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Old 06-02-2017, 12:37 AM   #33
134
Believe that.
 
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Join Date: Feb 2017
Location: The Roman Empire
Posts: 619




Le Cimetière des Cœurs Oubliés


Balmund:
”I don’t recall having heard such a rumor,” Amelie says, with great sincerity. She blinks at you, with a dull curiosity, and a wry smile plays at her lips; it seems you’ve struck at something. Yuki wraps her arms around her mistress in an eerie manner as Amelie asks, “Are not all ta.es of lovers tragic?”

She sighs, bitterly; it’s unbecoming of a young lady so she sweeps away such behaviors, and pulls Yuki to her bosom, as a girl clutches a doll. She gives you a piteous look, and it seems her demeanor has softened somewhat. “I suppose it doesn’t matter why you are here, Mister Balmund. You shall never leave. It’s a terrible pity you did not dress more warmly. You’ll find a few corpses freshly interred, but I can promise you very little else.”

She sweeps a hand through the air, and it draws the focus away from her, and to your surroundings, where you find the architecture of the cemetery has grown quite thin. It looks as though the graveyard could not be more than thirty years old, its structures new and sparsely spaced, with relatively young trees methodically arranged and meticulously maintained; nothing like the overcrowded and unkempt tangle of morbid debris you had entered. It becomes apparently that Amelie knows something -- perhaps a great deal -- about the strange goings on around you, though she seems genuinely apologetic about them. The dissonance in her behavior is genuinely unsettling.

What will you do?




La Ville des Farceurs et Voleurs


Raves:
You’ve come to the city to find the origins behind a key found within a locked box. Something -- call it intuition -- told you that the answers could be traced back to the City of Jesters and Thieves What will you find? Only time will tell.

It’s the summer solstice and the shortest night of the year. It is unusually quiet on the streets, as if the city itself were afraid of getting caught in the impending sunlight. No one wants to get caught red handed; no one wants to get caught with their sins on display. You make a calm but brisk pace, stopped occasionally only by the authority of a crossing signal. It it as one of these impediments, waiting for the orange ‘YIELD’ light to give way to ‘WALK’ and allow you on your way, that something strange plays out: on the other side of the street, a man in a brown trenchcoat rounds the corner, pulling a little girl by the arm. She looks to be no more than 12 years old, and even from a distance it’s obvious she’s crying. There is a white, unmarked van parked on the curb, roughly fifteen feet from the crosswalk; he shoves her inside. The alphanumeric triad ‘P57’ stands out to you; there was more to it, but you can’t remember. He starts the car and drives away. It takes less than two minutes. In your periphery, a light changes.


YIELD
WALK



What will you do?


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