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Delta Green - All Part of the Job
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<blockquote data-quote="Audrik" data-source="post: 6577139" data-attributes="member: 73653"><p><strong>Hearken to the Wild - Session 3a</strong></p><p></p><p>Agent REDLIGHT made a quick stop by the hotel bar to order a Long Island Iced Tea for ROSE and a large mug of cheap whiskey for himself. It took ROSE only a few minutes to finish her drink, and afterward Agent REDLIGHT helped his cell leader upstairs and saw her safely into bed. He then went back downstairs to disarm the Claymores REAPER had hidden around the lobby.</p><p></p><p>He relocated them to positions around the outside of the hotel and then went to visit Samantha Wendell. She worked as a tour guide, and while this wasn’t the busy season, she was still happy to have the work. Mrs. Wendell invited the agent inside to warm up, and he was happy to accept.</p><p></p><p>Her house was larger than some of the others in town, and it was well furnished. Over the past year or so, REDLIGHT had become quite familiar with antique furniture, and while he couldn’t quite place hers, he was sure every piece was about a hundred years old or so. For all that, it was in very good condition.</p><p></p><p>The couches and chair in the living room had been well used, but they had also been well maintained. The table was one solid slice from a large tree which had been stained and encased in several layers of some sort of varnish. It had its scrapes and coffee rings, but like the rest of the furniture, it was in very good condition. The whole room stood in contrast with the disrepair of the hotel.</p><p></p><p>Mrs. Wendell lit a few sticks of incense and placed them around the house before joining REDLIGHT in the living room. The agent asked pointed questions disguised as polite conversation, and he was able to determine that Mrs. Wendell had moved to Coldfoot with her husband Walter just after they’d married, and that he had died nearly twenty years ago. She claimed to be no expert on ancient tribal religions, but she did seem to have a fair understanding. There were some sites she used as stops on her tours which had long ago been used for tribal rites.</p><p></p><p>REDLIGHT arranged to have a snowmobile tour of some of the ancient tribal religious sites the following day. They were going to have to get started around 10:00 AM if they were going to have enough daylight.</p><p></p><p>Thanking Mrs. Wendell, and taking his leave, Agent REDLIGHT stopped by the other bar in town to have a look. The bar was quite economical in its use of space. From the outside, it looked barely larger than most of the houses in town. On the inside, two full walls were lined with liquor bottles, mirrors, pitchers, and glasses of all types and sizes. The rest of the bar managed to fit two pool tables, five dart boards, and four tables in such a way that they could all be in use, but no one would be in another’s way.</p><p></p><p>The bar was not operating at capacity this evening. Other than a rather burly looking bartender, REDLIGHT counted seven men and one woman. The woman was just as big as any of the men, but she was a little less grizzled. Her name was Martha as REDLIGHT found out when he sidled up and bought her a drink.</p><p></p><p>Over the course of a few drinks, REDLIGHT steered the conversation toward the religion of the various Athabaskan tribes. Martha knew a little from stories her grandfather had told her. Most of it was more or less standard shamanism which didn’t interest the agent in the least, so he continued steering the conversation.</p><p></p><p>He asked about wind spirits, and Martha told him every child knew the stories of Ithaqua, the Wind-Walker. He was a giant and terrible creature who was always just out of sight in the blizzard. The cold, roaring wind was his voice. Her ancestors feared him as a real beast, but he had become little more than a story to scare children into staying close to home during the winter.</p><p></p><p>The agent pressed for more details about this spirit, and Martha was happy to tell him all she knew. Her ancestors would hold rites and leave offerings to the Wind-Walker before every winter in the hopes that the creature would be appeased, and the winter storms would pass them by.</p><p></p><p>Sometimes the thing would sweep through the valley and take away some of the women. They would never be seen again, but their children could be heard echoing through the coldest of the winter nights. They were called Wendigo. This last word, Martha whispered though she didn’t seem to have noticed that she did.</p><p></p><p>Whether it was the word, or the whisper, or both, REDLIGHT felt a chill. He thanked Martha for the story and headed back to the hotel. Morning would come soon, and it felt somehow colder now. The wind was whipping through the small town, and even REDLIGHT was chilled. The light snowfall didn’t help.</p><p></p><p>At some point during the night, ROSE answered her phone. She didn’t look at the time, but it was dark out. That only meant it wasn’t noon. The voice on the other end belonged to the coroner from Bozeman. She had finally completed the autopsy of the pilot. As she had guessed, it wasn’t the crash that killed him. It was the loss of his heart, and the near-instantaneous freezing of his flesh. The only other thing of interest was the content of the man’s stomach. It seemed his last meal had been human with potatoes and carrots.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Audrik, post: 6577139, member: 73653"] [b]Hearken to the Wild - Session 3a[/b] Agent REDLIGHT made a quick stop by the hotel bar to order a Long Island Iced Tea for ROSE and a large mug of cheap whiskey for himself. It took ROSE only a few minutes to finish her drink, and afterward Agent REDLIGHT helped his cell leader upstairs and saw her safely into bed. He then went back downstairs to disarm the Claymores REAPER had hidden around the lobby. He relocated them to positions around the outside of the hotel and then went to visit Samantha Wendell. She worked as a tour guide, and while this wasn’t the busy season, she was still happy to have the work. Mrs. Wendell invited the agent inside to warm up, and he was happy to accept. Her house was larger than some of the others in town, and it was well furnished. Over the past year or so, REDLIGHT had become quite familiar with antique furniture, and while he couldn’t quite place hers, he was sure every piece was about a hundred years old or so. For all that, it was in very good condition. The couches and chair in the living room had been well used, but they had also been well maintained. The table was one solid slice from a large tree which had been stained and encased in several layers of some sort of varnish. It had its scrapes and coffee rings, but like the rest of the furniture, it was in very good condition. The whole room stood in contrast with the disrepair of the hotel. Mrs. Wendell lit a few sticks of incense and placed them around the house before joining REDLIGHT in the living room. The agent asked pointed questions disguised as polite conversation, and he was able to determine that Mrs. Wendell had moved to Coldfoot with her husband Walter just after they’d married, and that he had died nearly twenty years ago. She claimed to be no expert on ancient tribal religions, but she did seem to have a fair understanding. There were some sites she used as stops on her tours which had long ago been used for tribal rites. REDLIGHT arranged to have a snowmobile tour of some of the ancient tribal religious sites the following day. They were going to have to get started around 10:00 AM if they were going to have enough daylight. Thanking Mrs. Wendell, and taking his leave, Agent REDLIGHT stopped by the other bar in town to have a look. The bar was quite economical in its use of space. From the outside, it looked barely larger than most of the houses in town. On the inside, two full walls were lined with liquor bottles, mirrors, pitchers, and glasses of all types and sizes. The rest of the bar managed to fit two pool tables, five dart boards, and four tables in such a way that they could all be in use, but no one would be in another’s way. The bar was not operating at capacity this evening. Other than a rather burly looking bartender, REDLIGHT counted seven men and one woman. The woman was just as big as any of the men, but she was a little less grizzled. Her name was Martha as REDLIGHT found out when he sidled up and bought her a drink. Over the course of a few drinks, REDLIGHT steered the conversation toward the religion of the various Athabaskan tribes. Martha knew a little from stories her grandfather had told her. Most of it was more or less standard shamanism which didn’t interest the agent in the least, so he continued steering the conversation. He asked about wind spirits, and Martha told him every child knew the stories of Ithaqua, the Wind-Walker. He was a giant and terrible creature who was always just out of sight in the blizzard. The cold, roaring wind was his voice. Her ancestors feared him as a real beast, but he had become little more than a story to scare children into staying close to home during the winter. The agent pressed for more details about this spirit, and Martha was happy to tell him all she knew. Her ancestors would hold rites and leave offerings to the Wind-Walker before every winter in the hopes that the creature would be appeased, and the winter storms would pass them by. Sometimes the thing would sweep through the valley and take away some of the women. They would never be seen again, but their children could be heard echoing through the coldest of the winter nights. They were called Wendigo. This last word, Martha whispered though she didn’t seem to have noticed that she did. Whether it was the word, or the whisper, or both, REDLIGHT felt a chill. He thanked Martha for the story and headed back to the hotel. Morning would come soon, and it felt somehow colder now. The wind was whipping through the small town, and even REDLIGHT was chilled. The light snowfall didn’t help. At some point during the night, ROSE answered her phone. She didn’t look at the time, but it was dark out. That only meant it wasn’t noon. The voice on the other end belonged to the coroner from Bozeman. She had finally completed the autopsy of the pilot. As she had guessed, it wasn’t the crash that killed him. It was the loss of his heart, and the near-instantaneous freezing of his flesh. The only other thing of interest was the content of the man’s stomach. It seemed his last meal had been human with potatoes and carrots. [/QUOTE]
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