It is early morning in the city of Serpent’s Snag and a low hanging fog rests over the cobblestone streets and dirt roads that wind throughout the various districts. The city is bustling, as it normally is, as people rush to their jobs, shops, or whatever other plans they have for the day. Closed signs are flipped to open and people begin to clock into the various factories; sending plumes of smoke into the gray, dawn sky. Horses, carriages, and the tapping of boots across the ground indicated the start of another bright and lively day within the city.
Now a city this large comes with a great deal of trouble that runs from the bottom all the way to the top. Each district of the city controlled by the upper echelons of society.
The well known Blackwood family headed by one Caspian Blackwood-a steel tycoon with ties to the deeper underbellies of the city itself, but no one truly knows how many strings he pulls throughout the city, and there are those that seek to break the iron fisted grip the family, and it's underlings, have on the city.
Oil tycoon and incredibly successful businessman Samuel Fissure runs the Silver Side. He is tangled in a seemingly never ending war with the Blackwoods for land and industry. Some are concerned that the families may tear the city apart at the seams.
The Nightwell family, headed by William Nightwell, are a bit more down to earth and run any business that none of the others have any interest in. Brewing and construction are the main things that keep them tied to the hustle and bustle of the city, as well as solid connection to Windstad Farms. Controlling several notable spots in the city within their territory makes them unexpectedly powerful.
The mysterious and powerful Adelaide Kane who is known as a beacon of light to lost souls, seeking the broken and "fixing them" within the Sinner's Den despite the laws best efforts. A notable madame and disarmingly charming, many don't remember the time they spend within her grasp.
The City Center, looked after by Arthur Fissure-the lesser known brother of Samuel Fissure-who runs the best known bar and inn in the city. An amiable and honest man, he's probably the most trusted by the other families and the more regular residents of Serpent's Snag.
Finally, there’s the Shanty Town. Not one of the named ones near the entrances to the city, but rather hidden on the outside of the North District walls. Only those brave, stupid, or desperate enough even think about going into the ramshackle and rundown buildings. This part of the city is controlled by no one, save for the spirits that reside there.
This leads us to the start of the story for many of the residents of the city.
Standing in the back room of Sheriff Swinghammer's office is, of course, the broad and mustached form of the Sheriff; his spurs clinking with every step he takes across the cramped space behind his desk. The old wooden floors of the office creaked and complained with every step that crossed them, and the dusty, and faintly tattered American flag that hung from two hooks on the wall waved ever so slightly in the breeze that blew in from the open window. The thick wooden desk rested in between him and the other occupant of the room.
"We gotta problem on our hands Viernes," he pauses a moment to glance at the thick coat and gleaming eyes of his Deputy,
"Either some kinda crazed animal or someone is feelin' mighty bold attackin' residents each and every night." His face twisted into a faint scowl, not directed at any one thing in the room, but seemingly just the very situation itself.
The Sheriff continues his rounds of pacing, one hand brushing against his sun scorched chin and the other twirling his signature colt around a finger.
"You've been real good at solving these kinds of...situations before," he holsters his gun and pulls out a map of the city, laying it across the desk before pinning it down and pointing out several locations,
"Attacks have been in the Night District nearby the Sanatorium and are creepin' around into the Silver Side." He peers at Viernes from under the brim of his hat,
"Think you can handle that?"
A tall and pale figure leaned up against the wall of Jean's carpentry shop,
"You hear about the attacks goin' on around the Sanatorium," a fanged grin creeping across the face of Oliver Nightwell, the usual liaison between the Frenchman and the family that ran the district. His pale eyes tracking the movement of his conversational partner around the interior of the room,
"Heard it might be a feral wolf from outside of town, or maybe even one of our own from around the city." He pushed himself from the wall and tucked his hands into the pockets of the waistcoat he wore, his stance appeared completely casual but as always there was intent to every single movement he made,
"The law might come snooping around. Better watch yourself." He raised a hand from his pocket it check a bronzed pocket watch that hung from a chain attached to one of the many polished buttons, before he let out a hum and placed the watch back in its home.
The vampire turned towards the door to the establishment, pushing open the door to the early morning, allowing the sounds of carriages, horses, and chatter to enter the building.
"Oh, nearly forgot," he turned on his heel back towards Jean, allowing the door to swing shut once more,
"Boss wants you to come to the usual meetup spot at The Hill. He's got a bit of a proposition for ya. The predatory glint to the vampire's eyes might've been faintly disturbing to someone who hadn't spent much time around them, but it was difficult to tell the intent behind this request.
The halls of the Silver Birch Sanatorium were mostly quiet despite the nature of the inhabitants of the place. Given the early hour it was likely that many of the residents just hadn't woken up yet, or they were perhaps just biding their time carefully. The thick walls, tipped with sharp metal spires and barbed wire, surrounding the building kept the residents of the city safe from those who would do them harm. The open, green lawn that lead up to the brickwork structure was kept carefully maintained by several of the people who resided within the Sanatorium. As Sister Catrina entered for the day a younger woman dressed in similar garb came running towards her.
"Sister! Sister Catrina!" she called out as she rushed forward, concern deep on her youthful face. This young woman had deep blue eyes and thick black hair; she has only been working at the Sanatorium for a short time, but has quickly grown to respect the matronly Sister as a beacon of hope for so many of the lost souls of the city.
As she came to a stop and caught her breath she looked up and said quickly, "
I heard that someone has been attacking people around here," she sucked in a sharp breath,
"What should we do?" She wrung her hands together nervously. She knew that the work that they did here wasn't exactly the most respected, and that many people would likely just have their inhabitants hanged or put to death in some other way. She dearly hoped that they would be able to find out who was responsible before things got much too far out of hand.
The ramshackle buildings and roads of the Shanty Town were much quieter than the city proper. The ghostly residents preferring to keep to themselves during the daylight hours and peruse the city at night. However, the beggars, freed slaves, and others who were viewed as degenerates by the major cities wandered the streets in silent contemplation, not generally concerned with their spectral neighbors. The only spot of any rush was nearby Early's Inn and Eatery where a few people headed to see what food they could get from the place.
Nearby where Barnaby drifted unseen, two ratty clothed beggars spoke to each other in low tones. One with wrinkled dark skin and black hair speckled with white, and the other a younger man with a twisted leg and cane.
"Saw some fancy bastard makin' his way into the city late at night," the older man grumbled,
"Nice long coat, golden watch, shiny shoes," he scoffed,
"Everything any of us could ever dream of havin'."The younger man frowned,
"Why's that mean anything to us? People come into the city to meet with the Mayor, the Blackwoods, and a whole mess of other people all the time," he tapped the cane that he held, which was more of just a whittled tree branch, against the ground,
"Think there was something special about him?"The older man chuckled, but there was no humor to it,
"Dunno. Something just felt weird about him; like he's been around too long, seen too much. A lot like those Blackwood or Nightwell fellers. Heard he was headed to The House. Gotta have a lot of money to go there." He stood and dusted off his pants, not that it made much of a difference.
As the other man stood and they made their way down the dusted streets their discussion stuck with Barnaby. It prickled a familiar rage deep inside and he couldn't help but think that the man he'd waited for all these years may have finally come back around to the city.
The inside of The House of Earthly Delights was just as beautiful as ever. The rich paintings and decor seeming to warm the interior all on their own and providing a calm and pleasant atmosphere. The early mornings usually weren't too busy, as those who had the money, or particular tastes, preferred to come in the evening or night. However, there was a small collection of people, mostly travelers, who had come to find themselves enjoying the comforts the Saloon provided.
One such person was a well built man whose pale skin contrasted sharply with the rich, black clothing that he wore. Neatly pressed suit, perfectly shined shoes, and a wicked, fanged smile made him a fairly common site within the Saloon, but this man was not one of their usual clients. A slight roughness to his near flawless skin, made it obvious that this was new money, made in likely less than legal ways.
He leaned comfortably against the back of a chair where another traveler sat,
"Ever hear of a woman named Rose Everly?" he inquired,
"I've been looking for her for quite some time." His voice was smooth, an attempt at the more proper tones the upper class took on, but the other traveler shook his head,
"You're sure? A dear friend of mine died before he could tell her goodbye and I was hoping to pass on the message."Madame Zubova, who could hear most things that went on around her establishment, easily heard this ongoing conversation, and information happened to be one of her specialties.
Each district of the city was fascinating in an entirely unique way. The stories of each person in the shanty towns, the histories the older residents of the city could recount, and many other intertwining tales that branched around each and every person. It was a unique location; bizarre and faintly unnerving at times, all the while the sun shone down burning away the morning mists.
The mornings in the City Center tended to be the busiest, as the sort of cultural hub and safe haven. The Seven Markets, Raven's Rook Tavern, Sheriff's Office, and several other locations all handling workers and customers as Oswald observed the waking of the city. There were plenty of locations that held their own history just waiting to be uncovered.
He'd heard a fair amount about the different types of people that lived in each district. It wasn't difficult to get people to talk about the heads of the district and what opinions they had about them. Some hushed and whispered with vitriol and others noticeably complimentary. It was a curious dichotomy that left more questions than answers about what types of people, or otherwise, strolled about with little problem.
The movement around him left plenty of chances to learn more about the people and places that called the city of Serpent's Snag home, now it was just a matter of figuring out which thread to explore first.
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