Challenging · Shivers ≥ 6
Despite the cold, figures move about cloaked in shadow, their breath escaping in white clouds that fade into the darkness. Wherever you look, the night gives cover to her messengers.
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
711 · Voice lines
Despite the cold, figures move about cloaked in shadow, their breath escaping in white clouds that fade into the darkness. Wherever you look, the night gives cover to her messengers.
They travel from Eminent Domain to Perdition and on to the Main. Over the River Esperance, on Route 8/81 to the Old South -- the exit ramp is supposed to be shut down, but there's much activity.
To Couron, through the middle income neighbourhoods there -- by the river -- and then to Stella Maris and La Delta, for work. While the men and women of Jamrock scuttle to their fates below the road.
The rattle of motor carriages and lorries driving through long forgotten tunnels. Lit by gas lights.
Your head feels light and dizzy... a cold breeze caresses your flesh.
Not for her, not for him, not for Revachol -- not for Elysium.
The shop around you feels ancient suddenly, damp and saturated by the coastal air. The books are rotting, a great cold lives here. And there, too -- 1200 metres away, on the urban coast. The dark shape of a church is reflected on the water, calling.
Monstrous buildings loom over Grand Couron. A cold wind howls in the empty halls of homes built upon delusions.
In the Jamrock Quarter, The Paliseum for music, company and men... or the Door To The River, for death and synthetic opiates. Or, way in the East in Couron, in a starlit boîte de nuits like La Cherte... far from here and you, shivering dog.
...from out on the bay a cool wind gathers. It sweeps into the city, tugging at the textiles hanging around the stand. Some distance away the sound of a tin can clattering across the street can be heard...
To the west, dark brown ribbons of tape hang from the tree, flowing in the wind...
Practical, and yet it may deaden your senses to the world around you. Possibly because of the awful typeface.
The cold is deep under your skin, as if you were talking to someone who's a hundred years away. Somewhere inside the building water is flooding the cellar floor.
FOR THREE HUNDRED YEARS I HAVE BEEN HERE. VOLATILE AND LUMINOUS. MADE OF SODIUM AND RAIN.
Her words are too cold to comprehend. She smells of sodium lights and rain streaks on car windows. Eyes like pilot lights watch your shape in dark hallways, guttering.