A Dark City: Discussion Area

Tired of being in character? Relax, ditch the mask, and take a break in the headless room.

A Dark City: Discussion Area

Postby Clast on Thu Sep 13, 2012 9:40 pm

Hello and Welcome to "A Dark City". If you are interested in assisting me with creating a Film Noir story of epic proportions. If you've arrived here new, you can get an understanding of the this things background here: http://dreamkeepers.forums-free.com/this-idea-is-stuck-in-my-head-and-i-cant-get-it-out-t1289.html. This thread will tell you everything you need to know.

In addition, I'm reposting the adventure hook I wrote to start this off here:

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Rain pattered over the stone tiles, left in poor repair by excessive use and neglect. The cobbled, crumpling surface shot strikes of pain through his sore feet, but he marched on through the drizzle, and umbrella held high despite the circumstances. The 'Keeper in question wheezed slightly, and rocked on unsure legs, his thick chins wobbling with a pitiful fear. He was unaccustomed to this area of the great city. In fact, he had barely ever been outside the comfortable leather chairs of Norvondire district, the very idea of the slums distressed his weak thoughts. He was a manager, after all, no common worker. Thus, he murmured disgruntled mutterings as he plowed his bulk over bad roads and back streets, hoping to find the very worker of his thoughts.

Dark shadows shifted under the cover of darkness, streetlamps not daring to spread their soft glow too far. In these barren alleyways, night had its way. The crossing of High Crest, and Beel's, a sharp curve too short for large ground-cars to enter, the road turned from rough stone to gravel, and then dirt. The houses were small, and covered in rags and filth. Whatever light had once been present in these dismal and forgotten neighbors had been stolen away in the dead of midnight, time and desperation a cruel thief, eager to plunder any materiel in its path. A abhorrent lamp-squid of the streetlights had disappeared years ago to a black market seller, or an exotic market; anywhere a few coins could be earned. The thudding, ungainly steps, and overcoat marked the businessman as an outsider, a foreigner in the back-ways of his own city.

It was there, on High Crest and Beel's, that he waited. Taking a seat upon a thick box, he mopped his brow from sweat and rainwater, and checked his pocket-watch. It was nearly a quarter past one. He was late for the meeting. Some time passed, the stress of the situation bearing down on the fat aristocrat, he could not tell how long. However much he drifted from sleep into consciousness, his safe living getting the better of him, he could not tell whether ten minutes or an hour had passed when he felt the knife at his back.

His umbrella dropped to the ground, splashing cold rain across his face. He raised his arms above his head, whimpering slightly. A voice hissed in his ear, cruel and biting, "Whats a big fat boy like you doing round these parts, this time o' night. Don't you know it's dangerous?" He was pulled back to his feet by rough and careless hands, pushing him up and over, a dark figure loomed over him.

Quick as a flash, the thug's leg shot out, slamming the trespasser in his wide stomach. He keeled over, clutching his aching gut, bile rising in his throat. Uncaring rain increased in intensity and splattered his back, no sympathy lied in these streets. His besieger spoke again.

"What've you got, big man? A pocketbook? A wallet?" He crouched low, to meet the man at eye level, "You know what I need. Money. Let's make this quick, and I don't have to take this any farther. 'Cause you know, fat man, that I could." In the half light and blackness he flashed a cruel smile at the foreigner, dumbfounded and groaning on the wet mud. Rising to shaking knees, the businessman pulled out his pocketbook, thick fingers fighting their way inside for the unsoiled marks, like a worm digging in the soil. He returned with a fistful, and pushed it towards his assault, speechless, stupefied.

The offering, as if to a dark god, was received with another kick. The attacker turned from the scene and ran, bolting through the street corner, back to the darkness from where he appeared. Back on High Crest and Beel's, the stooped figure vomited, then wept, before climbing once more to his feet. His labor was rewarded with a distant scream, a howl of terrible agony that rushed out from the blackest void the terror-filled streets had to offer. Unluckily, it was close by, and as if from suspense, the rain began to die out, leaving only mud and darkness in its wake.

Too terrified to move, or perhaps too stupefied, the trespasser of the slums huddled in his ruined overcoat at the sound of approaching footsteps. Another 'Keeper appeared, in the distance. He walked with a measured pace, practiced, efficient. You could tell form his stance that he knew these streets, this black hole of chaos. He stopped, and lit a hand-rolled cigarette, pulled from a disheveled pocket. From the other, the businessman's spent marks,slightly crumbled and damp. Confused, the gift was taken, gingerly, searching for a threat pr reason to flee. The businessman stammered, "A-are y-you Mr. Eddie P-Prike?" The newcomer emitted a sigh.

"Yeah. And I'll be needing the bankroll back now. I found out what you wanted." His cigarette lit his face with each pull, a rough sculpture carved from experience and endurance. This thought crossed the businessman's face, as quickly as his ledgers. "Oh, I see. Here you are. Right...what did you find out?" The newcomer took back the crumpled marks, and scooped the now torn umbrella from the ground. In the distance, the very edges of the sun's glow began to creep up and over the horizon, but darkness still ruled. The response came without pity or emotion. "Yes. Your wife is seeing another man. Quite often. In fact, right now is one of those times; that's why I'm later, sorry. The only other question is what's the next step? You want me to dig up a hit man?"

The businessman's face drooped into a deeper frown of pain. He sniffed. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you Mr. Prike. I will not be needing that. Now, I believe, I shall return home. This only confirmed my suspicions.Good evening." Both men went their separate ways, and returned to their respective worlds, away from the night on High Crest and Beel's.
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Clast
 
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