potatochipgolem

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@Strawberry425 Lies. Tyranosaurs don't keep parrots, .......alive.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

I edited my IC post, the last paragraph denoting that my IC posts is back now in real time and able to finally start reacting to the events occuring - was missing due to a wordpad format error.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@LoneSparrow I see. That's relieving to know. Maybe I'll reserve it for the collaborative posts when differentiation becomes crucial. :].

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

(A continuation of Part I)

Silence.

The room was now engulfed in a pervasive darkness, impenetrable, that even the lights from outside the windows dare not tresspass further than the sill. Click. A single beacon of light was lit.

"H-hey, you alright!?" Came a steady, raspy voice.

The quiet beam managed to pierce through the dark, catching ashen rain red handed as it slowly fell upon everything. The choking stench of charred sandalwood permeated the senses, stinging eyes and nostrils alike. All the aftermath of a failed seance.

...
...
...

"Hey! Answer me darnit!" The beam of light jerked, as if disturbed by some brash gesture.

Honestly, the detective was getting sick of the guest's cold attitude. The refusal to talk, the not explaining himself. Though little did he realize how difficult it was to even breath in here, much less talk, for normal humans. A pained, chortled cough was forced out in reply to satiate the detective.

"....Just ...peachy. "

The torchlight swiveled around, looking for the sacarstic voice's source, quickly falling upon the stumbling form of the red haired man. He held the left side of his face with a spare hand, a single trickle of blood in between his fingers, while his other hand steadied himself as he stood up, maybe slightly rattled. "Hrrr-!" and reeled back for another cough.

"At least you're alive." The detective remarked condescendingly. What an ironic statement it made when it was said by him. Especially him. "I told you n'thing good would come off it." Torchlight flickered once more and soon fell upon the still unmoving corpse on the floor, or at the very least, it was moving no more - to both their relief.

While his friend, maybe associate now, lit the way, the human slowly shambled over to the curtained wall to pick up the pieces of the broken oujia board, The saucer was utterly annihilated, it's clay remains strewn across the floor like a spoilt child's dinner. It was an ancient piece, dating all the way back to Trasylvanian gypsies back in the 1800s when they still roamed the countryside in caravans, but now, nothing more than cobblestone.

.......such a waste.

He knelt down to grab a piece when in the corner of his eye, he noticed something perculiar underside of the curtain drawn on the wall with some kind of glistening, tar-like substance.

Hmm? A sense of uneasiness came over, but since when did these things matter? So he stood up defiantly and gave the curtain a good tug to see what was behind...

A gruesome mural made the it entire wall it's canvas, what seemed like blood shimmering in the torchlight, splattered on every razor jagged line. Of teeth and eyes, of an open jaw from some ungodly creature. This was ...

"What IS-!?" The one holding the light asked, more curious than fazed. He had seen many things, but it, whatever it was, was out of his avenue.

A Curse.

"I--I-I don't know," The other man let the curtain slip from his hand and starting stepping backwards away from it...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But that was all a mere two hours ago, in the span such a inconsequential amount of time - the main city had morphed into something completely unrecognizable, a writhing scene of bloodshed and anger.

The streets were run rampant with chaos. Firelight lit the horizon, screams still plagued the wreckage and humanoid shadows danced in the flames of the turmoil.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, the throttle of a Mo-ped came to a gurgling stop. There. Before him stood a decreptit building, it's windows freshly shattered and the smell of kerosene tainted the very air...

....and It bore his name on the door plaque.

Welcome to Santa Somabra.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

(This post is an example of posting while sleep deprived. What should be in IC was posted here in OOC. Bear with me as I edit.)

(Done!)

I'd like to know too, like @Rockette said, if there is a preference amongst everyone for colour coded speech or the plain white text? Heaven knows I'm running out of descriptors for every line to show whose saying what.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@Rockette

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@Mystic Hmm, that is something to consider indeed. I was wondering how all our characters, from such backgrounds, would eventually meet (or not). This setting isn't as conducive to conversation as most, in fact, I bet talking to a stranger is like playing a risky game of russian roullete here. I mean you never know who will shoot you, send you flowers, drug you or rat you out just for saying the 'wrong words'. Right?

My Hider

That being said, Ricardo is probably, only by face and possibly surname, known to the characters who have a need for sorcerous items or wares. One of the few antiquities store that has a less seedy reputation, if you need something identified or your personal enchantments checked out, he is licensed to help you (somewhat legally). This may involve Brass, who requires regular visits to sorcerers / or at least someone who knows what is needed to do. Anthea, who may or may not employ spells involving plant parts. Andy, If he has the same undead issues as Brass. If there are characters who like old, exotic antiques, like possibly Maharet (who is an old antique herself) then maybe they've heard of the place. @RIengo@Mystic@DJAtomika@Rockette

He is also working with the police to 'hunt down dogs' as he puts it, more as a civillian volunteer than an actual enforcer of the law, who passionately tips off locations of werewolves scum and gets occasionally embroiled in one or two cases where ocult is touched. This may affect dagmar, in indirect ways, due to his affiliation with the Council of Hobos. Brass, who is a skeletective. Chase, a police who may or may not want to avoid Vigil If he wants to keep his secret. @Nightwarden@RIengo@DJAtomika@Strawberry425

His shoppe is half a cafe/pub, but the actual person who runs it is Laurella, an elven woman who makes the best macaroons in the world (which is so addictive, it may or may not be spiked with Dust, just saying). So any sweet tooths out there, you will know where he works but he's probably just a fuzzy red blur in your macaroon deprived, hyper glycemic daze. Laurella is the one that matters here.

Ricardo visits the Steel Thorn bar every once in a while since roughly half a year ago, he's one of those quiet drinkers who silently passes out, with his face buried in his folded arms at the counter at least once a month. So Max may have noticed this somewhat regular customer.@XSilentWingsX

Unfortunately, he isn't directly involved in the crimminal circles ...yet. So some characters like lilith, nightshade, maharet, anthea and andy may be total strangers.@fantasyfan28@LoneSparrow He's just a shopkeeper who is caught up in the *bleep* that's going on around and now has to bumble blindly through the *bleep* to seek some closure.

I should really write down that my first post may not be happening in Real Time IC, it's probably maybe a night or at least a few hours ago. But I don't know where to indicate.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@DJAtomika Oh crud. o_O. I really did read your profile though, ...just somehow missed that part about being an assassin. Thought he was going to get the scoop on someone. Well, I'm glad you told me sooner -it'd have been really awkward otherwise if the story went on and everytime he hit someone and I'd be all 'What the eff?" while reading it.

@RIengo Could it be another one is due soon?

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@Lexicon Mhmm. They are clamping down on the data usage these days, prices going up, services going down. It's such a downer. I'll see you around when your internet gets better!

In the first four posts. The city is under attack by the Forlorn, or so it seems. Lilith is killing random people and our two skeletectives are on their own busy busting local crime. Ones' about to hit up the local information broker, Dahgmar, and the other is going to spend some quality time with a junkie. Really got the noir ambience going!

@Rockette Tnks! It pleasures me that you enjoyed it so. I was worried I got something wrong so I read/watched the Vampire diaries and other fangy works over and over again to make sure I got my lore right. Meheh, I await what you come up with. :>.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Vampire.

The dreary streets were cold with mist that night. Moonlight shown was once so bright. Managed did it, only to barely flitter through the fog. Even those street lamps and cars that sped along the dew slicken roads, those things so much closer to home, were but dim glows in it's midst. As you walk through it, the scent of the ocean weighed heavily on one's senses - salt, slime and something else, tinged with smoke and soot. In a distance, perhaps a mere figment of imagination, you almost hear the softest of wailings coming from out there where huge, unfathomable shadows drifted back and forth.

In nearby house, two men stood over a corpse.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One of them wore a blue coat, vertically striped with white, making his already thin frame seem even skinnier than it actually was. He wore a matching fedora that kept most of his features hidden and lether gloves which wrapped around his bony hands, which now crept through the pockets of the deceased. The other man, similarly was hunched over the dead body, he had red hair and seemed the gruffer of the two. Donning dark vested suit over a white long sleeved shirt and a tie that matched his hair, sharp eyes quietly concentrating on the details before him, he had his shin to the floor but kept his hands to himself.

The dead man's lips were glossed, crimson dripping from the crevices of his otherwise unmoving mouth that no longer bated breath.

"He was drinking blood when he died? Was he one of them?" The man in suit and red tie asked, touching the vital fluids and rubbing a small dab in between his fingers. The farmiliar rusty smell quickly struck his nose, followed by an unexplainably sweet, yet rotten accent that only came seconds later.

"Nah." The man in a fedora casually tilted the head, revealing two large stab wounds in the neck and several claw marks on the face. "Some sickos like to ...play with their meals. Before he died, his murderer probly tempted him with being turned and let'im have a taste of their blood. Vampire blood has a very addictive taste-" It was at this point that the other man quirked his eyebrow, a little disturbed by the idea, and wiped his finger on the trousers. ".......-to some people."

"Poor sob didn't drink enough to get turned, so he died."

What followed was a long, awkward moment of silence between them.

".......let's see what he has to say then." This time the man with the tie got the quirked eyebrows.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Necromancy?"
The question begot no reply, save maybe more tightly pursed lips. The two men stood in a circle of salt, a small pile of incense rested on the dead man's chest.
"Y'know how I feel about it. I hate it, you should know that!"
"...It's not." He half lied. "What you hate is necrothurgy. This, isn't going to make corpses stand up and move ab--"

Suddenly, an alarmingly loud sound cut through the conversation startling them.

The two men turned and looked down in horror, the dead man's fingers clattered, twitching as they violently tapped the floor repeatedly. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.... The incessant sound continued for a few long seconds, then all went quiet.

...
...
...

The red haired man took a long breath, steeling himself and very carefully placed a saucer and an lettered board under the dead man's hand.

"Wha-What is happening?" The one in the fedora asked hurriedly but only recieved a calm gesture to keep his voice down then a shrug from the other man.

"Vigil!" He demanded an aswer loudly, furious at the silence. Apparently a finger to the lips was not well understood.

The red haired man shook his head slightly, he could not really tell him that he was loosing his 'touch'. No, no after he was let in on the premise that he could help with the unsolved murders. It was ...just ....hard, to think these days, of anything really, but the moment demanded that he tried nonetheless. Try as he might, He could not figure out what was wrong. But .......maybe, just maybe, the spirit needed a bit of a ...nudge.

Bone dust. He retrieved a sublime fine grey pwder from his briefcase.

He hesitated for a moment, the voice of a wisened woman rang in his thoughts, but he compelled himself against it and sprinkled it generously onto the hand. They waited a long moment. True enough, to his relief, the limb started moving again. This time trying to slide over the letters, it needed guidance. He placed his own hand over and mimicked the ministrations of the hand, pushing it in whichever direction it tried to go. It started off slow.

ASITNSGDEUJ

But got faster quickly. Over time, the hand did not even need his help. He wrote down each letter that it passed on his notebook, noting the pauses in between. ...But things quickly got awry when it kept repeating the same letters over and over,

ASITNSGDEUJASITNSGDEUJ
It would not stop.

ASITNSGDEUJASITNSGDEUJASITNSGDEUJASITNSGDEUJ

Soon, The paper began to tear from the callousness it was scraped with, the dish was cracking under an immense amount of force. Worried, Vigil immediately commanded it to halt.

"Stop!"

But it did not heed. Instead, the flourescent lights flickered and the hand was beginning to clench up ...

"Sanctum!" He yelled. The incense burst into a conflagration that threatened to engulf the deceased, for a moment, a malformed shadow that should not be there was seen cowering in a corner of the room.

In response it grabbed the dish and violently flung it at Vigil!

He could not dodge in time but managed to move enough that it grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood, before it shattered on the curtained wall behind. Then, out of nowhere, a tremendous gust fell upon the room .......and the lights were gone.