[center][h3][color=00a651]Doc Wallace[/color][/h3]
[sub][@ElRey814 ][/sub]
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"Whoa, there, Mr. Gilead," Sophia shouted, waving the simple brown hat that had replaced her formal top hat. Even through the growing dust she could recognize the decaying figure she knew as Samuel Gilead atop his horse and the scarred coyote that always seemed to accompany him. It was oddly fortuitous to run into Samuel Gilead. All the more when he was heading in the same direction that she was for once. And it wasn't towards the Leaky Pitcher.

The young necromancer had intended to head to the Jefferson Homestead by herself. She was no stranger to traveling dangerous territory on her own. Still, in the in the wilderness, two guns were better than one, even if one of those guns was a rusted piece of scrap metal. At the very least the resident town drunk would be another target for any roving bandits. Sophia wasn't sure there'd be trouble, but she wasn't going to take any chances. That was the fastest way to end up dead. Her black physician's bag was packed with freshly cleaned medical instruments and a collection of useful arcane ingredients. Secured to her saddle and within easy reach was the loaded coach gun that Sophia favored. The badlands were no place for modesty, least of all in regards to firearms. 

She'd had no plans of wasting time trying to find the Sheriff. The man had a gift for being busy and the townspeople were jumpy enough without the local undertaker asking questions. Besides, she was hoping for another look at the homestead before the posse removed whatever shred of evidence remained. If she'd hadn't been so busy with the bodies and under the watchful eye of the Reverend the first time, she might have done some proper investigating the first time. She knew that the Sheriff would keep his word. For all his flaws, and they were many, he was a reliable man.

Her trust in Samuel Gilead, however, only went so far.

He was a curious man, cursed with a ghastly appearance, and a man who's luck she could only assume had run out long before his birth. Less generously, she thought he was rather strange. Which was saying something...she was a necromancer used to conversing with the dead after all.

She had not known Samuel Gilead before his [i]unexpected and unwelcome return[/i] to Ulysses. She recalled that the stories that followed him were less than flattering. Past indiscretions aside, he'd always been polite to her and for a purported drunk, he had never caused her much trouble. A fact that she had to reluctantly admit, was not the case for most of the denizens of Ulysses.

However, all the same, there was something about him that felt wrong. There was a scent of rot to the man, that was almost familiar, and dark promises danced at the very edges of his existence. It gave the young necromancer goosebumps. His perennial shadow, the coyote, was just as aberrant as it's master, and Sophia had always felt that some deeper intelligence lurked within the lupine creature. It's yellow eyes were somehow dreadfully beautiful, and more often than not the coyote seemed to be the intellectual superior of his master. At any rate, even without his enigmatic side-kick, something about Mr. Gilead was off. Sophia could not tell what was wrong. And she'd had little reasons to examine the man medically. But she could feel it.

[color=00a651]"There is of course something very wrong with Mr. Gilead. Something hides him. Something protects him. Something obfuscates his true nature and his motives,"[/color] the long-dead necromancer that traveled with her lazily intoned.

"Something more powerful than you?" Sophia thought back with a sly grin.

[color=00a651]"[b]No[/b],"[/color] Balthazar spat back. Sophia happily noted that she had struck a nerve.

[color=00a651]"Be wary of him, girl. The man is either a fool...or he chooses to act like a fool—"[/color]

"And a man that acts like a fool is planning something," Sophia finished wordlessly. "Balthazar, I know, you say that every time I'm around him. How about you speak up when you've actually figured out what is wrong with Mr. Gilead."

The silence in her mind that followed was a small victory.

Waiting until the man and his pet coyote stood next to her, Sophia nodded in the direction of the Jefferson homestead. "I take it you're heading to the Jefferson homestead? I am as well. Although, I must admit Mr. Gilead, I never took you for much of a law dog."

Adjusting the brown poncho she wore, Sophia smiled. There was a certain thrill associated with the beginnings of a proper adventure. No matter how poor the company might be.