I have a bunch of characters hanging around in dusty computer folders - mainly relics of abortive role-playing game attempts. I put some work into some of them, and I'm going to use this blog to record at least some of the better ones.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Jim Beardsley: Introductory in-game post

Bob caught the Frisbee and with a fluid spin, whipped it back toward Jim, a brilliant grin on his face. The throw was flawless. Jim shot out a hand to grab it, but the violet disc bounced off and careened into the bushes. Laughing at his blunder, Jim jogged after the errant projectile, his brothers’ good-natured boos and raspberries echoing in his ears.

It was a perfect day. The sun gleamed brightly high above, embedded in an ocean of azure sky. Here and there, puffs of white dotted the expanse. Central Park surrounded the Beardsleys’ picnic, lush and green, an island ringed by a horizon of toothy buildings.

Al, Jim’s other brother, had picked up a couple of buckets of chicken, with sides of cole slaw and mashed potatoes and gravy. Dad wasn’t here yet; he had some paperwork to finish up at the station, but was expected soon.

The Beardsley family – all firefighters. Bob was a driver/paramedic on a pumper truck; Al, a hose man on the very same truck. Dad, also known as Robert Beardsley, Sr., was the captain of their company and a well-respected senior firefighter for the City of New York.

Jim took a different path. Never one to do something just because he was “supposed to” or “expected to,” Jim studied criminology at NYU and joined the New York Police Department as a beat cop.

Spotting the Frisbee a few feet further into the underbrush, Jim forced his way through and reached down for it. When he stood up, disc in hand, a snowflake drifted down from the blue sky and lighted gently on his right hand.

“What the…” Jim began. “Hey, look at this!” Spinning around to show his brothers this miraculous snowflake, Jim realized that the snowflake wasn’t cold. Glancing down once more, he touched it with the index finger of his left hand. A smear of ash smeared his skin.

Looking up in horror, he saw that his family wasn’t there after all. It was September 11th again, his uniform was splattered with blood, and everything he loved was dying far to the south.

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Jim started out of his dream. His surroundings were momentarily unfamiliar and he thrashed until the blanket was on the floor of his RV. Remembering, he slowly relaxed onto the foam mattress, sobs racking his chest. Another night, another bad dream. Jim lay there for 15 minutes fighting the urge to move.

Eventually he slid down from the bunk into the RV’s small kitchen and turned on the heat under the kettle. Spreading the curtains open on the side window, he peered out at the Wal-Mart parking lot. So this was Walla Walla, Washington. Just another Wal-Mart parking lot. Nothing special here, so far as he knew. This evening would put him in Seattle, and then the fun could begin.

Thumbing the touch pad on his laptop, he brought up the email and read over it again.

Dear Mr. Beardsley, I have some information which may be of interested to you regarding the Nosferatu. Please reply if interested.

The unsigned email, delivered from an lsymonds45@hotmail.com, had sparked a series of back-and-forth messages which culminated in Jim’s decision to travel to Seattle to meet the man in person. Nosferatu! Vampires…this could be the break he’d been looking for.

The kettle whistled and Jim pushed the laptop closed, got up, and made himself a cup of Folger’s coffee, black.

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That's about it on Jim Beardsley. Next post: We delve into the Hyborian realms with a character for the Conan d20 RPG.

More Jim Beardsley character application info

Here is some more stuff I sent in to apply for the play-by-post game in which I intended to play Jim.
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Personality Profile:

Jim is basically a good guy. His instincts tell him to relax and make friends, have fun, but he is obsessed with his quest for knowledge and vengeance. People that know him for any length of time will be frustrated by this contradiction – just when Jim seems to be opening up and being his normal good-natured self, he “catches” himself and throws up a wall of reticence and reservations. When he does make friends, he is fiercely loyal, so long as they don’t interfere with his quest.

Medical / Psychiatric History:

Jim has no history of physical injury or illness – he’s been healthy all his life. As noted in his background, he suffered a bout of severe depression after the deaths of his partner and family; he basically traded that depression for a form of OCD when he threw himself into his “quest” to hunt down his partner’s killer and other “vampires” like it. When he can’t pursue his quest – i.e. the leads all run dry, he is detained by “real world” matters, etc., he begins to fall back into depression. He is also a moderate alcoholic, but has been able to handle this problem on his own so far. He never drives while intoxicated.

Hobbies and Interests:

Jim’s quest to uncover evidence of paranormal activity – especially with regards to vampires – is all-consuming. When he’s not actively hunting, he’s driving to the next lead, or actively scouring Internet sites, forums, and chatrooms related to the paranormal, or haunting New Age bookstores, Curiosity Shops, and electronics stores to add to his library or collection of investigations equipment. When he can’t hunt vampires (which he’s never seen, since that fateful night), he’s ghost hunting, UFO watching, Bigfoot chasing…whatever he can do to uncover some shred of evidence that “the truth is (actually) out there.”

As a result of this obsession, he has become fairly proficient with computers and electronics, and fairly knowledgeable about occult legends and theory.

He also follows sports to a much lesser degree – occasionally checking up on the progress of the Giants, Knicks, or Yankees.

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Next post: My first in-game post playing Jim.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Jim Beardsley

Jim Beardsley is a character I created several years ago for an abortive modern-day supernatural free-form play-by-post game. The following is my character proposal for the game, including a brief description followed by a background story. I'll also throw in a pic I found online for use as Jim's portrait. If the pic is you, and you don't want it here, just send me a pic of yourself in a different pose as evidence it's you, and I'll remove it.

Also, a bit of profanity. Skip this post if that offends you.

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Jim, 39, is 5’10”, 195 lbs, with short, dark brown hair and brown eyes. He typically wears jeans and T-shirts, or occasionally sweaters if it’s cold; a NY Yankees ball cap, and a long tan raincoat if conditions call for it. He has a concealed-carry license issued in New York, and carries a compact Glock 9mm in an ankle holster on his right ankle. If he knows events are likely to get chaotic, he’ll often wear the Glock in a shoulder holster under his raincoat instead of in the ankle rig. He also carries a police-style shotgun in his RV for when things get really ugly
.

Jim Beardsley’s family have always been firefighters. His grandfather, father, and brothers all served in the New York City fire department. But when Jim announced his intention to become a police officer instead, his family wasn’t surprised; Jim had always been a rebel. Jim attended NYU and obtained a degree in criminology, and then graduated third in his class at the police academy.

For 10 years, Jim was a good cop, slogging away on the beat, without the drive and ambition to take the sergeant’s exam – better pay, yes, but more paperwork. Jim enjoyed the beat, the recognition of the local shopkeepers and street vendors, the thrill of taking bad guys off the street. He had an excellent working relationship and a strong friendship with his partner, Steve Abrams, and everything was just fine.

Enter September 10, 2001. Jim and Steve were pulling a do

uble whammy, working the graveyard shift after a full afternoon on the job. They did this together as a matter of course whenever either of them needed a few extra bucks. Jim’s mother’s birthday was September 14, so he needed the dough to buy her a new television she wanted.

At 11:47 p.m., dispatch radioed in a robbery in progress on the pair’s beat, a block from their present location. A quick job later, and they saw the whole thing through the window of the corner Mini-Mart – a lone gunman was still inside, helping himself to the register. Signaling to Jim, Steve jogged around back. This was common…Jim drew his piece and counted to 50 before stepping into the store to attract the robber’s attention. Seeing Jim, the robber swung the .38 revolver aw

ay from the shopkeeper toward Jim, who fired twice. Both rounds caught the junkie in the torso, putting him down hard.

Jim radioed the shoot into dispatch, and then began to wonder what happened to Steve. After checking on the shopkeeper’s welfare, he cautiously made his way through the back of the store to the back door, which was bolted from the inside. Figuring Steve simply couldn’t get in, Jim unbolted the door and cracked it open. There, outside in the alleyway, was the sight that would change Jim’s life forever.

The creature was humanoid, but the similarity to humanity ended with the head, two arms, torso, two legs. The creature wore no clothing over its black, rubbery skin. It held Steve’s limp form in the two crab-claws that passed for its hands, and it was rending great gobbets of flesh from Jim’s partner’s body. Instinctively Jim drew his gun and shouted “Freeze, motherfucker! NYPD!”

What happened next, Jim can’t explain. The creature looked at him with its huge glowing red eyes and vanished into thin air, dropping Steve with a wet thud. Jim simply went cold. Instead of running to his friend’s aid, instead of searching for the creature, instead of doing anything, Jim ran. He ran back through the store, vaulted the counter, and out the front door. And then he kept running.

The next thing Jim remembers, he was waking up in Central Park, cold and damp from the dew. Far to the south, the sky was filled with smoke.

Jim’s family died that day, fighting to rescue innocent victims trapped in the rubble of the World Trade Center buildings. His father, a respected captain in the FDNY, and two brothers. He was too late. There was nothing he could do.

For the next couple of weeks Jim threw himself into his work, working ground-zero duty for 24 hours at a time before collapsing for 12 hours of nightmare-filled sleep. He began hitting the bottle to erase those nightmares from his mind, those two soulless red eyes, burrowing into his mind. That awful plopping thud of Steve hitting the pavement. The imagined screams of his father and brothers as tons of rubble collapsed upon them.

After two weeks, Jim’s captain finally noticed that, in the confusion, Jim had never undergone the mandatory departmental psych screen following a shoot and the death of a partner. Under protest, Jim met with the good Dr. Krzansky. The sessions were worthless at first…Jim denied that anything was wrong. Krzansky knew better, and prescribed weekly visits. Finally Jim opened up some, revealing some of his feelings of loss and helplessness without revealing the freaking monster he saw. Krzansky helped Jim realize that he did nothing wrong. Through a lengthy process, he was finally able to translate his fear and self-loathing into hatred for the creature and vowed to learn what he could about the supernatural and vampires in particular (that’s what he figures the creature was) in an effort to exact some revenge for his partner and family.

Unfortunately, this new commitment – Jim’s new … hobby – caused his work with the NYPD to suffer. He traded depression for OCD, relentlessly tracking down any supernatural hint he could find. In between leads, he drank heavily. As a result, he spent most of his time on his captain’s shit list.

Oddly enough, his luck changed in 2007. A regular player of the New York State Lottery, Jim finally managed to hit a winner. After taxes, he pulled in just under $5 million, which he managed to invest at approximately 10 percent interest.

Jim’s passion for law enforcement had long since died. He quit his job without a thought and invested in a small recreational vehicle, outfitted with paranormal investigations equipment. Since then, he’s traveled the country from one paranormal rumor (discovered via Internet) to the next. None of his leads has panned out and, as he pulls into Seattle, he’s beginning to get a bit discouraged.

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Next post: More on Jim

Diamond Jack Savage Worlds character sheet

John Wesley "Diamond Jack" Parker Experience: 10 (1 advance taken so far)

Attributes:
Agility: d6
Smarts: d8
Spirit: d8
Strength: d4
Vigor: d6

Derived Stats:
Pace: 6"
Parry: 2
Toughness: 5
Grit: 1
Charisma: 2

Skills:
Gambling: d8
General Knowledge (New Orleans): d4
Knowledge (Arcana): d4
Notice: d6
Persuasion: d6
Riding: d4
Shooting: d6
Spellcasting: d8
Streetwise: d4

Edges:
Arcane Background (Huckster)
Charismatic

Hindrances:
Curious (Major)
Dependence (Minor): Magic Mushroom Powder
Quirk (Minor): Wears a valuable diamond bolo tie

Hexes:
Detect/Conceal Arcana
Boost/Lower Trait
Missed Me!

Weapons:
2 Derringer 2-shots (one in right sleeve, one in right boot)
Scattergun (slung on back, when carried)
Knife (belt)

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Next post: We move on to a new character: Jim Beardsley, ex-New York cop, current would-be vampire hunter.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Intro story for an older Diamond Jack

This story imagines Jack as an aging gambler, who, after many adventures throughout the Weird West, has decided it's time to settle down. This is the point in his life that corresponds to the photoshopped Robert Conrad below.

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It’s time to settle down.

John Wesley Parker considered the idea as he attached the leader from the wagon to Deuce’s bridle. The brown horse whickered and nodded his head up and down as if he had read his master’s mind and agreed whole-heartedly.

When the aging gambler first heard of Diego’s venture, he was non-plussed. Montana! Visions of rough terrain and cold winters soured his opinion of the northern territory.

Still, Diego had asked him personally to come along, settle down, open a saloon.

“It’s the opportunity you’ve been looking for, Jack,” the mayor had said, a hint of his Mexican heritage tinting his words. “A little place to settle down. You’ll make dinero by the barrelfuls – this is a ghost rock town, after all. And we need you, old timer. Someone who’s seen as much as you have will bring experience and stability to a wild place. And your…abilities… will certainly come in handy.”

Parker stared absently at Diego, his mind lost in thought. Abilities – Deigo referred to Jack’s secret devotion to Hoyle’s rules, the Big Game – his ability to outfox the big mojo spirits like they were New England greenhorns, and walk away with all the cash and prizes. The mayor was one of the handful of people who knew that the legendary Diamond Jack Parker, gambler and world traveler, could make magic as easily as he could flip a coin.

“Yeah, Diego, I know I’ve been talkin’ about a saloon, a friendly little bar and casino to give me something to do when I do settle.” Jack looked at his friend incredulously. “But Montana? We’ll freeze our cojones off when the first norther hits, long about September.”

“That is the beauty of the plan, my friend!” The mayor grinned broadly. “When the cold hits, where will all the men want to spend their money, eh? Nowhere but ‘Diamond Jack’s. Nothing like a shot of whiskey – or tequila – to chase away winter from a man’s belly.”

Jack had chuckled at his friend’s observation, but it had only taken a couple of months for Diego to wear down his resistance to the idea. After all, a saloon was the plan, right? And he did have to keep an eye on his friend, make sure he didn’t get eaten by wolves or whatnot.

And now, four months later, here he was, climbing aboard a Conestoga filled with his worldly possessions – some saloon supplies and a few bottles of the “good stuff” to augment beer and whiskey purchased from Butte – and clothes were about all he had to brag about. Of course the important stuff was close at hand. His journal and his copy of Hoyle in a saddlebag at his feet, his cards in his jacket pocket, and Emily’s locket, safe in the pocket of his trousers. Emily… Jack cracked the reins over the team’s backs, and headed the wagon out of town to the meet-up spot.

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Next post - Diamond Jack's character sheet in Savage World terms.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Diamond Jack's background story

This is kind of long, but I'm proud of it. Keep in mind this was written specifically as a background story for a roleplaying game. It's more of a letter to my GM rather than polished prose.

At the end is a physical description and a description of his personality.

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John Wesley “Diamond Jack” Parker

Character history – John Wesley Parker was born April 1, 1846, in New Orleans; the son of Elvira Parker, wife of Jonathan Parker, a Methodist preacher. John was the elder of a pair of identical twins; Jonathan naturally named his boys after the founders of Methodism, the brothers John and Charles Wesley.

Although the Parker boys were identical in appearance, their demeanor was as different as night and day – John, who quickly adopted the nickname “Jack”, was polite and mannerly; Charlie was a rowdy boy, always running with the Creole gangs.

The twins’ fifteenth year was event-filled. In January of 1861, Louisiana voted to secede from the United States of America, joining the Confederacy. That same month, Elvira revealed that she was pregnant again. Despite the news, Jack was left to celebrate his 15th birthday without his brother, because Charlie ran away to “go fight the Yanks with General Lee.” The war actually erupted in mid-April of that year.

In June, in the middle of a difficult labor, Elvira suddenly called for Jack and sent the doctor and midwife packing from the room – she desired a private conference with her son. In obvious pain, his mother told Jack that she had been unfaithful to his father one time in her life – 15 years ago. Jack and Charlie’s hereditary father was not the pillar of the community Jonathan Parker, but a suave, aging riverboat gambler named Stephen Hoyle. She told Jack that she regretted her infidelity, but never regretted being a mother to her boys. An hour later she died giving birth to Jack and Charlie’s baby brother Samuel.

Jack was stunned by his mother’s revelation. A week later, he stowed away on the Natchitoches (pronounced NAK-ih-tesh – I know it’s weird, don’t ask me), a paddle-wheeled riverboat, having decided to seek his father, or at least information about him. Naturally the crew discovered him and brought him to the captain, a gruff man named Sam Reed. Reed was about to throw the young man overboard, but Jack threw himself on the captain’s mercy, spilling his pitiful tale in just such a way that touched the old river-rat’s heart.

Of course, Reed knew who Stephen Hoyle was; the gambler had steamed up and down the Mississippi hundreds of times on dozens of boats including the Natchitoches, over a long and illustrious career. Reed offered Jack a job as a deckhand, and Jack readily accepted.

The old captain and some of the older members of the crew regaled Jack with tales of the illustrious Stephen Hoyle, not least of which was that he claimed to be the son of the late, great games rules expert, Edmond Hoyle. Of course, the crew opined, this was hogwash; Stephen claimed to have been fathered during Hoyle’s final trip to New Orleans, despite the fact that Edmund was more than 90 years old at the time. It was on the Natchitoches that Jack received his first introduction to the gambling lifestyle and the game of poker.

Less than six months after Jack joined the crew, the Natchitoches was commandeered by the Confederacy to carry troops on the Mississippi. Jack took his pay and bought passage on a British steamer headed for London. Arriving in early 1862, Jack lived in London for the next 14 years, making periodic attempts to contact the Hoyle family. After an initial meeting at which Jack failed to produce any proof of his relation to the family (nor any interesting tidbits about Great Uncle Edmond), they refused to see him again. Jack traveled extensively throughout Europe, honing his skill at casinos throughout the continent, including Monte Carlo. During one of these games, Jack won a curious trinket, a brooch consisting of a sizeable diamond set into a cloisonné red diamond shape reminiscent of the playing card suit.

Of course, Jack explored the British and European cities and countryside during his self-imposed expatriation, and read voraciously. Of course he devoured his grandfather’s texts – A Short Treatise on Whist and Hoyle’s Book of Games. He also read popular European fiction; his tastes tended toward the new burgeoning genres of gothic horror, science fiction, and fantasy – Shelley’s Frankenstein, the early sci-fi of Jules Verne, and the work of Charles Dickens and Lewis Carroll. He also devoured penny dreadfuls, and whatever he could obtain from overseas. The works of the recently deceased New England author Edgar Allen Poe were among his favorites.

In 1867, one of his frequent jaunts took him to the western England town Hurst Green. While enjoying the small-town pubs and hostels, and the bucolic atmosphere, Jack read the Poe tale “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” which features the nigh-superhumanly insightful detective C. Auguste Dupin. As he finished the story in the local pub, he thought he heard a child’s voice outside calling “Hoyle! Hoyle!” Intrigued, he investigated and tracked down the child, but discovered that instead of “Hoyle”, he was calling “Doyle”, the surname of a young friend. The eight-year-old boys, James and Arthur, were students at the local Jesuit academy. Amused by the misunderstanding, he gave the boys the story he had just finished reading.

Back in England, another Poe story led Jack to a life-changing discovery. While reading the writer’s treasure-hunting tale “The Gold-bug”, Jack was struck by the impression of familiarity during the story’s code-cracking sequence. A week later, he realized that the typographical gibberish of the treasure map’s cipher reminded him of some of the scoring diagrams and hand layouts in his grandfather’s work.

Although he initially dismissed this similarity as simple coincidence, the thought stuck in his mind. One evening, he idly began to examine one particularly cipher-like scoring diagram in Book of Games as if it actually *were* a cipher. As he was far from an expert cryptographer, Jack toiled for weeks on the “puzzle”, as he thought of it. At times, as he was about to give up, a frustratingly almost-meaningful phrase would appear as if by magic to fire his obsession.

Finally in October 1870, Jack hit upon a phrase that made perfect sense – and led to other phrases that made sense, until he had a whole short passage decoded – but that passage was almost as cryptic as the cipher itself.

In his coded passage, Hoyle referenced spiritual, otherworldly beings he called “demons”. The passage mentioned that these beings wielded great magical power, and could be forced to serve humans of strong will. Most importantly, the passage detailed a relatively simple process for catching a brief, shadowy glimpse of the demons in their home realm.

Although the process involved the use of a mildly hallucinogenic mushroom (ground fine and smoked), it convinced Jack to continue his cryptographic study of his grandfather’s writings. He read everything he could locate about ciphers and codes, even retracing the steps Edmond himself had taken as he had attempted to research the magical arts. He visited libraries in London, Oxford, Cambridge, Paris. By 1876 he had decoded and practiced enough to activate some few simple – though useful – hexes.

Jack continued to gamble successfully during his magical studies, and, in 1876 was flush with success at the tables. In August of that year, while conducting the ritual to gaze once more upon the shadowy Hollow Man, Jack was instead plagued by a vision of his father, ill in bed, attended by doctors. Jonathan Parker appeared pale and weak as a dying man.

Jack immediately booked passage on the HMS Norris, a steamer bound for New Orleans. After a financially disastrous voyage during which Jack lost the lion’s share of his winnings due factors including sea sickness and worry, he arrived two months later, to find the city of his birth and childhood greatly changed.

Appearance – Jack Parker is 5’10” tall and slim, with straight dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He sports a thin mustache and smokes fragrant hand-rolled cigarettes by way of a short ebony cigarette holder. The smoke combines the scents of fine tobacco and clove with a hint of something undefinable, but reminiscent of brimstone. He typically wears a fancy gray or black suit and worn but well-polished black boots, a black Stetson, and the red diamond brooch worked into a Western-style bolo tie. He carries no obvious weapons; most often his hands are busy flipping or one-handed-shuffling a deck of cards which he seems to pull from and return to nowhere as the situation dictates.

Demeanor – Jack is still as polite and affable as he was in his childhood, but his conversational skills have matured and taken on the quality of a well-traveled man of the world. Although not classically handsome (but not an ugly man either), Jack can exude an almost palpable charismatic aura when he chooses; and friends, enemies and strangers alike often find themselves agreeing with his oh-so-reasonable propositions. Jack’s hands are restless, always fiddling with cards, or spinning a coin, or toying with whatever small objects happen to be nearby.

Note – Possible conflict: Jack’s father may not take too kindly to his cards; I don’t think Methodists approved of them in those days.

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Next post - A character introduction for a game in which I planned to play an older version of Jack, settled down and running a saloon.

Diamond Jack Parker

Diamond Jack was created for the roleplaying game Deadlands by Pinnacle Entertainment Group, and most recently, for the Savage Worlds version of Deadlands, also by PEG.

Within the Deadlands universe (old west with supernatural elements), he is a "huckster", a western gambler who finds magic spells hidden in the writings of Hoyle's rules, and gambles with supernatural spirits for power.

The picture to the right is a pic of Robert Conrad I modified (badly) using Photoshop into an older version of Diamond Jack. The red enamel diamond bolo tie, with an actual diamond embedded in it, is Diamond Jack's trademark.


Here is a version that my friend Rich made, showing a younger Jack.

I'm going to finish out this post with a short vignette story in which Jack gambles with a spirit for the favor of a spell.

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Dealing With The Devil

Concentrating on the hex, Jack fanned the cards – faintly shimmering with some internal mystic energy – that materialized in his hand.

“’Dat chew, Diamon’?”

Looking up from the cards toward the deep voice that rumbled out of the sudden darkness, Jack saw that he was once again in The Joint.

From the inside, the place appeared to be some backwoods booze shack, a gathering spot for Negroes to live it up, whooping and dancing, drinking and gambling; spending their hard-earned pennies in the small hours of the morning. None were around now, but once in a while, the wind howling around the place carried the clatter of beer glasses or a peal of faraway laughter to Jack’s ears.

The place was dimly lit by several low-burning candles on crude shelves adorning each wall. Gaps between the bare wooden wall slats themselves revealed only inky darkness. A low bar ran along the far wall, and behind it, bottles of various colors and shapes glittered in the dimness; some ordinary booze bottles, others bearing more mysterious contents.

Most of the floor was a wide-open expanse, whether for dancing or some other business Jack did not know, for he had never seen anyone in the place except for The Joint’s lone occupant, seated at the nearest of three small tables against the left wall.

“You gon’ stan’ they a-gawkin’ all night, boy, ‘r ya come ta play?”

“Clubborg.” Jack tipped his hat and moseyed toward the table where the massive black man waited. The wooden chair fairly groaned under his rolling bulk. Dressed in a stylish but rumpled black suit, the man held a poker hand of faintly-glowing cards balanced on the tabletop in a meaty grip, and a tumbler of some dark beverage sat close. A big, ebony-black bald head sat necklessly atop broad shoulders, jowls shaking with a rolling chuckle, oddly-pointed yellowed teeth glinting. As always, the eyes were impenetrable pools of shadow.

“Why now, Diamon’, I done tol’ you time an’ again ta jes call me Club.” The chuckle died out. “Ain’ no call for True Names aroun’ here.”

Jack grinned as he slid out his chair and took a seat. “Oh, but I wouldn’t want to forget you, now, Club. I find our little…entertainments…so engaging!”

The black man’s cheerful demeanor had vanished. “So what you be wantin’ out ol’ Club this time? You wantin’ a tetch bettuh line o’ bull to impress some cooze down in da Quarter?”

Jack chuckled at the manitou’s words. “Think I’ve got that one covered. Naw, all I need this time is for you to hide this here magic for a few hours.” Jack waved his hand and a small ghostly image of brushy ground appeared, superimposed on the tabletop. A small mound of rocks were prominently visible in the image.

Club leaned over toward the image and, shooting Jack a quick grin, sniffed at the image.

“Oh, yeah, I sees whut ya mean. ‘Deys sumpin’ hid dere real good, sho’ ‘nuff. So you wants ol’ Club ta cover up that magic for a spell. Well, let’s git to it.”

The two men compared their cards, and Jack’s pair of aces, albeit completed by a wild Joker, won the hand. Jack noticed Club’s eyes widen slightly when he saw the Joker. “Playin’ de Joker, eh, Jack? Mus’ want ta hide dem rocks pow’ful bad, no? You knows what dat Joker dere mean?”

“My pair of Aces means you’re gonna hide ‘em for me, aintcha, CLUBBORG?”

Club grinned foully and waved his hand. “Dere, dey’s hid. But dat Joker means I gits me some, too, Diamon’… Ain’ all you dis time…not dis time!”

As the juke joint faded around him, Club’s laughter rang out loud and evil in his ears. At the last instant, before the Joint was fully replaced by pastoral brushland, the candles lining the walls flared brightly, forming a ring of flame around the disoriented gambler.

Blinking his eyes, Jack found that he was once again in the sticks. Oddly, though, the candlelight had not faded. Jack realized with growing horror that, where the candles once lined the walls of the Joint, small, but rapidly growing flames festered in the underbrush. Jack was surrounded by a spreading ring of fire.

“Damn you, Clubborg, damn you to HELL!” Grabbing the horn of Black Pete’s saddle, Jack clumsily mounted the skittish horse. “C’mon, boy. We gotta get us outta this fire. Nudging Pete in the withers, the horse started forward, but balked at the flames. Pulling the reins toward a quickly shrinking gap in the fire-ring, Jack kicked Pete hard, yelling “Hiyaahh!” Pete got the message, and, snorting with fear, skittered through the gap before breaking into a fast canter once he was out into the darkness. Jack rubbed the horse’s neck soothingly. “Good boy.”

As he hit the river road back toward New Orleans, Jack glanced back toward the small grass fire his misadventure had spawned. The smoke from the blaze formed a perfect arrow pointing down, straight down toward the very site Jack had sought to conceal.

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Next post - Diamond Jack's background story.