Post by Seraphim on Jun 4, 2006 10:59:57 GMT 12
Children of the Sandstorm
You’re creeping through the city. Your shadow is cast high on the wall behind you, the torch in your hand flickering as the batteries slowly start to die. If you don’t find one of the tribes soon, you’ll be stuck where you are until dawnbreak. You used to live here in New York, but since the Black Plague and the subsequent cremation, the city is changed almost beyond recognition. The tallest buildings stand half as tall as they were, or collapsed over the roads. Burnt-out hovcars rust on the sidewalks, their wheels gone and the cracked tarmac dark under their bodies. The street-signs are gone, or have been tagged to say something else. Before, you passed a sign that proclaimed ‘Rhymes Square’, but the blood-colored handprints on the walls down that road marked it as a place you didn’t want to go.
You’ve been walking all night – maybe in circles, maybe not. You can smell salt on the breeze, but you don’t go to near the twisting blue designs scrawled everywhere, or the rat shapes sketched on manhole covers. You’re sure you passed Central Park, too – but the smell of blood was so strong there that you left. Now your torch is dying, you’re thirsty and hungry, and before you rises a pale building that looks largely intact. You could shelter there until the morning – or you could follow the white stripes and scraps of cloth into the ghetto.
You’ve passed four clans. You’re lucky they didn’t attack you. The Vampires – their red handprint a reflection of how dangerous they were. Cold-blooded killers in their own right, their leader ‘The Crow’ was feared even by the other tribe leaders.
The Wharf Rats, with their scheming ways, probably wouldn’t tell you what they were going to do with you until it was too late – they always had some scheme up their long, grimy sleeves settled right next to their switchblades and airguns.
The Wildcats – their mark is three scars or a pawprint in teal or orange. They’re almost worse than the Vampires – they wouldn’t even look at you before they give you to their torturers. It doesn’t mater if you’re a newbie, or the leader of one of the other tribes – you’ll die.
The Cigarettes, who’ll take anyone. They used to be trusted by all the tribes to be compassionate. They used to offer medical assistance and food, but they’ve fallen from grace since their original leader was assassinated by a Vampire, and their irascible beta took over.
The way it looks, you’re headed to the Cigarettes. I’m with you that, good idea. The Wharf Rats would be my second choice – the other tribes would kill you as soon as look at you. Keep to the roads, out of the alleys. Keep a knife on you at all times, and a lighter or a torch. New York is no safer now that it used to be – it might even be worse.
Come on. Are you hard enough?
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You’re creeping through the city. Your shadow is cast high on the wall behind you, the torch in your hand flickering as the batteries slowly start to die. If you don’t find one of the tribes soon, you’ll be stuck where you are until dawnbreak. You used to live here in New York, but since the Black Plague and the subsequent cremation, the city is changed almost beyond recognition. The tallest buildings stand half as tall as they were, or collapsed over the roads. Burnt-out hovcars rust on the sidewalks, their wheels gone and the cracked tarmac dark under their bodies. The street-signs are gone, or have been tagged to say something else. Before, you passed a sign that proclaimed ‘Rhymes Square’, but the blood-colored handprints on the walls down that road marked it as a place you didn’t want to go.
You’ve been walking all night – maybe in circles, maybe not. You can smell salt on the breeze, but you don’t go to near the twisting blue designs scrawled everywhere, or the rat shapes sketched on manhole covers. You’re sure you passed Central Park, too – but the smell of blood was so strong there that you left. Now your torch is dying, you’re thirsty and hungry, and before you rises a pale building that looks largely intact. You could shelter there until the morning – or you could follow the white stripes and scraps of cloth into the ghetto.
You’ve passed four clans. You’re lucky they didn’t attack you. The Vampires – their red handprint a reflection of how dangerous they were. Cold-blooded killers in their own right, their leader ‘The Crow’ was feared even by the other tribe leaders.
The Wharf Rats, with their scheming ways, probably wouldn’t tell you what they were going to do with you until it was too late – they always had some scheme up their long, grimy sleeves settled right next to their switchblades and airguns.
The Wildcats – their mark is three scars or a pawprint in teal or orange. They’re almost worse than the Vampires – they wouldn’t even look at you before they give you to their torturers. It doesn’t mater if you’re a newbie, or the leader of one of the other tribes – you’ll die.
The Cigarettes, who’ll take anyone. They used to be trusted by all the tribes to be compassionate. They used to offer medical assistance and food, but they’ve fallen from grace since their original leader was assassinated by a Vampire, and their irascible beta took over.
The way it looks, you’re headed to the Cigarettes. I’m with you that, good idea. The Wharf Rats would be my second choice – the other tribes would kill you as soon as look at you. Keep to the roads, out of the alleys. Keep a knife on you at all times, and a lighter or a torch. New York is no safer now that it used to be – it might even be worse.
Come on. Are you hard enough?
[URL=http://foundationx.proboards75.com/][b]Children of the Sandstorm[/b][/URL]
You’re creeping through the city. Your shadow is cast high on the wall behind you, the torch in your hand flickering as the batteries slowly start to die. If you don’t find one of the tribes soon, you’ll be stuck where you are until dawnbreak. You used to live here in New York, but since the Black Plague and the subsequent cremation, the city is changed almost beyond recognition. The tallest buildings stand half as tall as they were, or collapsed over the roads. Burnt-out hovcars rust on the sidewalks, their wheels gone and the cracked tarmac dark under their bodies. The street-signs are gone, or have been tagged to say something else. Before, you passed a sign that proclaimed ‘Rhymes Square’, but the blood-colored handprints on the walls down that road marked it as a place you didn’t want to go.
You’ve been walking all night – maybe in circles, maybe not. You can smell salt on the breeze, but you don’t go to near the twisting blue designs scrawled everywhere, or the rat shapes sketched on manhole covers. You’re sure you passed Central Park, too – but the smell of blood was so strong there that you left. Now your torch is dying, you’re thirsty and hungry, and before you rises a pale building that looks largely intact. You could shelter there until the morning – or you could follow the white stripes and scraps of cloth into the ghetto.
You’ve passed four clans. You’re lucky they didn’t attack you. The Vampires – their red handprint a reflection of how dangerous they were. Cold-blooded killers in their own right, their leader ‘The Crow’ was feared even by the other tribe leaders.
The Wharf Rats, with their scheming ways, probably wouldn’t tell you what they were going to do with you until it was too late – they always had some scheme up their long, grimy sleeves settled right next to their switchblades and airguns.
The Wildcats – their mark is three scars or a pawprint in teal or orange. They’re almost worse than the Vampires – they wouldn’t even look at you before they give you to their torturers. It doesn’t mater if you’re a newbie, or the leader of one of the other tribes – you’ll die.
The Cigarettes, who’ll take anyone. They used to be trusted by all the tribes to be compassionate. They used to offer medical assistance and food, but they’ve fallen from grace since their original leader was assassinated by a Vampire, and their irascible beta took over.
The way it looks, you’re headed to the Cigarettes. I’m with you that, good idea. The Wharf Rats would be my second choice – the other tribes would kill you as soon as look at you. Keep to the roads, out of the alleys. Keep a knife on you at all times, and a lighter or a torch. New York is no safer now that it used to be – it might even be worse.
[URL=http://foundationx.proboards75.com/index.cgi]Come on.[/URL] Are you hard enough?
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