Jubal Whitney

The less-empowered types, the undecided, the morally shifty and most mundanes who get slapped around by greater powers go here by default.
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IamLEAM1983
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Jubal Whitney

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Name: Jubal Whitney
Age: 220 years old
Gender: male
Species: Void Weaver

Strengths: as the current North American spokesman for the Gentlemen, Jubal’s abilities as an apostate Void Weaver are a testament to his focus and dedication to the principles carried by Delmar the Revered. While he is more than capable on a martial level and has operated as an assassin for over two hundred years, he truly displays the extent of his reach and effectiveness when allowed to relay information and kill or protection orders across the Gentlemen’s various Sanctums.

On a practical level, Jubal is an expert gunslinger, having always favored both a pair of .45 Long Colts as well as the original Oliver Volcanic Rifle – the Winchester’s predecessor – as a long-range tool. As both guns use the same caliber, his choice of ammunition remains easy and practical. However, the pistols and rifle were all custom-forged and assembled by Jubal himself, using expensively procured Dalarath blume steel consecrated for use in the Architect’s name. Sensitives like Meris might feel a touch of something approaching George’s arcane signature when hefting those weapons, which seem tailor-made to support specific incantations and effects crafted by the Gentlemen’s sanitized and slowly expanded version of the Black Speech.

In clear terms, this means Jubal can curve his bullets or prolong their trajectory for longer than the laws of physics or propulsion would normally allow, and can also direct a few Words of choice towards himself – as is the case with his steel plate-lined white suit. What amounts to a wearable enchantment enables him to survive falls up to ten storeys tall and to endure up to two tons of sustained pressure for two minutes. Normal gunfire chips away at his enchantment’s power reserves over that same time span, at which point he needs to speak a “refuelling” incantation to recharge his personal shield.

Notably, as he happens to be one of the few users of what Aidan will take to calling the “White Speech” that they’ll meet, he has no need to ask of his allies or friends that they cover their ears. Dalarath’s unearthed maiden idiom is harmless to one and all unless explicitly directed as an aggressive force.

Otherwise, his pistols’ butts are hosts to both holdout blades as well as rune work designed to store kinetic force over time. When using his guns as bludgeons, Jubal can impart several times the amount of kinetic force of his blows alone to each swing. Weak hinges or locks can be smashed aside with a few hits, while severe cranial trauma can be dished out with a single blow.

Weaknesses: as an assassin, Jubal relies on speed, precision and short engagements. Protracted firefights put him at a disadvantage, and he works best when allowed to enter the fray head-on in short bursts. His telekinetic and reality-bending abilities might enable him to reload his weapons in a number of implausible ways; this doesn’t change the fact that he only carries eighteen live rounds on his person at any given time. His ammo belt might be fully loaded, it doesn’t change the fact that his focus on precision gunplay and speed forces him to stop and reload at regular intervals. While he can do so far more quickly than a standard six-shooter specialist could manage, this is still a source of unavoidable down-time. Cover must be obtained and secured before each reload, or he must leave the battlefield entirely.

Finally, the fact of the matter is Jubal simply doesn’t master the Black Speech. The variant he learned to speak from his parents is seemingly being tailored and constructed to favor precision and effective delivery far more than versatility and raw creative or destructive power. His brain structure remains compatible with Amaxi’s decayed idiom, however: his being immune to the Black Speech’s debilitating and mind-altering effects doesn’t make him immune to its more pain-inducing stretches. Word-for-word, the Gentlemen’s linguists simply haven’t developed a sufficiently developed suite of options to allow for efficient verbal retaliation. Full and workable conversations can be carried out in the White Speech, which gives some sense of how the first Void Weavers spoke when the Architect still guided them, but active applications of the idiom are still in development.

Appearance: at two hundred years spent under the Architect’s watchful eye, Jubal affects both a comfortable middle-aged stance as well as a sense of considerable power and stamina brimming under the surface. To those who meet him in Chicago, Jubal tends to come across as a hybrid between Michael Parks’ Earl McGraw, Sam Elliott’s Marlboro Man as well as an odd sense of calm and gentility mixing in with and refining the old Southwestern burr. Add a frill of tentacles suggesting a finely-sculpted handlebar moustache, and all that’s missing is the right stance, attire and boots.

Story goes he was alabaster-white in his youth, a sign his refugee Squid parents in an isolated Walpurgis community took to as his consecration to the White Brotherhood’s ideals. Now he’s yellowed out somewhat, having turned scrimshaw-yellow except for the tips of his facial tendrils. He does primarily dress in white, however, as does any Lady and Gentleman holding the values of the White Brotherhood. White, to them, is a powerful color – one that calls back to their purity of intent, the funereal nature of their work, and that honors their obligation to remember each and every one of their victims. Blood, after all, stands out on white linens.

Considering, this Southern-fried gentleman assassin and handler for other killers can usually be found all in white, from a double-breasted vest to the accompanying jacket and pants, along with a white Stetson hat. A few black and golden accessories stand out, such as his tie and fob chain, and his having earned the regional command of the Gentlemen is signified in his right ring finger’s odd choice for an ornament: a faded and yellowed lion’s claw mounted to a golden ring. Meris might recognize it as having been a part of Adewale’s necklace back in Dalarath – the prized possession of the first of the White Brotherhood now being used as a mark of honor along their ideological descendants.

Otherwise, crossed leather ammo belts can be found just below his waistline, while oiled leather holsters wait at his thighs. His rifle holster is at his back and is usually slung against his vest but underneath his jacket, only the leather piece itself poking out at his back. Black leather gloves complete the ensemble, designed as they are to protect him from his pistols’ fairly impressive kickback. Suit-grade cowboy boots can also be found, although he hasn’t needed to add spurs to them in a long time.

Behaviour: there’s a lot of laugh lines and a lot of mirth to his features, as well as the sense that his faded blue eyes have seen their fair share of tragedy. He’s grown up quickly for a Squid, presenting the handiwork of a salty dog well after his easygoing attitude and slightly impish take on Western aloofness will have made their desired impression. It doesn’t take much to see that this is a man much like Archie, for whom flashes of light in a whiskey glass might stand as code for something about sightlines or escaping targets, as well as someone who’s actually doggedly professional behind his mellow chatter.

In some ways, Jubal Whitney is a man out of a bygone era, one in which Squid cult leaders put up fair fights, sometimes going so far as to buy their would-be killer a round before hitting the field with their own guns drawn. He’s a man of old traditions who’s maintained a razor-sharp mind, enough to understand that today’s pawns and schemers move quickly and decisively. Entire communities can sprout out of the ground in months and will last decades, as is the case with Renewal, while others seemingly exist to undermine small, local areas and to pockmark an otherwise sane town with holes of incipient madness – as is the case with Hope. Tradition demands that any other Void Weaver be met squarely, but the angles of approach have now changed. Where the White Brotherhood of old had a lot in common with the old Muslim hashashin, stirring the pot in Dalarath with noisy raids or concerted silent stealth attacks, quick bursts of stealth are now the order of the day. Jubal’s always been rather fond of charming and buttering his way past obstacles, using physical positioning and a bit of White Speech to become unobtrusive – until the distance is sufficiently closed so as to allow for one short, loud and decisive strike.

Even then, while the White Brotherhood struck with as much hate as those they opposed, the Gentlemen offer a more mature ethos. Jubal avoids headshots or killing blows on his target, preferring instead to mortally wound them. He then stays with his target for a few moments, usually in the hopes of seeing sanity return to them in their final moments. In those cases where it does happen, he does what he can to comfort his victim and apologize, and promises them merciful judgment by God and the Architect. When he leaves a crime scene of his making, he also typically lingers as long as safety possibly allows, in order to spare a few thoughts and prayers for those he might have been forced to kill.

Considering, it’d be fair to call him a man of faith, even if he’s never found out how to weaponize his trust in God and the Architect. His take on God is as syncretic as the Architect seemingly is, and his God’s love and tolerance isn’t exactly rooted in the Bible. As could be expected, it’s rooted in the Void Weavers’ unique understanding of the workings of divine beings. Many of his fellow Texans have mistook him for a Christian of some persuasion, but a little digging would make it clear that one of the West’s lesser-known legends was never baptized.

All of this amounts to a kind of quiet and rugged sensitivity that sometimes pokes through his refined take on the “Good ol’ Boy” ethos, someone whom you might catch in the act of reminiscing over victims and missions past, on friends lost and allies found, only to shake it off with a chuckle and a quick readjusting of his hat on his scalp. This is clearly a man who sleeps with a clear conscience, but also one who works in order to cleanse it, each and every day.

Goals: the Gentlemen have a few different regional creeds that all speak to the same basic goals. Some are more formal, others are casual statements of intent, while Whitney’s is somewhere in-between.

In his mind, their goals can be summarized as bright days waiting ahead, cut off from their difficult survival in the present by the darkest of nights.

“To bright days in the Valley o’ Man,” he’d say, “an’ a candle to guide y’all in these dark nights. Gimme yer Spark, ol’ Maker-Man – light my way, an’ shine on for my friends an’ the departed.”

Where some might take to a cross or a textbook or some other object of intense belief, Jubal usually fingers his fob watch while expanding this informal prayer in the back of his mind. Time, as he posits, was the first gift the Architect gave to God, the first spark that lit the way to Creation. Things were before Time was implemented, but they couldn’t become. With Time and Space came Creation, and in Creation came Life – itself indelibly marked by Time.

Time is what makes life precious, what gives it meaning. Its end is no cause for sadness, but rather a marker of its exceptional and wonderful qualities. Considering, Jubal is well aware that there will soon be a day that’ll leave him unable to run after younger Cuttles or their thralls, but he’s achieved a kind of rugged Zen Lucian could agree with. To others go the honor of potentially being rejuvenated in the Heart of the Grand Design, Whitney knows that once he dislocates a hip or fractures a leg, it’s off to a cushioned seat and a stream of Chivas Regal in the rear of the Waldorf Astoria’s Sanctum, where he’ll smoke and drink his way to a rightfully earned eternal rest.

Of course, he has elements of the associated authority to tap into already – he frequently goes to Chicago or Walpurgis in order to keep an eye on the organization’s protocols and to ensure that the Cardinal Rule remains in place: No Gentleman may spill Our Blood.

It’s happened before: young recruits given training and money, who go off the rails and turn the cell they should’ve dismantled in a single evening into their own armed retinue, or Members of the Board who abused of their Sanctum’s monetary reserves. Jubal has the last say for all of North America’s “revoked memberships”, to use the group’s coy terms. A Gentleman or Lady who has his or her membership revoked is slated for immediate termination as per the old White Brotherhood’s rules…

History: following the events leading to the rebels’ attempted coup in Dalarath, many families who were previously established in Respite Point chose to flee, using old tunnels and underground rivers leading up to North America’s Southeastern coast. The men known as Henry Whitney and Lucas Blake began their public life as sailors marooned in Texas following tensions with the neighbouring Mexican powers, and reframed their couple as a strong friendship and an affinity for business partnerships. Whitney & Black opened as a general store in Nacogdoches, with both owners secretly fathering their son, Jubal, in 1805. Publicly, Jubal grew up as the previously distant child of Henry’s, who would’ve lost his wife to tuberculosis. With help from the Rothchilds, this fiction was carefully anchored in reality using doctored photographs and forged documents. Considering, the officially Virginia-born Squid had to be carefully handled in the weeks that followed his birth, as his massive growth spurt made him pass for a nearly-mature young man from very early on.

Henry and Lucas kept nothing from their son, even as they instructed him in the needs of their particular species, as well as those of the greater community. Using Delmar’s teachings, crude stem-cell cultures were grown in the basement, from which new and freshly updated Flesh Masks could grow. Ignoring the Dead Gods quickly became second nature to the youth, to the point where he effectively silenced Them entirely. At five years old, in 1810, Jubal looked like a twentysomething young sport and was frequently called upon to help around town. In public, he displayed the mature distance expected of a boy from his father in that era, while nighttime saw him bask in the more human-like intimacy Respite Point’s ideals had instilled in him. Stories, myths and legends, along with veiled warnings about the Loyalists framed as spooky Halloween tales nurtured Jubal, while their hard-working life kept him centered.

In those same years, Texas’ cosmopolitan population and integral role in the West’s culture exposed him to open air and wilderness alike, along with circus acts and travelling showmen. In those years, it wasn’t unusual for gun shows to have a lot in common with your average midway’s entertainment, especially with the rising popularity of repeaters. American veterans toured the South with calliope and barbary organs, extolling the virtues of then-alien and high-tech ordnance along the lines of the Oliver Rifle and the Long Colts, and Jubal loved the allure of these pieces of oiled wood and greased steel. A bit gleeful and reckless, he more than aptly shocked Oliver’s sales rep by hitting six moving targets with three bullets.

The year was 1814, and Jubal was ecstatic. He’d have a chance to see the world if he followed along with Angus McCabe, Oliver’s sales rep for Nacogdoches. A hundred bucks a week for shooting twelve targets with a new rifle each year – that was unheard of, back then! Henry and Lucas objected, citing the need for the family to stay close to their expensively-nurtured stem cell culture beds and how unsafe the wider world would be. The three Squids argued late into the night, Jubal falling prey to a fairly juvenile rhetoric that blamed his parents for his lack of opportunities. He slammed the door, headed to a nearby saloon, and intended to drink his funk away. He hated the idea of having to sign off of any travel time with another bunch of Squids he barely knew and their supposedly allied human brethren, and his being told to look for Meris if need arose felt like a dereliction of confidence from his parents.

Unfortunately, the eighth of July in 1814 marked the last day he’d be able to spend with his parents. Loyalists had managed to track the Whitmans down and had used enthralled humans to pose as audience members and store regulars for several months. While Jubal was out drinking, Henry and Lucas were shot down by Mo Van Dyke, a known cattle rustler and grifter. By the time Jubal heard the news, it was too late. The general store was ablaze, twelve people were dead, and Amaxi dealt the family Her only and final insult, in reclaiming the apostates’ bodies before Jubal’s own eyes. The animated corpses tore at the burning store’s fabric and would have torn the lot asunder and killed many innocents if Jubal hadn’t landed clean headshots with the late McCabe’s prototype Long Colts.

Years passed. While the ordinary bloodshed of the Wild West unfolded, a now thirtysomething Jubal claimed victims in a pattern the Gentlemen – the White Brotherhood reformed as an originally British order of assassins – had no trouble recognizing. 1836 made Texas and much of the South a difficult place to live in, thanks to the ongoing revolution. Walpurgis was established as an Eastern enclave of Americans and emigrated Germans and other Central European diasporas in the same decade, which further poisoned the conflict. The “Texians”, as the English-speaking natives of this Spanish colony were called, had called upon Infernalism and known Warlock practices to ensure their hamlet’s survival. With a miles-wide stretch of plains and desert now being called La Tierra de los Muertos by surviving Mexican soldiers who lived to see their dead brethren serve as shells for defeated Americans, Jubal moved further North and Westward, generally stopping long enough to murder known Dalarath operatives and collaborators.

By 1845, he’d reached Seattle and felt hounded on all sides. Bloodshed had taken its toll on him, and he mostly loafed around the docks, telling himself he was watching out for suspicious behavior when only booze mattered. Heading back East across the Midwest seemed like an option, but living off of odd jobs and growing more skilled at spotting Loyalists than trustworthy individuals made it seem as though this would be a dangerous endeavor. He was exhausted, put more care into his guns than he did with himself – and frankly felt tempted to turn one on himself and pull the trigger. He took to the streets, sensing that his abilities were too dulled by alcohol to guarantee his survival, and tried to find someone he could pick a fight with.

Luckily for him, he bumped into Irwin Gard, a Void Weaver allied with the Gentlemen. Too drunk to realize he was looking at a Flesh Mask, Jubal spilled the beans in front of this immaculately-dressed English fop. At first, he took Gard’s coach as a sign that he’d be carted off someplace where his body wouldn’t be easy to recover or identify. He passed out, waking up several hours later to find himself speeding Eastward across Oregon Country. To his surprise, he found that his peculiar companion had ties with the Fae, as a Gate opened for them thirty miles out of Seattle. They skipped the unorganized territories of the Midwest, Iowa and Wisconsin, and reappeared within driving distance of Chicago, Illinois. From there, they reached Astor Street and what Gard called Eagle’s Rest, a large Victorian mansion built in the forty years prior by the Gentlemen’s fittingly Non-Euclidean architects.

Officially, the locale was referred to as the Gard Hotel and freely sheltered Illinois’ travelling artists, students and businessmen, but the real draw, as Irwin explained to him, was the presence of kindred spirits deep underneath these walls. Keys and coins flashed, slow mechanical elevators gave way to kitchens and boiler rooms – and Jubal found himself in the Gentlemen’s North American Sanctum; a place that combined the values of a private club, hunting lodge, calisthenics facility – and of an auditorium and school designed to further train and develop hopefuls the descendants of the White Brotherhood found in their path.

At first, and as could be expected, Whitney bucked. He refused to let his seemingly endless thirst for revenge be boxed up in noble purposes and rituals. If the Others had taken everything from him, who was he to assume the Architect would be any different – that God would be any different? He kept pushing, stuck to sullenly eating the food he was offered and loafing around in his assigned quarters, until Irwin showed him the power of dedication and of surety of purpose at a rapier’s tip.

Slowly, his confidence built up. His sloppy skills as a shooter that had been shored up by his abilities grew to genuine expert levels, and then soared far higher. As he grew more self-assured, alcohol lost its allure even as he refocused on what he understood to be the Architect’s prime gift to God and Creation. Time might make some of his old quarries slip away, but it also meant his aim would be steady, that his legs would be powerful, and that his reflexes would be keen when they’d finally loose him. Some hand-to-hand potency was imparted to him, which enabled him to further work on his abilities when using his guns at extremely close ranges.

Unbeknownst to him, however, he’d begun to impart the wisdom he’d gained from the Gentlemen, and was turning into a tutor of equal value. Patrols across Illinois and Vermont ensured he’d be able to put his skills to good use. His kill tally rose again, but without the sloppiness of the years prior. Now focused and freed of doubt and guilt, he could charm his way past weak defenses, and learned to use his old Texas swagger to good effect. Everything between basic authority to a congenial attitude or arrogance was his to affect, and it enabled him to clear many a crowded sightline, as well as several minds. He freed dozens of thralls, oftentimes asking of the now-liberated humans or anthros that they help him cover his tracks. The smokeless furnaces of Eagle’s Rest took his victims, while recovery teams travelled the country in order to undo any remaining forgeries or operations. Whenever Jubal found himself forced to kill a thrall who was otherwise innocent, he followed the Gentlemen’s habit of anonymously covering the lost soul’s funeral expenses. If he killed too many, he stopped to visit their graves at least once. If his quarries’ paths intersected with other people in need, he followed the Gentlemen’s code and stopped to assist them however he could.

This went on for some thirty years, until the Great Chicago Fire. Irwin Gard was lost in the blaze as he covered the retreat of terrified staff members. Jubal would swear he’d seen Abominations in the dancing flames, ephemeral creatures of charred wood, bent steel and blood that killed the stragglers. Loyalists had obviously seized the opportunity the Fire presented, and had used it to terrifying effect.

Having grown wiser, Jubal knew that to concede one victory didn’t exclude victory. He’d maintained the group’s Fae contacts, and parlayed his way towards a Gate that would see him and a few survivors off to Plainview, Texas. From there, a small caravan of coaches was arranged, and they headed off towards Walpurgis.
By 1883, Walpurgis’ Krieger Hotel was well on its way to becoming one of the US’ premier luxury resorts as per the period’s standards and, as per tradition, had its own dark underbelly. The local warlocks and necromancers worked in order to have the locale exude a particular miasma that would prove to be unbearable to anyone carrying the Others’ blessing, while simultaneously boosting its seemingly welcoming aura for all other visitors. Money poured in and the hotel’s underground Sanctum saw a return of the order’s sommeliers, who selected and ordered bespoke weaponry for all ordained assassins, as well as tailors and barmen – both of them packing protective and subterfuge-enabling measures if you so much as flashed the right white gold coins, minted by Squid minds in order to be instantly recognizable and impossible to forge by hand. With the right palm and flourish, it became possible for the enterprising killer on a crusade for continued existence to purchase goods and weapons borne out of the Russian aliens, or for Clank members to have specialized weaponry fitted to their armatures. With a few immortal Teutons in the staff, it’d been fairly easy to tap into Germany’s expanding military research. From there, slowly expanding the Gentlemen’s resources only took time and patience.

A century passed. By 1983, Jubal had not only become Keeper of the Walpurgis Sanctum, but had also played a hand in the establishment of the new Chicago Sanctum in the Hawthorne Hotel, where the servants of the Architect had once kept a close eye on the city’s criminal nexus. Long-forgotten scrapes against Al Capone’s goons have been said to have shaped and contained both the Castellamarese War and the following decades’ expansion, the Gentlemen’s creed driving them to attempt to circumscribe and limit violent crime in the Windy City as much as possible. Connections were made in elements both legal and criminal and if possible, those connected elements were put to use in fighting the group’s old nemesis. If the law proved useful in deterring criminal Void Weavers, crime served as an efficient weapon against those Squids who usurped legal positions in service of Dalarath’s ideals. In both cases, money flowed in rather easily. By the end of of the Reagan era, Jubal maintained a private residence back out in the Nacogdoches farmlands and maintained a horse-raising ranch and its associated staff, along with several local nature conservation efforts.

By the turn of the millennium, urban redevelopment in Chicago would have forced the Gentlemen to change their Eastern headquarters’ location several times. A deal was struck with the promoters responsible for the Elysian Hotel, which would go on to be known as Chicago’s Waldorf Astoria. As usual, a secret sub-basement level was added to the floor plan, along with a few private suites permanently reserved for the group’s specialized staff. North America’s Keeper attempts to spend at least six months in either location with a few weeks spent back home, but some cases have forced Jubal to travel to anywhere between Washington State and California. He actually met his wife of the last twenty-five years, Natalie Davies, during one of his rare bouts of personal time spent out on the West Coast. Finding someone who shared his passions for animal husbandry, the open air and historical firearms, Jubal would prove to be a passionate, if somewhat laid-back lover. The couple married in 2002 and worked to expand Nacogdoches’ Seabreeze Ranch with connected nature trails, a few hired guides and park rangers, along with lo-fi camping facilities.

Story goes there’s a path in the forest that only a few people know about. Follow it to its end and you reach a narrow grove. There, a statue dedicated to Henry and Lucas Whitman awaits, with only a few people knowing of which words to whisper in order to make the bronze statues’ intricate human likenesses fade away into the soft eyes and long tendrils Jubal remembers from his childhood…

Odds are Jubal’s story would have reached a point of suspension by that point. A few years spent caressing horses, practicing his old pistol twirls, drinking whiskey by his fireplace and kissing his wife both fully and with his eyes alone, when distance on horseback made touching her difficult – occasionally punctuated by trips Northeast that came with blood spatters, shackled corpses being shipped out to Chicago and nosebleeds from fistfights and brushes with the Black Speech – but word would have reached him, by then.

The Augur was moving, or rather, was being moved by his abusive second. Various Nexuses across the country were beginning to stir, and news between Walpurgis and Hope soon spoke of an increasing sense of pressure, for who knew what to watch out for. The Loyalists seemed to grow more careful, to have latched onto two or three more patient figures that seemed about to make their plans progress adequately… Marius Vlastos, the man whose name kept slipping from all mission reports across all Sanctums, was one of them. So was the Black Goat – and so was Christopher Chambers, Xenophon Thanos’ personal aide.

Over the last twenty-five years, the Gentlemen have found themselves faced with more dangerous odds and more capable opponents. Lives have been lost, and the Sanctums’ various Wells of the Fallen have received many a Last Coin. In the midst of it all, and fearing the repercussions of his impregnating his wife, Whitney’s adopted a son of Native American descent, and called him Lucas. He’s done what he could to shield him from all bloodshed related to the Gentlemen, but the madness of the Others seems to be pushing further southwards every month. Soon, Walpurgis and Nacogdoches might have to contend with problems similar to Hope’s…
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Jubal Whitney

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

I find the mention of Nacogdoches in his bio kinda funny, as that's about an hour away from me. :)
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Jubal Whitney

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Heh.

What's funny to me is how some people seem to pronounce it as "Na-Gwa-doh-shiss" despite the spelling. I'm tempted to dig around to figure out if that specific Indian tribe was named by early French Colonists, back when half of Texas was part of New France. It might explain the amusing disconnect between the spelling and the pronounciation of it.

Still, that was kind of fun to write. I knew about the Spanish period of Texas' history, El Camino Real and whatnot - but having to look for dates and maps was enlightening.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Jubal Whitney

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

The local pronunciation is Nac-aw-doe-chez. Now, that's how it's said by the White Texans. Its sister town, in Louisiana, Natchitoches, is typically pronounced Nac-ki-tesh, again by White Texans. I'm not sure how it was traditionally said, but here's https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nacogdoches,_Texas That should give you an idea what it's like locally, if you ever have require Jubal recalling details about it.
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Re: Jubal Whitney

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Thanks, Ten. I'd already pinned that specific Wiki page for future referrals. I figure the ranch is in the 'burbs outside Nacogdoches and that Jubal drives in for family or business stuff. I might have to occasionally set one scene or two somewhere downtown.
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