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Post by Silverback on Jan 4, 2005 14:10:33 GMT
'Why had you been invited to this place?' The thought kept whirling around your head as you sat in almost total silence around the large oak dining table that was serving as a meeting place this evening. Glancing round the opulence of the hall the cherrywood panelling stood out contrasting with the pale cream walls and vaulted ceiling carrying various masterpiece works of art in it's shadowy depths. The black and white marble floor resounded with the click-clack-click of footsteps as other 'guests' joined the gathered throng of people. The heavy wax candles, in their burnished silver holders, were the only source of light making it difficult to distinguish the features of the others gathered in this place.
Thinking back to the previous week your curiosity had been aroused by a hand-lettered invite from The Umbrella Society with the cryptic message - "We know your power and the need to make a difference." On the reverse of the card were instructions for the date and place of the meeting. Earlier that evening you had been surprised when a midnight black Bentley, with dark-tinted windows, had pulled up at the designated location and the door swung open invitingly. No one else had been sat in the rear of the car and the chauffeur had remained silent throughout the journey to wherever this place was.
Your reverie was disturbed by the sound of a gavel striking a marble block. At the far end of the table a shadowy figure could be seen stood silhouetted against a candlelabra. In a deep, sonorous voice the man spoke. "You all have been invited here this evening as we have become aware that many of you have 'special talents' and a desire to take positive action against the criminally inclined in this world. It is the desire of The Umbrella Society that we bring together all of you into a cohesive group that can operate where the law cannot, we will know no boundaries and jurisdictions. All that we need to know is that we do what is right and just"
"We have extensive records on each and every one of you and we feel secure in the knowledge that you share our beliefs and frustration at the inability of the law to protect our friends, family, colleagues and society. If you do not wish to be part of this please remove yourselves to the foyer now."
"For those of you who choose to remain with us please introduce yourself to your new society friends and tell them who you are and where your special talents lay."
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Post by Madclergy on Feb 2, 2005 22:56:58 GMT
Jake stood from his chair and straightened his trench coat which was a bit ruffled from sitting through the introduction and the previous moments before the introduction.
Before speaking Jake quietly cleared his throat, he had spoke in front of people before; in fact he had commanded people before, but for some reason being invited by card to a meeting of an organization "he" had not even heard of gave him a bit of a squeamish feeling in his stomach.
"My name is Jacob Kind, I have been brought here; I suppose, because of my keen ability to solve the average mystery and because of my past employers, they must have given a good note on my behalf." Jake's voice sounded a lot louder, no commanding, in the hall. He was no stranger to speaking to large groups so his words were very well annunciated and collective. Event his small tidbit could tell people that he was no stranger to leading a fairly large group of people.
Jake returned to his seat with an excusing *ahem* and began pondering if he would be put in charge of a group or if he would have to learn to follow a little better.
'I just hope they don't put someone totally arrogant and completely unjustified in his actions; in charge of me'
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Post by Silverback on Mar 1, 2005 13:24:25 GMT
As other shadowy figures stood and began to introduce themselves Jake felt a gentle tap on his shoulder and, as he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw the youthful face of a man who'd obviously spent much time in the sun. An easy-grin spread across his face and he put a single-finger to his lips and motioned with his head for the detective to follow the tousle-haired man with the five day shadow adorning his chin.
Jacob couldn't help noticing that, as he trailed behind him, this society member wore clothes more suitable to desert conditions and almost looked military-issue although the cut and design were a little strange to Jacobs eyes.
Entering a well-appointed room, possibly a study by the furnishings and book cases, the door was firmly closed behind them and the well-muscled figure slouched in a leather armchair and rested his boots, legs crossed, on the polished cherry wood desktop.
After staring intently at Jake for several seconds he finally spoke. "O'Connell at your service," and without rising offered his outstretched hand to the new recruit. "Sorry to have dragged you out of the meeting so soon but we've got an urgent assignment to complete and, with your military and detective background, you're probably the best man for the job."
Swinging his long legs off the table the man leant forward, full of energy, he continued "one of our members has 'vanished'. He was supposed to have attended a meeting two months ago but he didn't show." Rick steepled his fingers, "We weren't initially worried as he can't always make every meeting but we've had no contact whatsoever. That's what worries us the most and this is where your skills come in - we need you to find John Carter for us."
Rising quickly from the chair the adventurer grabbed an aged folder from the desk and threw it across the table. "There's some information on Carter in there - it details his military background in the American Civil War and what little information we've got about his experiences. From what we can gather you'd best start off in Arizona and search for a particular cave that John's spoken about on several occasions. You'll need to find yourself a guide otherwise you could spend years out there without finding a thing."
"Come on, we've got transport laid on waiting for you." As he exited the office and main building the conversation came to an end, "probably the best man for the job is an indian by the name of “Joe” Storm-Eyes. You'll need to convince him to help you out. He's the only person who knows enough lore to locate these caves." Shaking Jakes hand again he held open the door of the luxurious car and spoke to the driver. "To the airfield please."
As the car started up and moved away Jake Kind looked over through the rear windscreen at the dwindling figure of Rick O'Connell and wondering what he'd let himself in for.
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Post by Madclergy on Mar 3, 2005 0:58:21 GMT
Jake sat in the backseat of the car with a less than enthuised look on his face. The whole nights events had been sort of troubling. First the wierd welcome and the request to stand and recognize himself for what he was and what he did, and now being tossed a file and being told "Go find this man, it is because of your high priority..blah blah blah"
'Hmm, I wonder what kind of person this "Joe" Storm is going to be like. I hope indian.'
Jake looked to his left around the inside of the luxurious car. Finally his eyes rested on the file. It screamed to him "READ ME! READ ME!". He had never been much for files, he would rather know everything from the start and have that knowledge at hand so that he didn't have to base his knowledge on possibly outdated files.
'Alright you win.' Jake gave into the files 'You knew my weakness, never go into a situation without knowing the facts.
Jake sat quietly as he flipped through the file looking for any tid bit of information that would be helpful, using only the dimly lit steets as his light source in the dark backseat of the car.
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Post by Silverback on Mar 7, 2005 14:22:39 GMT
The flight north-west from Chicago had been an uncomfortable one. Sure the deHavilland Rapide was a luxurious plane for its size but being cramped inside for several hours whilst the wind buffeted the small biplane over the green lands of Iowa had left the detective with pins and needles in his legs and a raging headache from the constant drone of the planes engines.
It had finally been a relief to step out onto the grass runway of the small airfield in South Dakota. Now all he had to do was find this elusive Blackfoot medicine man. Jake didn't look forward to the long journey to Arizona so this small break was a welcome release.
A short *honk-honk* sounded from an approaching motor car, one that had obviously seen better days and an easier life. As the driver applied the brakes the dirty, black and brown-stained car slid to a stop just a few feet away and, as the door swung open, he spotted an ungainly figure clamber out. On his head was a tattered straw hat and, over his red plaid shirt, the deeply-tanned driver wore a faded set of dungarees.
"Howdy, I was told to meet you here. The names Clayton, hop in." Without waiting for a response he popped open the catch on the passenger door and climbed back in behind the steering wheel.
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Post by Madclergy on Mar 7, 2005 21:37:36 GMT
Jake sighed as he saw that he was being transported in an automobile that looked like it had been through a war, almost the same as the plane. He looked to the man whom called himself Clayton, with a simple nod he agreed to getting into the car.
'I hope that I am not going to be in that automobile for more than 20 or 30 minutes, I couldn't take it, as is it feels as though my legs can't work. I wonder how long after I get from finding this guy they will have me chasing another mystery?'
Jake walked slowly towards the automobile to allow the feeling to return to his legs, his trenchcoat caught in the wind as he walked and fluttered out behind him. He felt the gun on the inside of his 'coat bang against his chest as the wind once again died down. It was, for some reason, a reassuring thought to have a gun in his possession, but after having done the kind of work he had done in the past a weapon was a necessity to feel secure.
With an uneasy movement Jake slid into the front seat next to the man adorned in the plad shirt and straw hat. The inside of the truck smelt of hay and there was a hint of dung that assaulted his nose.
"So Clayton, how were you notified of my coming?" Jake wasn't really worried about how, it was more or less just something to begin small talk between him and the stranger. Small talk was the only thing that was going to keep him sane inside the small car.
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Post by Silverback on Mar 9, 2005 14:20:38 GMT
'Clayton' took the straw out of his mouth and turned with a crooked grin to his passenger. "Agent Clayton Harcourt at your service." Jake was a little surprised at the change in tone and demeanor of this 'yokel'.
"Looksee 'ere mister Kind. It was one of dem dar telly-o-phonies was dat what tole me 'bout you coming." He yawed in the broadest country accent he could manage. His facade slipped to be replaced with a more serious visage. "I was told you were a talented detective mister Kind. Let's not hope the senior members were wrong about that."
As the car bounced and jostled its driver and passenger a plume of dust was kicked up by the hard, rubber-coated rims as they made their way noisily down a country lane its surface rutted with the regular passing of traffic and horses. Rounding a bend in the road, the corner shaded by the overhang of a large tree, a small community of huts, cabins and lean-to's came into view.
A single white-painted building dominated the skyline as its bell tower rose above the rest of the town. On the outskirts of the town several buildings were being built, only one of them was brick. The others were of a wooden clapboard construction. Only a few motor cars littered the streets. Most people still seemd to rely on horses, ponies and carriages. Many of whom hurried out of the way of the noisy contraption as it pulled to a stop outside a low-slung wooden building constructed of logs. Above the doorway hung a sign - 'Mighty Joes Honest Trading Post'.
"Here you go. If your medicine man's not here then someone should be able to take you onto the reservation." Clayotn leant over and opened the door for the detective. "If you need to get hold of me go to the hotel and ask for Marjorie, she'll give you instructions on where to find me."
As Jake stepped out he heard a "good luck" sound over the noisy engine of the dilapidated car as it disappeared down the street.
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Post by Tomahawk on Mar 14, 2005 12:10:38 GMT
Meanwhile, on a bluff overlooking a quiet Blackfoot village on the Sihasapa Reservation…[/I]
Kangìnupà sat quietly in contemplation, face towards the east and the ever-rising sun, rising like a ball of flame to its apex. As was his custom, as was tradition, the young Medicine Man came to this place overlooking the village of his charges where he performed his ceremonial prayers at least thrice per day- once at sunrise, again at midday, and finally, sunset.
Slowly, calmly, and deliberately, he took up the bundled stick of herbs he had laying upon the red blanket-cloth he had laid out before him. Silently speaking the words of invocation, and small flame leaped into presence in his hand, which he then used to light the end of the herb-stick before allowing the flame to extinguish itself. Using the smoke from the smoldering herbs, he carefully smudged himself, wafting the smoke over himself and the items he had gathered with him to ceremonially cleanse and purify them from any contaminating negativity or outside influences. Satisfied that this was done, he placed the still smoldering smudge stick into a sizeable abalone shell and allowed it to continue smoldering, sending it’s smoke up to the heavens.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and prepared himself for the next part of this ceremony. Opening them again, he reached over and picked up the beadwork-embroidered buckskin bag in which he kept his Chanupa, his sacred ceremonial pipe. Softly singing the words the went along with the ceremony, he carefully extracted the two parts of the pipe from the bag and unwrapped them from their protective cloth coverings. Still singing, he took up the carved red pipestone bowl and passed it clockwise through the smudge, making certain that the smoke passed not only on the outside of the pipe, but also through the holes as well. Taking up the wooden stem in his right hand, he passed this too through the smoke, east to west, and then south to north. Holding the pipe’s bowl in his left hand and the stem in his right, he held them both aloft as he said his prayer, finally joining them together and turning the completed pipe once around his circle clockwise, bringing it to rest on his left shoulder.
Still singing his ceremonial song, he took pinches of tobacco from a small pouch, and after having smudged them as well and offered them to the Seven Directions, he placed them one after the other into the pipe, pushing them down inside with a small tamper. That done, he finished the song and again chanted to invocation causing a small flame to appear in his hand, this time used to light the tobacco inside the pipe. Taking quick, strong puffs, he stood and offered the first seven draws to the directions, and only after having done that did he sit himself back down to send up his own prayers with the pipe.
A good while later, the pipe had been ‘smoked out’, and he sat overlooking the village, contemplating, and listening carefully to whatever it might be that the Spirits had to say. He did not have long to wait.
“A Wasichu is coming,” A voice said, appearing as a songbird in a nearby tree.
“Hmmpf. That is nothing new,” he answered, hardly surprised at this news or it’s messenger. “The Wasichu have been coming for about a hundred years now. It would have been better had you said they are finally going away!”<br> “This one is coming for you… and he has a big gun!” The bird-spirit said, hopping from one branch onto another.
“Oh ho? Thank you for the warning- I shall get myself ready, then-“<br> “No, that is not why he is looking for you- he needs your help. He… he has lost something, and he needs you to help him find it.”<br> At this Kangìnupà paused for a moment, thinking. “And what would the Spirits have me do?”<br> “That is for you to decide, not us.” The small bird said, hopping into the air and dashing away. “Would you really turn down someone in need of help?” and with that, the spirit-bird was gone.
“Anyone else,” He thought to himself, “probably not. But a Wasichu?? Feh. Fine then, I will listen to what he has to say before turning him away. He will not know our ways or our customs, so he will not offer tobacco. I will be under no obligation to help him, and he will just have to go away!”<br> The thought suddenly occurred to him that the spirit-bird had not said exactly how much time he had before this white man’s arrival, so Kangìnupà quickly decided to gather his things together, and having done so, he went back to his lodge to await this “arrival” which had been spoken of.
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Post by Madclergy on Mar 14, 2005 21:40:12 GMT
"Here you go. If your medicine man's not here then someone should be able to take you onto the reservation."
Jake gave a slight wave to the car as it noisily made its way down he street. In a way he was glad to be out of the automobile. He looked back to the building its log structure amused him only slightly as he was used to the brick buildings of the city..
'Mighty Joe's, huh. I wonder just how mighty the Indian is? I just hope he can help me find my way to this cave.'
Jake entered the log building, immediately the smells of the various trading items in the shop entered his nostril, it was a very different smell than that of the inside of the car and completely different from that of the city. He looked around the inside of the shop which was lit solely by the windows, finally he returned his gaze to what would logically be the front of the store.
"Hello, I am looking for "Mighty" Joe" Jake's voice was deep and was made even deeper by the wooden walls.
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Post by Silverback on Mar 23, 2005 11:36:50 GMT
"Yeh? Who's askin' fo' 'im?" Turning round Jake espied a grizzled man with grey, shoulder-length hair. Atop his head sat a battered stetson and on his hip hung a gun belt. Peeking out of the holster was a silver-grip derringer.
Walking round some supply barrels, from which the aroma of apples, spices and cured meat arose, it was obvious that the old man had suffered an injury to his right leg at some time in the past. Further evidence of his terrible injuries were clearly visible by the missing fingers on this right hand and the thick, ropey scar that arose from his wrist and disappeared under his rolled up cuff.
Standing at a little over five feet it was obvious that this was the 'Mighty Joe' who owned the store. "I'm Jake Kind and I'm looking for a Blackfoot medicine man. Goes by the name of . . . Kangìnupà." He pronounced the name with some difficulty.
"Has tha' varmi' finally got 'imself in too much bother?" He punctuated the sentence with a hawk as he spat out a lump of chewing tobacco. "No, don't answer me that, ah'm tellin' you it's a none of my business."
Before Jake could continue with his questioning the man interrupted him. "If y'all gonna be lookin' fo' 'im he comes in 'ere every three week or so for supplies. Mind ya he only came in a few days ago so ya could 'ave a long sit see."
Jake shoulders slumped in disappointment. It was fairly important that he find this man for his skills and talents.
"Mind ya. If y'all wanna risk goin' alone into injun' lands I can draws ya a map if ya likes." Without waiting for a reply Joe ripped off a sheet of notepaper and drew a fairly crude but navigable map. "If ya ends up bein' scalped don't tell 'em Joe sent ya. They be mighty fine customers even if they are savages."
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Post by Madclergy on Mar 30, 2005 21:38:54 GMT
"If ya ends up bein' scalped don't tell 'em Joe sent ya. They be mighty fine customers even if they are savages."
The vote of confidence was grand, as was the map. An "X" that marked where they were and a line that was marked with a few landmarks.
Jake looked up from the map and gave the man a friendly smile. Jake was from the big city but had done some business with people from places like Texas and the sorts, he never did get how they cut their sentences up and still made them able to be understood.
"Thank you for the map" Jake began to leave but the realization that he probably wouldn't be able to navigate the map very well was pricking him like a sewing needle. He turned back around and addressed the man once more.
"Is there anyway I could possibly hire a guide to get there? I am terrible at reading maps" this was a lie..Jake could read maps fine, but a few squigly lines and landmarks that meant nothing to him was about as worthless as having a stick to fight a bear with.
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Post by Silverback on Apr 4, 2005 13:22:30 GMT
"I don't righly know if ya' can hire some un to take ya up there. If any un can show ya at least partways it'd be one of the Sanderson boys. Ya might'n be lucky an fine 'em up at saloon or down at the smithy's." The old man yawwed in his strong accent.
"They's a ranch up near dem injuns an they may help ya." Mighty Joe pointed up the compacted mud street that acted as a main road for the small border-town. It was pretty obvious to Jake that civilisation was only just reaching some of these backwater places.
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Post by Madclergy on Apr 4, 2005 21:01:37 GMT
"I don't righly know if ya' can hire some un to take ya up there. If any un can show ya at least partways it'd be one of the Sanderson boys. Ya might'n be lucky an fine 'em up at saloon or down at the smithy's."
"They's a ranch up near dem injuns an they may help ya."
"The sanderson boys, got it. Thank you very much sir" Jake said this as he walked out the door. The fresh air hit him as he left the trading post, it was as if he had been cut off from real air and was just now being reintroduced to the life giving sustenance.
"Now where is the Saloon?" Jake asked himself as he stepped onto the side of the muddy pathway. He looked to the left and then to the right, finally deciding to go right. He walked down the path until finally he came to a shop, over which hung a sign, warped from weathering, that said Saloon.
Jake casually walked onto the wooden porch of the saloon then through the swinging doors into the saloon itself.
"There aren't many saloons in New York, thats for sure"
In his broad voice Jake announce "I am lookin' for the Sanderson boys"
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Post by Silverback on Apr 8, 2005 12:19:56 GMT
After finding the two Sanderson brothers, Garrett and Blake, in the little towns smokey saloon Jake had successfully reassured the two cowpokes that his interest in the indian reservation was purely non-confrontational they had agreed to take him to the edge of their ranch where he would have to make his way on foot.
The hour long journey had been an uncomfortable one sat amongst the barrels, boxes and bales of supplies that occupied the rear of the horse-drawn cart. Its wooden wheels transferred every little bump and lump through the chassis and straight up Jakes spine and he know wished he'd been making this journey in the decrepit, cramped quarters of the agents car rather than risk having his teeth shaken loose.
The cart finally drew to a halt and, rather stiffly, Jake clambered down from his position at the rear and thanked the boys for the ride. Pointing out the stream he should follow he watched the bone-shaker pull away with a shouted "gee-haa" as he brushed the excess dust off his clothes.
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Post by Madclergy on Apr 9, 2005 21:56:45 GMT
After successfully removing 50% of the dirt and dust and then deciding that the other 50% was probably permenant Jake moved his way down the stream, making sure to check for the landmarks mentioned.
"I think the last time I remember taking a walk like this, well I was still training.
"How I have gotten older...older...olde...old..." Jake was only slightly amused with the echo that followed his voice, relentlessly repeating the word "older".
After about an hour of walking Jake stopped and sat down on a log.
"Well I guess this is what you get Jake, you didn't have to follow that cards instructions, but your own curiousity has dragged you into this one, and.." Jake stopped his talking to himself as he was startled by something behind him.
"Was that in my imagination? I really don't want to have to deal with the wildlife right now, I have enough problems with humans, let alone animals. "
This last part of his thought was done as he stood from the tree he had stopped to rest on and pulled his guns; aiming them in the direction he had heard the sound from.
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