrax looking at them actually wave and make their way over. Never make eye-contact with crazies probably holds true as a rule across the galaxy but in this case he's actively looking to engage them.

"Well golly gee, even for a beastman you're one mighty tall fella." the woman says as they get closer. "Surely we didn't miss you stepping off the coach."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Not engaging with the crazies was, indeed, always the safest path. But if he wanted to help the X-Men find themselves a Will, he had to follow up on the only lead he had. He figured he could handle a few weirdos.

"That's because this tall fella walked into town. My horse went and died on me but luckily I was close enough to town to make it here before dark." Wish they'd stop calling me that.