Post by Admin on Sept 1, 2015 23:07:04 GMT
In downtown, just past the gas lamp, and making your towards squalor you can find yourself at the cross roads of faded signs and forgotten streets. The buildings here still cascade upwards, in brick and mortar made filthy with the years and failures the city has had to offer. The stench of rotten food, decaying lives, and sewage fills the air as you make your way over and past all the usual signs of metropolis that has become nothing more than the empty husk of a dead titan now filled with the parasites and vermin one expects to see.
In this part of town the street lights range from barely working to flickering and somewhere in between. Taxis refuse to be hailed as the trolley zips by refusing to stop in this neighborhood at this hour, or any for that matter. Like a series of fire cracker, pop pop, the sound of gun fire somewhere in the distance, or maybe it was just a car chocking to life in an exhausted hurt of rusted steel and aging gears. The walls of most buildings are covered in old flyers and posters all covered by layers of spray paint telling enemies who owns this turf like children shouting over each other, the newest, like the loudest, not truly the victor, but a temporary top dog.
The people huddle against the walls, pushing into it with their gathering belongings, as if to try and push themselves through the city into some other place, maybe a better place. Like fearful rats cowering, cornered, by a starving cat they find themselves any dark place they can. One steps by you with strength you don’t see by many of these lost spirits. He shouts to the skies with a pizza box turned self proclaimed decree of impending times, his one cataract eye looks oddly to the side as his words spill from his mangy beard with spittle shooting passed swollen lips and the browning teeth he has left sticking up like tombstones from his gums.
He catches you looking at him and turns his attention to you. The crazed look in his eye has you startled for a moment as you try to figure out if he is looking at you to finally have a real person to spill more of his banter at, or if he sees food. You stumble back, that odd sensation of fear and confusion washes over you for a moment, you start to take step back only to find yourself bumping up against another person. You glance back quickly to see James “City Guard” Daniels start to step past you. The priest of concrete seems to soften a bit, as if regaining some sort of lost composure. “City Guard” reaches into his pocket and offers the man a bottle of water, the label was gone and it’s plastic showed signs of seeing better days, but the man calmly took it with a nod and turned back the other way to continue his sermon to the birds and clouds.
“I would ask if you were lost, but I know better than that.” City Guard says with an aged voice. It had a bit of a rasp to it, like a man always battling the tail end of a sore throat. He starts to walk ahead of you, then stops and looks over his shoulder, the hint is rather quick to find you and in a few steps you have started following him down the road. “Not sure if you came to be a ‘look-about’, gawk at the less fortunate to make yourself feel better, or if you actually came to help. Either way, you are here, and that is more than most can actually muster the ability to do.” As you head down the sidewalk you notice the trash and detritus starting to pile up more and more. The walkway is no longer a straight and simple path as you find yourself moving past piles of boxes with the faces and eyes of people staring out at you.
When you come to the entrance of the alley way you are greeted by an old iron fence with a wide double door gate. It has seen better years, and has been reinforced with sheet metal, siding panels from cars, and pieces of wood. The whole thing looks like some sort of fortification to a zombie apocalypse survival bunker. You step through the gates following behind James as the path narrows and before you is a stack of dumpsters placed in a manner to conceal a simple path to those gazing in from the street. After a few turns you step into what almost feels like a different world.
The pathway widens out, on either side is a mix of shanty homes and places of labor where people toil away repairing the things they have scavenged over the week.
“This is where you will find City Guard.” James says standing in the cross road of two alleys. The people here look more like survivors and less fortunate, then the sickly and forgotten. Their voices carry about in a way that is comforting and makes you feel like you are in some sort of joyous camp site. “Here you can speak freely, no, not all are Kin, but all are aware and now a part of our world.” He walks down the right side, as you turn the corner to join him you see a wide area, almost like a courtyard filled with people dancing and laughing. A piano up against the wall currently being played by an older woman as Loyd “Sir Punch Line” dances in the center of a group of others enjoying themselves, the whole thing has a look of some sort of fantasy tavern meets the Walking Dead, but no zombies. As James moves through people smile and welcome him, some give him a hug and a pat on the back, while others just lift their drink from the table. He welcomes the greetings as he moves through crowd like his path is a well worn hunting trail, as you stumble through getting bumped into here and there.
You finally catch up to him a few feet outside the courtyard, looking back it is a comforting site to see. You look up and gaze at the building on either side of you. Their red brick structures go up for five or six floors in some areas. Their outsides adorned with metal fire escapes now made into some sort of continuous walk ways with the aid of homemade bridges and ladders, the whole thing a maze of pathways and ramps leading into and out of windows and holes in the sides of the buildings. People move about above like you would expect to see around the gas lamp district.
“Rat’s Nest.” He taps his foot on the ground. You see a large grate that leads bellow and into old tunnels. The sound of water trickles and flows bellow, “The only time you should be down there is if you are a Rat, or you’re invited.” He lets you take in the sights a bit more before pulling you off to the side and out of ear shot.
“We don’t get many down here from the Sept, except those looking to feel better about themselves with a hand out or to make sure we have not all been overrun by the Wyrm and its filth. Every generation we see less and less willing to work with City Guard, most can’t give up their expensive gadgets, warm beds, or “clean” meals.” He uses the air quotes around clean to emphasize the word with a bit of disdain. “I don’t fault them though, this isn’t a life style you always chose, and the fear of it is what pushes people away more than the actual way of living, but I am sure you didn’t come down here to hear my thoughts, I was told some of you new blood would stop by to hear our way of things.”
“City Guard members give up whatever they could have been in the glass and steel, or the green and lush, to live here among the ones that usually go unnoticed and over looked. We watch the city, its people, for the Dissolver’s touch. It’s not an easy life, and we get as many emotional and mental scars as we do physical ones. From here though, we have a perfect view of the city’s weakest points. Ever since man had major cities like these the Wyrm has been spreading its disease outward from the Ghettos and the sickly. Whereas the members of Dyntech watch computers and phones for the touch of the Weaver, we listen to the streets and use our own eyes while moving about in many ways and forms.”
“What, you think we are all bums?” he says as you look about, “Well that isn’t true. We are your trash men, your police officers. We handle your food in the Bierto’s line of restaurants, and park your cars before when dressed up in your finest opulence. We are everywhere, and our network in this city is vast as we watch from both below and above. Don’t let that scare you though; we are here not just for them, but for you as well.” He leads you back through the courtyard and to the alley gate entrance. “This is what we do; this is how we help those who need it in ways others can’t be bothered to. This job isn’t for everyone, but remember that as long as you can treat everyone here with respect and dignity you will always be welcome.”
James walks you to a trolley stop that is just outside the neighborhood and feels relatively safe, “Just remember, till you get some ‘street-cred’ it is best to call and have one of us guide through the area.” He waits till your ride leaves then turns to walk back to the alley.
In this part of town the street lights range from barely working to flickering and somewhere in between. Taxis refuse to be hailed as the trolley zips by refusing to stop in this neighborhood at this hour, or any for that matter. Like a series of fire cracker, pop pop, the sound of gun fire somewhere in the distance, or maybe it was just a car chocking to life in an exhausted hurt of rusted steel and aging gears. The walls of most buildings are covered in old flyers and posters all covered by layers of spray paint telling enemies who owns this turf like children shouting over each other, the newest, like the loudest, not truly the victor, but a temporary top dog.
The people huddle against the walls, pushing into it with their gathering belongings, as if to try and push themselves through the city into some other place, maybe a better place. Like fearful rats cowering, cornered, by a starving cat they find themselves any dark place they can. One steps by you with strength you don’t see by many of these lost spirits. He shouts to the skies with a pizza box turned self proclaimed decree of impending times, his one cataract eye looks oddly to the side as his words spill from his mangy beard with spittle shooting passed swollen lips and the browning teeth he has left sticking up like tombstones from his gums.
He catches you looking at him and turns his attention to you. The crazed look in his eye has you startled for a moment as you try to figure out if he is looking at you to finally have a real person to spill more of his banter at, or if he sees food. You stumble back, that odd sensation of fear and confusion washes over you for a moment, you start to take step back only to find yourself bumping up against another person. You glance back quickly to see James “City Guard” Daniels start to step past you. The priest of concrete seems to soften a bit, as if regaining some sort of lost composure. “City Guard” reaches into his pocket and offers the man a bottle of water, the label was gone and it’s plastic showed signs of seeing better days, but the man calmly took it with a nod and turned back the other way to continue his sermon to the birds and clouds.
“I would ask if you were lost, but I know better than that.” City Guard says with an aged voice. It had a bit of a rasp to it, like a man always battling the tail end of a sore throat. He starts to walk ahead of you, then stops and looks over his shoulder, the hint is rather quick to find you and in a few steps you have started following him down the road. “Not sure if you came to be a ‘look-about’, gawk at the less fortunate to make yourself feel better, or if you actually came to help. Either way, you are here, and that is more than most can actually muster the ability to do.” As you head down the sidewalk you notice the trash and detritus starting to pile up more and more. The walkway is no longer a straight and simple path as you find yourself moving past piles of boxes with the faces and eyes of people staring out at you.
When you come to the entrance of the alley way you are greeted by an old iron fence with a wide double door gate. It has seen better years, and has been reinforced with sheet metal, siding panels from cars, and pieces of wood. The whole thing looks like some sort of fortification to a zombie apocalypse survival bunker. You step through the gates following behind James as the path narrows and before you is a stack of dumpsters placed in a manner to conceal a simple path to those gazing in from the street. After a few turns you step into what almost feels like a different world.
The pathway widens out, on either side is a mix of shanty homes and places of labor where people toil away repairing the things they have scavenged over the week.
“This is where you will find City Guard.” James says standing in the cross road of two alleys. The people here look more like survivors and less fortunate, then the sickly and forgotten. Their voices carry about in a way that is comforting and makes you feel like you are in some sort of joyous camp site. “Here you can speak freely, no, not all are Kin, but all are aware and now a part of our world.” He walks down the right side, as you turn the corner to join him you see a wide area, almost like a courtyard filled with people dancing and laughing. A piano up against the wall currently being played by an older woman as Loyd “Sir Punch Line” dances in the center of a group of others enjoying themselves, the whole thing has a look of some sort of fantasy tavern meets the Walking Dead, but no zombies. As James moves through people smile and welcome him, some give him a hug and a pat on the back, while others just lift their drink from the table. He welcomes the greetings as he moves through crowd like his path is a well worn hunting trail, as you stumble through getting bumped into here and there.
You finally catch up to him a few feet outside the courtyard, looking back it is a comforting site to see. You look up and gaze at the building on either side of you. Their red brick structures go up for five or six floors in some areas. Their outsides adorned with metal fire escapes now made into some sort of continuous walk ways with the aid of homemade bridges and ladders, the whole thing a maze of pathways and ramps leading into and out of windows and holes in the sides of the buildings. People move about above like you would expect to see around the gas lamp district.
“Rat’s Nest.” He taps his foot on the ground. You see a large grate that leads bellow and into old tunnels. The sound of water trickles and flows bellow, “The only time you should be down there is if you are a Rat, or you’re invited.” He lets you take in the sights a bit more before pulling you off to the side and out of ear shot.
“We don’t get many down here from the Sept, except those looking to feel better about themselves with a hand out or to make sure we have not all been overrun by the Wyrm and its filth. Every generation we see less and less willing to work with City Guard, most can’t give up their expensive gadgets, warm beds, or “clean” meals.” He uses the air quotes around clean to emphasize the word with a bit of disdain. “I don’t fault them though, this isn’t a life style you always chose, and the fear of it is what pushes people away more than the actual way of living, but I am sure you didn’t come down here to hear my thoughts, I was told some of you new blood would stop by to hear our way of things.”
“City Guard members give up whatever they could have been in the glass and steel, or the green and lush, to live here among the ones that usually go unnoticed and over looked. We watch the city, its people, for the Dissolver’s touch. It’s not an easy life, and we get as many emotional and mental scars as we do physical ones. From here though, we have a perfect view of the city’s weakest points. Ever since man had major cities like these the Wyrm has been spreading its disease outward from the Ghettos and the sickly. Whereas the members of Dyntech watch computers and phones for the touch of the Weaver, we listen to the streets and use our own eyes while moving about in many ways and forms.”
“What, you think we are all bums?” he says as you look about, “Well that isn’t true. We are your trash men, your police officers. We handle your food in the Bierto’s line of restaurants, and park your cars before when dressed up in your finest opulence. We are everywhere, and our network in this city is vast as we watch from both below and above. Don’t let that scare you though; we are here not just for them, but for you as well.” He leads you back through the courtyard and to the alley gate entrance. “This is what we do; this is how we help those who need it in ways others can’t be bothered to. This job isn’t for everyone, but remember that as long as you can treat everyone here with respect and dignity you will always be welcome.”
James walks you to a trolley stop that is just outside the neighborhood and feels relatively safe, “Just remember, till you get some ‘street-cred’ it is best to call and have one of us guide through the area.” He waits till your ride leaves then turns to walk back to the alley.