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Hannah Cory

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About Hannah Cory

  • Rank
    Kalispell Marshal's Office

Character Info

  • Profession
    Deputy Marshal
  • Status
  • DOB
  • Age Range
  • Height
    5' 3"
  • Hair color
  • Eye Color
    Hazel (green-blue)
  • Playby
    Michelle Carey
  • OOC Alias

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  1. Hannah Cory

    Open Tags Could I Have This Dance?

    Hannah returned to the fairgrounds well after the mayor had officially kicked off the dance. She felt awkward in her gown, the one she had saved up for and had made for the evening. The material was a soft blue that made her hazel eyes appear more blue than green. The bodice was fitted with a square-cut neck and three-quarter sleeves. White lace fell from the cuffs to midway down her forearm. The Corys' housekeeper had dressed her hair for her, pilling it up on her head and allowing a cascade of carefully curled ringlets to fall down her back. The blue overskirt was layered over white lace. She had spent quite a while staring in the mirror at her transformation. A transformation that was not entirely without flaws. Her left eye was black and blue, and the cut along her right cheek throbbed painfully. Nina, the housekeeper, had not wanted to apply makeup as it would get into the cut and perhaps fester. This meant Hannah would be attending the dance wearing her war wounds for all to see. In the end, she decided to go to the dance even if she was likely to spend the evening as a wallflower. A lively country waltz was in progress when she arrived. There were not many couples on the dance floor yet, mainly the older married folks from town. Others stood around in small groups talking or watching the dancers. Many more were still seated at the long trestle tables that had been set up for the buffet, finishing their supper. Hannah went inside the tent to get a plate for herself. Surprisingly, she was starving. Seemed that getting into a brawl was good for the appetite.
  2. Hannah Cory

    The Marshals Meet

    The Lady's Aid Society had set up a tent with tables outside it. For small donations, they were providing home cooked meals. They worked closely with the church to see to the needs of those that were down on their luck. They made sure that women and children who had lost husbands and fathers had a roof over their head and food on their table. The L.A.S. were the women's version of the Town Fathers and were often called the Town Mothers even though a number of them were young and single. Hannah led the way over, pausing to drop a dollar into the jar. It was more than they were asking, but she had seen some of their good work. "They only ask for ten cents," she told McCallister and then shrugged, "I like supporting them. They are good women who help our community without judgement."
  3. Hannah Cory

    The Marshals Meet

    "Shouldn't be a problem, Marshal," Hannah responded although she wondered how her father, the town marshal, and the grizzled US Marshal would get on. Scott Cory was not overly territorial regarding his jurisdiction, but he was protective of the people under his care. It was, Hannah supposed, inevitable that the federal government would send a territorial marshal to northwest Montana. Kalispell itself was fairly peaceful for the majority of the time, however, there had been increases in Indian troubles. It was only a matter of time before things changed for the worse. In 1873, Montana had been officially opened for white settlement by the US government. She had already noticed an influx of people from the east and further south. Not all of them were of the highest moral fiber. Hannah gave the man a steady look, "How about we sit down for some food and I can answer any questions or concerns you might have. Later, when I head into town to change for the dance, I can show you the office and jail, get you sorted there if you like?"
  4. Hannah Cory

    The Marshals Meet

    Hannah Cory had spent the morning wandering the fairgrounds, stopping on occasion to watch some of the events. She and the town's other two deputies were on-duty until late afternoon when her father, Marshal Scott Cory, and two volunteers would take over leaving her free to attend the dance that night. She was looking forward to it. Despite the fact that she was most often clad in pants, shirt, vest, and boots, Hannah enjoyed the chance to put on a dress. She had even had one made just for the Founder's Day Dance. Having reached one of the roasting pits where a donated Lost Lake steer turned slowly over the coals, Hannah was just turning to go toward where the horse race would be held when she heard her name called. Hannah looked up to find herself facing a tall man, probably in the neighborhood of six feet, with rough, unkempt gray hair and one steely blue eye. The other eye was covered by a black eyepatch. A mostly gray, rather well-kept beard and mustache bracketed his mouth. Whiskers also graced his cheeks and jawline. Hannah placed his age somewhere in the fifties although his worn and weathered features made it hard to determine with any accuracy. They had been notified that a US Marshal would be stationed in Kalispell to cover the northwestern Montana territory. Still, he was scruffier than Hannah had anticipated. "Pardon me, are you Deputy Marshal Hannah Cory?" he asked her when he approached her location with his hand held out for a handshake. "I'm Duke McCallister ... from the U.S. Marshal's Department." Hannah gave the man's hand a firm shake as she regarded him steadily, "Yes, I'm Hannah Cory. We were notified a marshal was to be stationed in Kalispell. Do you have a letter or identification, sir?" In her experience, it always paid to be cautious. They had had a few bad actors try to pass themselves off as lawmen in the past. "Yes Ma'am, I do," he replied, his voice deep and gravely and peppered with a Southern accent. He pulled an envelope from inside his shirt and held it out to her. Inside she would find a letter of introduction and a certification from his supervisor that he would tell her she was who he said he was. He waited for her to look the papers over before acknowledging her again, instead he looked over the crowd of people as children played games for cookies and candies. Off to one side of the fair, women came and went as they placed pots and casseroles of various kinds of foods on a long table. Off to the side of the serving area were several picnic tables far enough apart to people to eat comfortably and yet close enough to interact and speak with others. He figured it would soon be time to eat which made his stomach rumble with hunger. It'd been many a week since he had a home cooked meal. Hannah handed the documents back to Marshal McCallister with a smile, "Everything looks in order, sir. Welcome to Kalispell. Marshal Cory will be on-duty later today and during the dance. Until then, I can help you out. Will you be working out of our office and jail?"
  5. Hannah Cory

    Hannah Cory

  6. Hannah Cory

    Neighbors: The Good and the Bad - Pt. 2

    Hannah reined Jingo in close to the Redmonds' wagon. She had arrived at their home just before daybreak so that she could ride with them to the ranch. As always, the spectacular landscape that made up Lost Lake Ranch made her catch her breath. It was breathtakingly beautiful. It helped that the Thorntons had taken care with the ranch's buildings, seeing that they blended with the area and were kept in good repair. Local lumber and river stone had been used, and they had all been painted a natural dark shade of gray. To the east of the towering mountains that surrounded the pass called Ishmael's Gate lay the main ranch buildings. The U-shaped stone and timber bunkhouse lay closest to the road. Beyond it was the barns, corrals, paddocks and other outbuildings that were needed to keep the sprawling ranch operational. The fencing was painted the same deep slate color, matching the timbers of the buildings. It all promoted a scene of understated prosperity. Hannah signaled Aurelian to pull his wagon in at the end of the hitching rails. She noted that there were already three horses tied up. Two duns, one near black, the other a silvery color, and a golden buckskin. Hannah recognized all three horses. The mouse-colored dun was Ezra Hale's. The buckskin and the grullo belonged to Quentin Cantrell and Shade Thornton respectively. Her sigh as she dismounted and looped Jingo's reins over the hitching post was one of annoyance. She had hoped to conduct the identification of the two men responsible for terrorizing Clara Redmond before Ezra or Thornton arrived. At least it seemed as if they had gotten there before the hands left for the day's work. Hannah rapped hard on the door and called out so that any men that were not quite dressed could dart back into the bunkrooms. No sound of scurrying feet reached her, so she pushed the door open. The reason why was immediately apparent. The door on the far side of the room was open, and she could see that the men were having their breakfast in the courtyard. She led the way outside, stopped just short of the end of the table closest to the building and cleared her throat. The hum of conversation ended and twelve pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. The expressions on the faces of the men ranged from mildly curious to indifferent. No one appeared uneasy or upset by their arrival or the badge pinned to the front of Hannah's vest. No one looked in the least bit guilty. There was a shuffle of chairs and feet as the men rose to their feet in polite recognition of her presence. Ezra Hale was the first one to speak. He gestured at the table and a few spare seats close to the end of the table where she and the Redmonds stood. "Deputy, this is an unexpected and pleasant surprise," he said, his mellow baritone clear and easy to understand. "Will you and your friends join us for breakfast?" He turned his keen blue-gray eyes on the Redmonds, "I'm Ezra Hale, the ranch manager." Hoping that no one heard her stomach rumble at the mention of breakfast, Hannah shook her head. She had left home without eating so that she could get to the Redmond homestead early. She did not want niceties to get in the way. "No, thank you, Mr. Hale. I am here on business." Hannah touched Clara's shoulder gently, "Take a good look, Miss Redmond. Do you recognize any of these men?" She purposely did not state where or how the girl should recognize them. Hannah wanted to keep the element of surprise on her side for as long as possible.
  7. Hannah Cory

    Neighbors: The Good and the Bad

    Hannah stiffened at the girl's words but stopped herself from turning around. Shade Thornton! She had known from the moment she saw him in Kalispell a couple of weeks earlier that there would be trouble. An inner voice said that she still wanted him to pay for humiliating her all those years ago. Hannah dismissed that quiet voice, firmly telling herself that she only wanted to see justice done and that Shade Thornton was not the same man that left Montana. He was dangerous, an outlaw - even if not currently wanted for anything. "Shade Thornton?" Hannah kept her voice neutral. "Would you be willing to come to town and swear out a complaint?" "That was the man. He is a snake. He seems nice enough but as the old saying goes, actions speak louder than words," Clara declared with conviction. She now stepped out clad in trousers and buttoning up the shirt still, she was comfortable enough with the lady as to lose some of her shyness at her embarrassing situation. "I certainly would be willing to swear out a complaint and I believe my father would insist upon it also. We were burned out by Indians at our last place and that dress they stole is one of two I currently own. And also that is father's pistol and he will want it back....unbroken too," she added. Hannah pulled Jingo's head up, stopping him from guzzling more water. "I'm turning around," she warned the girl, but she did not walk in her direction. "We'll do our best to recover your property or the damages. If you're ready, we should start toward your home." "You can look, I am presentable now," Clara informed her, "Yes, I will show you the way...........oh that is right, you knew the Sidwells." "Yes, I knew them," Hannah said. She dropped Jingo's reins. Grabbing the blanket, she rolled it up. It wouldn't fit in the saddlebags, but the bags, the blanket and the brace of hares could be draped over the horse's withers. With everything situated, Hannah vaulted onto Jingo's back and guided him close to a boulder so that Clara could step up behind her. The pair then headed for the homestead cabin, Clara couldn't wait to tell her father what had befallen her. He was not going to take this lightly, he had been in the war, he would not be bullied. Continued in Part 2.
  8. Hannah Cory

    Neighbors: The Good and the Bad

    Hannah guided her black-roan Appaloosa along a small game trail that followed the shores of the lake. She had been hunting just over the boundary line on Lost Lake Ranch. Instead of riding all the way to the ranch's front gate to access the road, she was planning to cut across the Sidwell's property, maybe even check in on the older couple and offer them one brace of the hares that she'd shot. It was something she had done on more than one occasion. She had not been out that way for quite awhile and didn't recall seeing the Sidwells in town recently. They rounded a bend in the trail and came out on the lake's shore that was a popular swimming area. There was grass, a spit of sand, and a few rocks jutting out into the water that people could use for diving. It was a rather sheltered cove, not easily seen from the trail. Jingo had started to lower his head for a drink when something startled him. The big gelding snorted and shied, almost unseating Hannah who had been paying more attention to the scenery than what the horse was doing. It took Jingo's fixed stare at the water for Hannah to spot the reason for the horse's alarm. Her eyes followed the horse's line of sight where she spotted a young girl, several feet from shore, apparently treading water.
  9. Hannah Cory


    Originally published on Sun Oct 8th, 2017 @ 6:28pm Most visitors to the region would not be able to tell that the town of Kalispell was less than five years old. Before that, it had been part of a stockade style settlement called Fort Kalispell and lay five miles south of its present location. In its infinite wisdom, the powers that be in Washington D.C. had determined that the newly opened territory of Montana needed a full-time military fort in the western region. They had dispatched the Army Corps of Engineers to make that happen. Their reports indicated that building a fort closer to Flathead Lake was unfeasible due to flooding and that the current location of the trading post was the ideal spot as it was situated on a flat-topped hill between two rivers. D.C. told them to make it happen, and within a few months, the town had been erected five miles north of the fort, and the fort itself had been converted to an all-military establishment with stronger, more secure walls. While housed within the old trading post's walls, the town's growth had been limited. Once it had been moved and rebuilt, it began to flourish. More and more people settled in the area and fewer of them made the arduous trip to Missoula to do their shopping. Along with the influx of people, more businesses opened, and the town continued to grow. Due to a lack of danger from hostile Indians, more and more people made Kalispell the go-to spot to get away from the hot, crowded cities along the east coast. The more adventurous found the area ideal for exploring the wilderness, hunting, camping, and fishing. The fertile land made the surrounding area ideal for farming and ranching. The town council and local developers avoided mentioning the real dangers of the territory. Shade Thornton and his traveling companions had broken camp before sunrise that morning. Despite a sleepless night, he had pushed them hard once they were back on the road north, only allowing short rest breaks. He'd allowed a longer break opposite Fort Kalispell, where he'd spent a few minutes staring at the new, higher walls and the sight of armed soldiers pacing its catwalks, watching for trouble. Shade felt sure they'd given him and his friends a good looking over as well. For the next five miles, they'd passed several small ranches, farms and a few scattered homes. The houses became clustered closer together as they approached the south end of Kalispell. At the sign that announced they were entering the town limits of Kalispell, Shade and Quentin dismounted. Leading their mounts, they walked ahead of Harriet's private coach. Shade felt as if his head were set on a swivel as his eyes swung from one side of the street to the other, trying to watch everything and everyone at once. The only difference in this town and hundreds of others that Shade had been in over the last thirteen years was that it seemed cleaner and the buildings were in better repair, none of them sported peeling paint and broken shutters. Other than that, groups of one and two story buildings liked the street, with wide, elevated boardwalks in front of them. As an added bonus for the shoppers and townspeople, most of the sidewalks were covered. Overall, with its backdrop of towering mountain ranges and peaks, it was a beautiful little town. It also made Shade extremely uneasy. Just past a sign set atop a low stone wall that announced the presence of the Belle-St. Regis Plaza, Shade saw someone cross from the sidewalk to take up a stance in the middle of the street. He was pretty sure he knew who it was but had been hoping to avoid this particular complication for a little bit longer. As if reading a silent, unseen signal, the team of big Gypsy horses also slowed their pace as Harriet Mercer pulled them into a slow walk. The woman standing in the street was a stunning vision of wild, unkempt golden brown hair and cat-like hazel eyes. She was clad in tan work pants and a dusty brown man's shirt. Affixed to the left of the shirt was the badge that proclaimed her a deputy marshal. A brown leather gun belt rode low on her slender hips and matched her dark brown leather boots. A round-brimmed hat rested on her back, held by its leather strap around her neck. She also wore a red bandana loosely knotted under the collar of her shirt. Her small, but very capable hands held an 1873 Winchester .44-40 carbine at the ready. "Stop right there, Thornton." The woman's voice was sultry, low-pitched, and hostile. Apparently, she was not the neighborhood welcoming committee. This was born out by her next words, "Just turn around and ride back the way you came. We don't want your kind here." As Shade started to reach up to tilt his hat back, she brought the rifle level and ratcheted a round into the chamber. He spread his hands out to either side, "Hello, Hannah." "Deputy Marshal Cory," Hannah snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously. Quentin idly moved his horse's reins, his mount slowly wandered into the line of fire between the woman in the street and Shade. Cantrell reached up and touched the front brim of his hat. "Howdy, ma'am. My name is Quentin Cantrell...might I ask why you seem so intent on shooting my friend in broad daylight in front of all these witnesses?" Cantrell's intentionally thickened accent helped push the message through to indicate all the people watching from the sidewalks and windows of the buildings on either side of their little encounter. Cantrell's movements, though subtle, were not lost on Hannah. He had deftly maneuvered his big buckskin gelding between her line of fire and Shade Thornton. She couldn't help but take a moment to admire the horse as, next to her father, she loved horses more than anything else. The animal was tall, at least sixteen hands, and his coat gleamed with good health and care. The dark gold of his coat was offset by the dark seal-brown color of his luxurious mane and tail. His off hind leg sported a white stocking that faded into deep brown at the hock while the other three legs were dark brown from the knee and hocks down to near the fetlock where white socks gleamed in the sunlight. The gelding had a beautifully refined head noting good breeding. From the good muscle and powerful body, Hannah guessed he had a purebred Colonial Quarter horse in his lineage. A refined head and slender inward tipped ears suggested he also had Spanish Mustang in his breeding as well. His intelligent face was marked by a stripe of white that started in the shape of a crescent moon and ran down to near his muzzle which was dark and marked by a small flesh-toned snip. Hannah realized she had lost focus and scowled. In any other situation, she would likely be dead now! She turned her eyes back to Cantrell who was just almost as striking as his horse. He was tall, probably around six foot, medium in build and appeared to be in extremely good physical shape. He had thick, nearly black hair that was neatly barbered. Cantrell's eyes were wide-set and deep brown with flecks of gold. She put his age at a few years older than Shade, but still under forty. Hannah knew that because Regina Thornton often spoke of her older brother. Cantrell's voice was really arresting. Hannah had never heard a Southern accent spoken, only read descriptions in books and they did not do it justice. Phrases like 'dripping with honey' or 'dulcet tones' could not accurately describe the man's deep voice or the softer enunciation of consonants and vowels that was still clear, concise and clearly understood. Some of the books she'd read had to have been written by pro-Union authors because they also equated the slower mode of speech with a lack of intelligence. One look at this man's face and eyes dispelled that notion immediately. Hannah made a quick scan of the area. Cantrell was right. People were stopping to watch the tableau play out in the street although several had ducked into shops for safety. The man and woman seated in the driver's box of the coach had not moved. She didn't recognize him but had seen Harriet Mercer in town occasionally and recognized the private coach. There had only been a brief glimpse of the passenger leaving Hannah with the impression of youth and golden hair. Actually shooting Shade Thornton was obviously out under the circumstances. Besides, he was keeping his hands well away from the six-shooter resting on his hip. Blue-green eyes slid over the man who was at the center of the standoff, such as it was, but Hannah did not want to really look at Shade Thornton. She didn't want to know if his eyes were still the same dark blue as the depths of Lost Lake or if that one lock of his raven black hair still stubbornly dropped on his forehead. Hannah did not want to really see him at the moment. She wanted to stay safely wrapped in her anger and hatred. "Maybe you're not aware of the kind of company you're keepin', Mr. Cantrell? Or," Hannah briefly turned her attention to Thornton, "maybe you didn't think we'd get the wanted posters and handbills way off up here? I know why you're here, but they will be better off without a man like you around, safer. So maybe you ought to continue on through town with your party, Mr. Cantrell, and send Thornton back to wherever he's been holed up lately." Cantrell's eyes narrowed, but he held his temper at her comments. Obviously, something was going between the two of them, but he seriously did not have time for this sort of nonsense...badge or no. "Deputy Marshal Cory..." Quentin said, some of the accent dropping from his voice. "...I understand you believe what you are saying, but you are laboring under a misapprehension." Cantrell straightened in his saddle and gestured at Shade with one hand. "...Mr. Thornton has been cleared of the accusations that caused those handbills and has papers with him that certify his innocence. I can also testify to the fact that when I found Shade, he was working at a ranch and stage relay with the full trust and love of the family that owned it." Quentin then leaned back over in his saddle and spoke lower between the two of them. "You do what you think you need to, Deputy, but if you point that rifle at Shade again, I will take it very personally." Cantrell's right hand rested lightly on the butt of his Schofield as he spoke. Shade looked to Quentin where he sat on Paladin, effectively blocking Hannah's clean line of fire. Various emotions played inside him, although little was betrayed on his face. He wasn't accustomed to anyone taking his part in a fight. At least, not since childhood when Chance often intervened on his behalf, even against their father. In those few moments, Quentin seemed to establish something Shade had often heard Marianne Sherman say, "...family doesn't always consist of people you're blood-related to, Shade. Sometimes, circumstances create familial bonds that are just as strong..." He stepped away from Paladin, pulling Lakota with him. Shade was prepared to take on Hannah's ire since he knew from where it stemmed. Before Shade could speak, a deep, beautifully modulated voice, called out from the sidewalk, "Deputy Marshal Cory! Lower your weapon and stand down." The order was given in an almost laconic tone, but there was steel in the voice of the man that spoke. A slender, well-built man in his early sixties stepped out from under cover and off the boardwalk. He moved briskly, but not as if harried. His black hat was tilted back from his face showing short salt-and-pepper colored hair and dark brown eyes with hints of gold in their depths. He had a good-looking face with a strong, square jaw, firm lips, and straight nose. The man wore clean, pressed denim pants, a light colored shirt, and a dark vest with a bad affixed to the front of it. A black leather gun belt supported a holstered Remington .44. Marshall Scott Cory was the epitomé of the steely-eyed lawman, even if he was the deputy marshal's father. He tipped his hat politely in the direction of the coach, "Miss Mercer, it's good to see you back in town." He turned his attention to the two men and offered his hand to Quentin, "Good to see you back, Mr. Cantrell." Finally, he looked directly at the younger man, "Shade, sorry you had to come home under these circumstances." Shade relaxed a bit more. Evidently, his past with Hannah was not going to be held against him. That was good to know although it might have been a different matter had he successfully eloped with Hannah thirteen years before. He flashed a glance at the woman but said nothing. No need to add salt to the wounds. Hannah spared a glare for her father, turned and walked toward the building that was labeled Marshal's Office. She stopped at the hitching rail to slide her rifle into the scabbard strapped to the bareback rig of a big black roan Appaloosa. Grabbing the reins, she vaulted easily onto the gelding's back, spun him around, and galloped south. Scott watched his daughter ride off and shook his head ruefully, "Sorry about that," he said to the two men. "I'll speak to her." "No need, sir," Shade said, gathering his reins and preparing to mount Lakota. "She has her reasons for hatin' me." "She does, boy, but I can't have one of my deputies goin' off half-cocked," Scott said affably. "Once you both get yourselves settled and that meeting with Judge Mandrell out of the way, stop in and see me. I have some things to go over before I can close my file." That wasn't exactly true. Scott had no intention of completely closing out the file on the deaths of the Thorntons. He just couldn't say that out loud on Main Street. "Much appreciated, Marshal. I would have hated to have to do something to stop her, but I wasn't going to let her use her badge to hurt Shade..." Quentin glanced back at the wagon. "Everyone okay back there?" Shade grabbed the saddle horn and pulled himself up, expertly setting his foot in the stirrup and swinging his leg over the saddle in his signature style of mounting. As he settled into the saddle, he turned to glance back at the coach. Harriet nodded to Quentin's inquiry, "We are fine, Mr. Cantrell." Shade saw her gather the reins, obviously intending to take over driving since she was familiar with the area. Scott Cory stepped back out of the road and Shade reined Lakota in next to Quentin, intending to lead the way. Out of the town's laws regarding speed, they kept the horses to a walk. Just past Kalispell's northern town limits, a signpost indicated that Whitefish was fifteen miles north and Lost Lake Ranch was west, no distance was given. Quentin reined Paladin in next to Lakota, close enough that he could speak in a low voice that only Shade could hear, "I'm not expecting you to explain all this to me right now and right here, but we will talk about this...soon."

About Sagas

Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.

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