West

The western part of the city is often home to the poorer residents. Here there is a grunginess that permeates the town from the graffiti on the once cleaned brick buildings to the broken and unmaintained architecture. Crime runs high within the western half of town, making it the home of supernatural gangs of illicit activities. Such activities are rarely reported, however, and most residents are distrustful of individual's of authorities, and often let the powerful supernatural beings sort things out amongst themselves. Be careful wandering the Western streets after the sun falls.

What You'll Find Here

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn

a STRANGER in a STRANGE town (Open)


Posted on June 01, 2015 by Orion
West Reopen Thread





E. Brendan Robertson

"Call me Orion"

What was it that old cartoon rabbit always said? 'I knew I should have taken a left at Albuquerque.' Yeah. That's exactly how I feel right now.

He stood there shaking his head at the well worn map in his hands. The wrinkled thing had been taped and laminated and still born the ragged scars of a long life. "It may be time to retire you old friend," he muttered to no one as he tried to decipher his next step. A light rain fell, cooling the air despite the summer's heat. He had taken shelter under an overhang, but knew he'd likely have to move on soon. Strangers in a place were one thing, might be friendly, might not. Strangers lurking under a shelter in a corner were probably up to no good, rain or no rain.

How did it come down to this? Spending my last dime on the train to nowhere. Wandering these empty streets.

He stuffed the map into an equally ragged duffle at his side, the sole contents of his life right now. But he wasn't sorry for it; life on the road was something he'd come to cherish. There would good parts, and bad. But always an adventure, no matter what. Hell, it had been such an adventure that had given him his scars, and his gift. At the memory, he unconsciously rubbed the raised scars on his side, the faint remnants of a long ago bite. Yeah, that adventure had been a little bit of both bad and good.

Gotta get going. Gotta find a way. Gotta make a place for myself in this old town. And start all over again.

The rain was letting up, so he straightened up, grabbing the duffle and slinging it over his shoulder. He stepped from the shadow of his shelter and looked down the street, left, then right. Either way seemed the same, especially in this slightly ramshackle side of town. But he'd been in enough towns to know that ramshackle didn't mean abandoned, not by a long shot. And it was always best to avoid stepping on toes when you didn't know the layout well enough to have an escape route.

Make my way to the top. Blaze a path of glory. Running until I can't stop. Writing the next chapter of my story.

were-painted dog

i can fix anything and everything | but i can't stand on my own four feet

char and HTML to Lyra


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