Hiya Dave!
Anyway, as an official Agent of the Shadow!!!!, I should kick myself
for missing this one. But, hey, better late than never.
Anyway...
<snip>
Cologne sighed to herself as she slid the door to her
room closed and slumped to the floor, feeling every one of her
hundred-plus years. There was nothing, she reflected, that
reminds a woman of her own mortality like the death of friends
>from her youth. Tamping fresh tobacco into the bowl of her
pipe, she made her way over to her jewellery box; not the one
full of magical treasures of the tribe, the ones she let
Shampoo borrow, but her own, personal effects.
Ooh yeah, flashback time ...
Inside were memories. A pressed lotus blossom wrapped
carefully in rice paper, given to her over seventy years ago
by a young Japanese pervert who had, it seemed, at least one
romantic bone in his body; a wrought golden bracelet bearing a
tiger and a phoenix, her clan's totems, given to her by her
mother-in-law on the occasion of her wedding to her sweet,
quietly handsome Rei-xa, dead these past thirty years. A
favorite pair of jade earrings she had received as a birthday
gift from a long-dead grandparent; a leather thong strung
clumsily with brightly-painted clay beads that a young Shampoo
had made her ten years ago, simply to show her sometimes-
forbidding great-grandmother that she loved her. All were
treasured, pearls beyond price. At the bottom of the carved
cedar box was a false panel. Gingerly, she lifted it,
retrieving the object of her search.
It was a gold ring, yellowed with age, bearing a red
rounded crystal cabochon. Quite ordinary and plain, really;
unremarkable when compared to even the plainest item in her
box of memories. It wasn't magical, it wasn't even
particularly beautiful or well-made, either. She knew for a
fact that it was indeed one of hundreds, mass-produced on an
assembly line. Yet the red gem seemed to catch the light,
drawing it into the shadows at the crystal's core so that it
seemed redder than red, a bloody, thick scarlet.
"<Oh, Ying-Ko....>" the old woman sighed, clutching the
ring in one tiny hand. "<I never would have dreamed you, of
all people, would die in your sleep.>"
Ah yes, our favorite boy, the Chief, the Master of Night and Darkness,
The Shadow himself.
Y'know, though the Alec Baldwin movie was kinda cool I prefer the
pulps.
BTW, Reid Carson already has a Shadow/Ranma crossover though
that one crosses over with SM, too, along with tons of other stuff.
*************************************************
Space Pirate Productions Present...
"THE SHADOW OF THE PAST"
By Dave Menard
The Shadow and associated characters copyright Conde-Nast
Publishing (I _think_) Apologies if I am incorrect. Other
characters created by Rumiko Takahashi, and copyright her
designated licensees. This is a work of fanfiction, and no
profit has or ever will be made from it, so obey your local
lawyer leash-laws.
This one's Allyn's fault.
Ayup, nasty Conde-Nast people. If you believe some of the reports
we'd already have a Doc Savage a la WB's Batman if it weren't for
them.
****************************************************
NEW YORK CITY, SEPTEMBER, 1940
The sleek charcoal-grey sedan slid through the midnight
fog, coming to a halt in the middle of the blocked-off bridge.
Underneath, the East River rolled on, uncaring, as dark deeds
took place.
A beautiful young woman was dragged from the back seat,
her angry yells muffled by her thick gag. She struggled
against her chains, but she had been expertly bound, her legs
imprisoned in now-solidified concrete.
She, like her captors, was Chinese; dressed in a blue
cheongsam embroidered with a tiger and phoenix rampant, a
splash of color in the darkness of Gotham. Her captors were
nattily dressed in sharp American suits and concealing
trenchcoats, snap-brim fedoras hiding their almond-shaped eyes
as they dragged her to the rail of the bridge.
Gotham? The pulps mention Manhattan and New York as a whole
when describing things like this.
And if you're gonna write a Shadow fanfic make it at the very least
"pulpy", one of my major peeves about the lot of Shadow fics on
the 'net. Pulpy as in very, very descriptive. See later.
A bulky figure, obviously the man in charge, climbed out
of the sedan and strolled leisurely over to the bound girl,
buttoning up his black overcoat against the fall chill.
"<You shouldn't have nosed around where you aren't
welcome, little flower,>" he whispered in his native
Cantonese, stroking a gloved hand down the face of his
captive, who returned his frankly appraising look with a
fierce glare as she snapped at his fingers; a futile gesture
of resistance since the two thugs held her tightly.
"<Chinatown belongs to me, and I don't need legends from the
old country trashing my operations and freeing my whores. Who
are you working for? The Triads? The Italians? The Irish?>"
The girl barked something through the gag. The man cocked
an eyebrow curiously. "<Very well. I'll remove the gag, but if
you scream, no one will hear you; not in this neighborhood,>"
He tugged the gag off, withdrawing his fingers quickly lest
she try again to bite him. "<There now, that's better, isn't
it?>"
The woman spat at the sidewalk at his feet. "<Chu Wan,
you damned lowland fool!>" she hissed in accented Cantonese.
"<I want nothing to do with you! I am on a Blood Hunt! Release
me, or you will feel the wrath of three-thousand years of->"
Since I skipped ahead and read that you used the hundred year old
version of Shampoo, shouldn't she be about fifty or in her forties by
now ?
SLAP!!
"<Wrong answer. Very well, you've had your chance.>" He
replaced the gag, straightened his lapels and turned to make
his way back to the car. Almost as an afterthought, he added:
"<Throw her over the side.>"
His men struggled to comply, but their muttered grunts
and curses were silenced by gunshots, as two high-calibre
bullets took off the better parts of their heads, sending
their corpses over the side and their captive slumping to the
sidewalk, unconscious from her head hitting the railing as she
fell.
Chu Wan whirled, seeking the source of the shots, pulling
a tommy-gun from inside his coat "<Who dares-?>"
Gawd, a Highlander coat! ^_^
Do you know how big tommy guns are, especially those with cylinders?
And I would also like to note that during the thirties the gat of choice for
a torpedo, even a gang boss, was a snub-nosed Saturday special. Hiding
a "typewriter" in a coat is almost impossible. Hoods usually carried a
"typewriter" during a tough score or during a gang war, most usually in a
drive-by.
Also note that you set this pre-war 1940's, Hoover (with his pretty dress)
would be cracking down on foreigners in posession of what amounted
to as urban assault weapons of the time.
He was answered by laughter. Deep, mocking, sonorous
laughter that echoed across the bridge.
*CHU WAN.*
Damn. One of the things I loved about the pulps was the description
of the Chief's laugh. A sample:
As a token that such shooting was the work of a master marksman, foemen
heard a mocking laugh.
Long, strident, the taunting mirth brought ghoulish echoes from the
surrounding slopes, as though the tongues of a thousand demons had joined in
the challenge. Out of those echoes came the hoarse cries of the scattering
fighters, who were learning the lone marksman's prowess:
"The Shadow!"
- from the August 1, 1940 issue of the Shadow mag, "Crime at Seven
Oaks"
The Shadow's cackling, demonic laugh was a weapon. Describe it as one.
Please.
As I said in a former discussion, the Laugh could have been a ki technique,
kinda like the Shadow's ability to fade away and seeming invisibility.
Another
sample or two:
A LONG, silhouetted streak of blackness wavered beneath the structure
of an elevated station; a moving, elusive shape passed the front window of
the Hotel Spartan. A mass of blackness merged mysteriously with the
darkness of an alleyway behind the hotel.
Unseen fingers dug into the crevices between the bricks of the
dingy-walled building. A hand found the projecting ledge of a window.
Slowly, steadily, a shrouded form moved up the side of the wall. The Shadow
was creeping vertically to his chosen destination.
- The Shadow Magazine July 15, 1933.
"The Silver Scourge"
Now, I cut and pasted a section of a Shadow pulp gunfight. If you want a
good Shadow fic, you gotta have the gunfights:
CONFUSED shouts came vaguely to the ballroom. The Shadow's laugh issued
forth in a sinister whisper that brought hollow echoes from the walls of the
great room. The mass attack would be forced upon the gangsters now. The fire
of guns had been heard throughout the floor.
The door between the second and third rooms of the tier burst open. A
flood of light showed the figures of crouching mobsters. Three detectives,
sensing that a raid was being made upon the Russian plate, were coming to
investigate.
The skulking gangsters rose to action. Here was opportunity! Before
them, they saw men whom they could fight; out through the tier was a chance
for escape!
Taking advantage of the stupid mistake made by the detectives, the
mobsters leaped forward, firing as they came!
Detectives leaped for cover; one staggered away with a bullet in his
arm.
With mad cries of elation, the mobsters hurled themselves toward the
opened outlet. Their shouts were murderous. The retreating detectives - only
two able to resist - were faced by a desperate situation.
Of the five mobsters, only one had reckoned with The Shadow. He, alone,
turned toward the ballroom door, while his companions hurtled toward the new
avenue of escape.
As the gangster stared, he saw a black shape blot out the rays of light
which now penetrated to the ballroom. He raised his hand to fire; an
automatic blazed, and he went down.
Wounded, the gangster cried the warning. His companions turned as they
heard the desperate cry.
"The Shadow!"
Four revolver muzzles swung toward the spot where The Shadow stood. The
automatics roared a cannonade. Split seconds were the advantage which The
Shadow held; but he had four marksmen to meet before his work would be done.
One gangster fell while aiming. Another staggered with his finger
pressing the trigger. His shot landed in the wall above the door.
The form of The Shadow seemed to dwindle; a third gangster faltered
momentarily in his aim. A bullet from one of the deadly automatics clipped
his arm, and he dropped his weapon. The fourth man, however, blazed with
venomous fury.
A bullet whistled through the black slouch hat. A second shot, directed
lower, whisked the folds of The Shadow's cloak, just above the left
shoulder. The black form seemed to waver; the hand trembled. The desperate
mobsman aimed for The Shadow's heart.
He never fired that final shot. Often had enemies delivered a single
bullet toward the black-clad fighter; rarely had they sent a second; never a
third.
The Shadow's right hand shot back from a heavy recoil as its automatic
spoke. The aiming mobster staggered away, shrieking as he dropped his gun.
His clawing hands went to his body; his shoulders struck against the wall,
then
slipped sidewise. Crumpling crazily, the man fell dead.
Duffy Bagland's mobsters were not yet through. A few of them, wounded,
were still capable of weakened battle as they crawled to pick up their
dropped weapons. But as they rose to make a last hopeless battle, the figure
of The Shadow vanished before their eyes.
There was a reason.
- ibid.
You do note that the Chief was noted as "mass of blackness", how those
bullets seemed to miraculously miss him by inches. I imagine fighting the
Master of Darkness as fighting a displacer beast from AD&D.
I would like to see some really bloody gunfights, not to mention a display
of the Chief's skills in jijutsu and several other martial arts.
"<Where are you, devil?! Show yourself!>" He fired a
burst into the darkness. More laughter answered, this time
>from behind. He spun, firing again, but the laughter
continued, seeming to circle him like a prowling tiger.
The gangster began to sweat, his eyes wide with fear. His
men were dead, and he had but a limited supply of bullets.
*CHU WAN, YOU ARE A MURDERER AND A SLAVER,* the rumbling
voice called. *YOU'VE KILLED HUNDREDS WITH YOUR POISON, RUINED
COUNTLESS INNOCENT LIVES... DID YOU THINK YOU'D GET AWAY WITH
IT..?*
BTW, the Chief never sounds like a rumbling voice. It's more like a menacing
whisper that seems to come from everywhere, echoing in the stygian darkness,
in a voice that would be as threatening as the feel of a gun pointed at your
temple, with the need to obey filling each word.
Oooh, yeah. Damn, I have been writing too many pulps. ^_^
"<Shut UUUUPPPP!!!>" Chu Wan screamed, firing blindly
into the night, a heap of spent brass accumulating at his
feet, while all the while the mocking voice laughed at his
fear.
*DID YOU THINK I WOULDN'T FIND YOU? DID YOU THINK I
WOULDN'T KNOW?*
"<Where are you?!>" Chu Wan screamed, holding down the
trigger of his gun until his magazine emptied. Cursing, he
threw the weapon aside. "<Who are you?!>"
The laughter seemed to grow louder, sending icy claws
down Chu Wan's back. Before his eyes, a patch of fog
solidified, becoming a swirling ebon cloak draped over a tall,
angular form. The man, or demon, stepped forward, eyes blacker
than night almost hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, twin
nickel-plated automatics gripped in black-gloved hands.
The Chief's eyes are never, ever, darker than the night. They were burning
orbs of ...ack... let's just have the pulp do this:
Sleed spun about, his hand going to his hip. He was greeted with a
whispered laugh, weird, chilling, cold as the sight of the gun muzzle
leveled straight in his direction. He saw the shape in black; this time,
there was
no illusion.
The figure was cloaked. Burning eyes gleamed from beneath the brim of a
slouch hat, steady as the .45 that was gripped by the gloved hand below.
Sleed's own hands came up, as his lips gasped a name in one long breath:
"The Shadow!"
-January 1, 1939 "The Silver Skull"
BTW, I hate the movie's version of the Chief's guns. They were black in the
pulps. Damnit, if they were nickel-plated, they'd glint in the dark
pinpointing the Boss' coordinates for the hoodlums/zombified gunmen/evil
Mongols and a dozen other evil henchmen.
Chu Wan screamed and ran, his bowels loosening, only to
collide with a stony fist that appeared from nowhere, knocking
him onto his back. Suddenly, strong hands yanked him to his
feet and slammed him onto the hood of his sedan, denting the
steel of the hood.
"<Don'tkillmepleasedon'tkillme...
OhAncestorssavemePleasedon't killme...>" Chu Wan sobbed, an
acrid-smelling stain spreading across the front of his
tailored trousers.
*I WANT YOU TO GO DOWN TO THE POLICE STATION AND TURN
YOURSELF IN, WAN. I WANT YOU TO CONFESS TO YOUR CRIMES.*
"<I'll do whatever you say, just don't kill me...>"
The dark figure released him. *GO*
Chu Wan ran. As he fled into the fog-shrouded darkness,
the sinister voice echoed in his mind, laughing still.
*REMEMBER, IF YOU DON'T TURN YOURSELF IN, I'LL KNOW...* The
stain on Wan's trousers spread, but he continued to run,
uncaring, into the night, vanishing from view in the deep fog.
Now this is the point where any blood-thirsty fan of the "bloody" Shadow
would say, "The Shadow didn't just support the death penalty, he _was_ the
death penalty!" <chortling laughter along with several .45 caliber gunshots
in the background>
Anyway, good play on that one. The Shadow's Justice was a Justice tempered
with Mercy. Well, the kinda mercy that made him give the scumbags a final
chance to surrender. But he never did hesitate gunning down the hoods if
they were directly shooting at him or gunning for his agents or, horror of
horrors, actually either capturing one and torturing him (The Prince of
Darkness story arc) or killing one of them (Gangland's Doom, the only
time an agent of the Shadow is ever killed, damn that was one helluva
bloodbath).
*************************************
<snip>
It was a shame, he noted, that the war in Europe made
getting permission for American digs in sites in the
Mediterranean next to impossible. They museum had been
fortunate enough to get a dig permit from the Japanese
occupying army in China.
Hey, didn't stop Indy. ^_^ The Ahnenerbe were quite thoroughly
nuts when they started searching for evidence to confirm Horbinger's
Thule and various other crap, but that's another story
He mopped his brow with a handkerchief as he took in the
final crate. It was a tall, rectangular box about six-an-a-
half feet high, stamped 'fragile' and 'this side up' in half a
dozen languages. The crate wasn't listed on the receipt from
the Stoner expedition, but it _had_ arrived on the same truck
as the others...
"Eight damn years at Yale... " he grumbled, hefting his
crowbar and setting to with a grunt, "and I'm a goddamn
packing clerk!"
Hey, I've seen people in college for ten years and ending up
giving cattle full rectal exams. ^_^
The crate opened reluctantly, spilling a mountain of
sawdust at his feet. The crowbar fell nervelessly from weak
fingers as he took in the contents of the mysterious crate.
"What in the Sam Hill..?"
Who is Sam Hill, BTW? You Americans still have these idioms
that confuse me. ^_^
Henderson knew little about the far east, and less about
metallurgy, but he knew valuable when he saw it. The thing was
some sort of silver coffin or casket; the only thing that
sprung to mind was some kind of Egyptian mummy case, but the
symbols and decorations were unmistakably oriental in origin;
a vast Chinese Dragon coiled about the body of the cylinder
testified to that. Some form of intricate locking mechanism
held it closed in the front, and the entire object seemed to
radiate mystery and quiet menace, as though daring him to
break the seal and discover its secrets.
Henderson wasn't a terribly great archeologist or
historian, but he knew better than to open it without Dr.
Richmond's presence. Glancing over his shoulder at the strange
sarcophagus, he picked up the phone and dialled the
professor's home number.
Ooooh, reminiscent of the movie, though the movie stole it from
one of Shiwan Khan's arrival in the pulps. Shiwan Khan Returns
I believe.
*************************************
The young woman came to on the bridge, her muscles aching
>from her unnatural posture and the clammy dampness of the fog.
She looked up to see a black-garbed figure looming over her.
He seemed to be cut from night's own dark cloth, with only a
bloody splash of red at his throat and in the lining of his
swirling cloak. To her, he seemed a demon from her
grandmother's tales, a hungry ghost come to devour her soul.
She began to scream against her gag, when the creature unslung
a gleaming pair of guns. No demon, then, but a man. She
clenched her jaw shut and closed her eyes. She had escaped
death thus far, only to fall to the bullets of a mere man in
this benighted city.
Her ears filled with the thunderous report of shots
fired, and yet... There was no pain!
Hesitantly she opened her eyes. He feet had been freed
>from the block of cement! She spared an upward glance in time
to see the dark man reholster his weapons and reach down,
yanking her to her feet. Instinct took over, and she kicked up
at his face, her cold-stiffened muscles failing to put much
behind it. Instead of knocking him away, she merely tore off
his red scarf, revealing his face.
If there are any pair of guns in the world that could break cement,
it would be the Chief's. BTW, the total number of bullets in his
two guns are twenty-four. The total number of bullets he has is
forty-eight with one or two reloads in spare for his guns. Everybody
assumes that the Chief has only _two_ guns when he has _four_.
Two pairs for quick instant reloads, two braces under his coat. Also
note that this babies were heavy enough to be used as highly
effective clubs, almost like a Ruger and powerful enough to penetrate
rather thick doors and able to snipe up to twenty-thirty yards. And they've
blocked and parried everything from samurai swords to Hindu katars.
Gawd, I love the pulps with their unrealistic ballistics. ^_^
<snip-snip>
One of the things I didn't like about the movie was the Shadow's back
history. The Chief is rather nasty but he isn't that nasty, well, he got
a bit of humanity when we got Margo, probably one of the few things
the woman was good for.
And the cheesy movie Mcguffin of the ring. The Shadow's ring is
one-of-a-kind given to him when he rescued a member of the Russian
Royal Family during the Romanov Jewel incident, either that or given
by the Xinca Indians who worshipped him as Quetzalcoatl.
Koh-lon's swearing in would have been better if you had used the
pulp's version of an agent induction, the one that the movie ripped off.
*********************************************
<snip-snip>
"That's what I'm trying to... Aha! Here it is. 'Kneel,
mortal, before He who is Master of the World, the Dragon of
Heaven on Earth, Emperor of All Mankind. Here rests Shen
Leung'... My God... How the _hell_ did they manage to convince
the Japs to part with this?"
Ayep, the politically incorrectness of the 1930s America, the age
where every Filipino was a manservant to an American, learned in
oriental martial arts, where the yellow peril was rearing its head
and every Cuban and Hispanic, heck European was a villainous
schemer or a highly misunderstood fighter for freedom.
Damn. I love these pulps. ^_^
"Who's Shen Leung?" Henderson asked.
"It's a mythological reference to one of the great
dragons of Chinese legend. He supposedly ruled all of China,
as well as parts of Tibet and southeast Asia. As legend has
it, the dragon married a human woman, beginning a great
dynasty known as the Musk that continued until they
intermarried into the nobility around the beginning of the Han
Dynasty."
"Oh yeah? What ever happened to them, anyway?"
"It's a mystery, actually. The British found no evidence
of this mysterious 'Musk Dynasty' when they invaded, and
subsequent governments have denied that the Musk existed at
all, except as fairy tales. Still, it's a very common peasant
superstition... But this discovery, if it's legitimate and not
some clever forgery, could be the beginning of a whole new era
in our understanding of China's past! Why, the engravings
alone..." Richmond's eyes were aglow in heady joy. This could
make his career! He began to mentally list what he'd need to
begin study of the artifact; radio-carbon dating tools, a
metallurgical analysis of coffin itself, the expedition log...
A little question. When was carbon dating first used? I'm a bit
foggy on that. Please enlighten.
"Er, so I can leave you two alone then?" Henderson jested
weakly. "I could really use the sleep..."
"Fine, fine... Lock the shipping gate when you leave."
Richmond nodded absently, engrossed in his mystery.
Richmond had long held an interest in crypto-archeology.
A close colleague of the infamous Dr. Henry Jones Jr., the
mysteries of the far east held as much fascination for him as
the enigmas of the middle and near east held for his
celebrated counterpart. The hidden city of K'ung Lung, the
legendary Springs of Jusenkyo... He had done his doctoral
thesis on the legends of lost Sino-Tibetan civilizations so
prevalent in the Manchurian and Sezchuan provinces. And now,
to be confronted with evidence of the factual existence of the
Musk Dynasty! He could barely restrain his glee.
Hey, Indy gets mentioned. Maybe a cameo and sequel-adventure? ^_^
The bottom lock sprung open in turn, then shut, followed
by the other six in rapid succession. Richmond jumped back,
alarmed. Had he set off some kind of booby-trap?
The seven locks continued their mad clattering, filling
the room with firecracker-burst noise. Richmond backed away,
grasping wildly for the button that would summon the night
watchman. With a final clank-hiss, all seven popped open, and
the sarcophagus seemingly split in two like an enormous egg,
disgorging a roiling cloud of golden smoke.
Amidst the cloud, a man's body stood revealed. He was
tall, and regally adorned in ceremonial armor of gold and
jade. He wore a great golden helmet, the faceplate a snarling
mask of an oriental demon or dragon. Full bejewelled gauntlets
enveloped his hands, and purple and white silks were draped
like water across his broad chest, flowing back over his
shoulders like a cape.
"My God..." Richmond whispered in awe. "It's perfectly
preserved-"
Exactly how perfectly was demonstrated a moment later
when the armoured figure moved!
The huge man took a heavy step forward, then another,
until he stood before the casket, smoke dissipating at his
feet. Richmond froze in awe and terror as the gauntleted hands
came up, removing the masked helmet.
His face was long, and hard; shining black hair tumbled
past his shoulders, with streaks of silver flowing like
streamers from his temples. He was clean shaven and beautiful
of feature, until his eyes snapped open, revealing the
reptilian gold irises and slitted pupils in almond-shaped
eyes. His ears were slightly pointed, and a hint of draconic
fang seemed to glint in his mouth as he smiled cruelly.
"It's true!" Richmond whispered in mingled awe and fear,
"It's all true!!"
The man's golden eyes glittered as they alit on the
trembling curator, capturing him, mesmerising him like a
snake's prey. The slitted pupils seemed to widen, until the
darkness encompassed the whole of the iris, then the whole of
the eye, then the whole of Richmond's world.
*SERVE ME, OR DIE...* The dragon-man's voice seemed to
whisper in his mind. Richmond felt his will slipping away.
His voice was a strangled whisper. "W-what are y-you
doing to me?"
*SERVE ME,* the voice hissed sibilantly, *OR DIE...*
Richmond was not a weak man; his will was strong, and he
managed to fight off the compulsion for almost a second.
"Yes, my Emperor..." Richmond whispered, abasing himself
before the armored figure, exposing his neck.
The Emperor's justice was swift. Richmond barely felt a
thing as his neck snapped.
Oooh yeah, shades of Shiwan Khan as you will mention in the
notes and , of course, everyone's favorite oriental Dr. Fu Manchu. ^_^
I also mentioned earlier how this was one of Shiwan Khan's arrivals.
*********************************************
The Shadow returned to his Sanctum, a secret base of
operations hidden amidst the twisting back-alleys of
Manhattan. He paused for a moment to check his messages; Chu
Wan had indeed turned himself in, his source at the precinct
house informed him. Wan had been crying and pissing when his
charged in, confessing all. The Shadow smiled. More scum
behind bars, where he belonged. If he was smart, he'd pay his
debt to society, clean up his act and come out a better man
for the experience, willing to make a positive contribution to
society. If he didn't, well... He'd see him again. The Shadow
smiled a mirthless smile and doffed his dark cloak and hat,
removing his brace of pistols with a shrug as he felt his
features soften and melt from their grotesque arrangement into
the handsome, debonair face of Lamont Cranston, Playboy.
<snip-snip>
Once again, the backstory of the Master of Darkness and Night.
At least you have the property of the Shadow's "working" face
being like a mask. Cool stuff. BTW, the Shadow's Sanctum was
always totally dark, so dark that I suspect that the Chief has
nightvision and every piece of furniture was black. And the
Sanctum is described as being so easily accesible yet impossible
to find. Something like hiding in plain sight.
The entrance to the old Sanctum was in an alley and a special
underground path to the basement Sanctum of a seemingly normal
yet abandoned apartment building. Well, that was until Crime Inc.
blew the building up and the Chief had to relocate. ^_^
********************
<snip>
She had one lead left, but there was no time to pursue it
tonight; she had to secure some form of lodgings or crude
shelter for the night. After her encounter with Ying-Ko, she
craved the comfort of a warm, safe bed, hopefully where the
man-demon would never find her...
It should be known that in the pulps, the name Ying-Ko if mentioned
in the Orient or in Chinatown would either conjure terror or instant
obedience and everyone treating you like a part of the family _and_
with tons of respect. Most of the Asian community would be
familiar with him since his operations stretch pretty far and the fact that
some of the higher level adepts in Tibet consider him as a worthy
ally and a skilled warrior.
************************
Somewhere in Manhattan...
"Warriors of the Musk Dynasty!" called the armored figure
on the dais overlooking the palatially-furnished hall. "Our
hour of triumph has arrived!!!"
The assembled men, almost a hundred strong, roared his
name.
"JIN-SENG! JIN-SENG! JIN-SENG! JIN-SENG!"
Emperor Jin-Seng, last descendant of Shen Leung, waited
for the chant to die down before continuing. "No longer will
we skulk in the shadows as our enemies steal what is
rightfully ours! No more will the foreign devils claim our
lands! The time of the strong is now!!!"
The ovation was louder and longer this time, and Jin-Seng
grinned ferally. "With _this_ in our possession-" he held
aloft a elaborately-wrought spear, "None shall stand in our
way!!!"
The chanting was thunderous, and this time, Jin-Seng
joined in, shaking the spear overhead, his powerful voice like
a roar of thunder.
"The Musk Dynasty RISES AGAIN!!!!!!"
Oooh yeah. That spear something like the Spear of Destiny filled
with ancient Amazon magic. ^_^ Heheh.
****************************************
TO BE CONTINUED
Author's note: For the sake of the story, I've placed the
Byankala Range in the Sezchuan province of China. Apologies to
geographers everywhere. Also, 1940 is a tad late for a Shadow
adventure, since the Pulps that were his home were starting to
die out by that point. The wartime setting was to good to pass
up, though. The tale is _loosely_ based on the Alec Baldwin
'Shadow' movie, but it won't be religiously faithful; expect
many changes to come. For the sake of the story, I'm using
Cologne's age as stated in the manga of roughly 100 years old,
rather than the anime Cologne, who claimed to be over 300.
1940 was one of the peak years, along with the war years when America
needed avenues of escapism. And the pulps aren't dead! The modern
pulps as attested by the incredibly entertaining Destroyer series and
increasingly laughable Mack Bolan series are proof of this. The hundred-
year old version of Cologne is a favorite for the Shadow crossover it seems.
Reid Carson used her, too, though through a different channel. You could
throw Happosai in later. Damn, that is gonna be a mess when Pearl Harbor
gets hit. ^_^
BTW, good choice on the plot. The pulps, though pretty nice, didn't have the
scope of the movie at times. But I advise reading the pulps and throwing in
a few elements from them.