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NeverNeverGirl
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Joined: 18 Jun 2007
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Location: dreaming away of tomorrows to come
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 Posted: Wed Jul 23, 2008 6:09 pm Post subject: Dusk - the SG of the Game. You be the Story. |
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Okay. Dusk will work like this... this first chapter is an introduction.
Each player is sent a PM with a Decision Point. They in turn PM back the reply. Then i write it into a SG... this first round of decisions has already been made.
There are mutliple player DPs throughout the story. In the next chapter a further element will be added which is the Reader DP....
This first chapter is kinda less perfect than I desire but its an intro chapter so i will polish it as we move along in the game and a more set style develops...
Any questions?
Here is the first chapter of dusk...
An alternate reality Earth world. The Year is 6030 - rather than the path that saw earth become the teeming metropolis of our reality, it became a mechanised Western (cowboy style) world.
All the animals are mechanical. The food supply comes from an unknown source – it arrives in shipments twice a week. The world itself faded into Sepia a long time ago, there is no colour at all.
Clothing is very western with modern twists. They have tvs and most of what we have but still favour Western furnishings, clothing, pass times, and speech patterns.
Steam is the power supply of choice.
The town is Dusk. The people are you.
It’s a Sunday evening. The warm summer day is turning to night. The sun is setting over the town of Dusk, the people are settling in after their evening meals. Fathers watch the news, children play and snack on baked goods; Mothers slip into the pantry and take secretive sips of liquid ambrosia before resuming the mundanity of their apron existence.
The only startling thing about Dusk are its Sepia tones. There are no colours here, no startling reds or cerulean blues. It has been this way so long that the people don’t know there’s anything wrong in Dusk. Life is what it is and it seems as though it always has been.
No one ever leaves Dusk and no one ever arrives. An automated stage coach passes through twice a week, its steam powered horses with their thick piston legs halt for 20 minutes – allowing time to unload or load whatever is necessary – then they sound the whistle and leave again.. Their track determined so long ago that they have worn ruts where they run.
There have been no murders, no disappearances, news flashes or anything. Peace reigns in Dusk, no matter how unsatisfying and boring it is.
At the end of Whittaker Street sits a miner’s cottage, it’s a one bedroom place – small but well kept, a tidy yet sparse garden of roses grows along the fence line.
Dick Mollier retired so long ago that people don’t even remember what it was he did to start with. All they know now is that the things that he whittles from wood look so life like they could breathe. Drawing inspiration from television and history books, Dick carves the animals of yesteryear – decades have passed since any of his whittled animals existed in Dusk.
Dick sits in his easy chair watching the evening news his skin is wrinkled like an oak's bark, and of the same strong, tough thickness. His eyes are yet bright and sharp, his teeth yellow and fractured, and his white beard neatly trimmed. He wears a straw hat and can be found on any chair carving statues out of wood with his knife.
Unusually straight-backed for an old man, it well known that he can hold his own against younger men when it comes to herding cattle or firing a barrel of bullets. One could, and often they did, say Dick was experiencing his second youth.
An news item about a food shortage in one of the few remaining cities is interrupted with the sound of a thump, startling him out of his quiet reverie Dick puts down his tools.
Walking out onto the front porch Dick gazes around, his eyesight keen, searching for the sound of the disturbance. There before him sits a box, cardboard, no markings, the lid partially open. Peering at it, Dick finds it’s impossible to work out what’s inside it without opening it.
Looking around again Dick sees no one, though he can make out a couple of foot prints in the dust. His eyes glance over the wild sunflowers growing to the right of his stairs and a trashcan beside the house.
* * *
Cat stalked through the long grass by the church, the small cogs and pistons that ran insider her were cared for so much that they ran like new. Her tabby coat was short and well kept, her Maker had taken the utmost care to create not only something beautiful but something with longevity. Her long tale flicked happily as she pounced shadows and took the little light of day left to play.
It was her favourite place to be, here amongst the tombstones. A sense of peace filled every fibre of her being as she frolicked and lazed alternatively, here amongst the waving grasses.
As she wove in and out of the grave markers Cat’s ears picked up the sound of a screen door opening and a a confused muttering coming from the same direction. Her inquisitive nature was piqued by curiosity and she almost mewed out loud in anticipation – nothing did Cat enjoy so much as ‘investigating’.
As she made to move towards the sounds there was suddenly competing with that a sing song voice and the smell of pie.
Oh the deliciousness of discovery!
* * *
Therru Spike couldn’t find enough time in the day to stop and have a moment to herself. Kept busy in the kitchen of her parents restaurant she more often than not collapsed into bed as soon as the super dishes were done.
Sneaking outside to the courtyard of the restaurant she begins the ritual task of polishing the silverware. It is her fav time of day, the sun has created a soft glow over her fav area and she is content, singing to herself some of the hymns that they learnt in church Therru flicked her long black hair backwards over her shoulder. Catching a glimpse of her own reflection in a gleaming platter, Therru took an uncustomary look at herself in the mirror.
Her brown eyes reflected back at her, her smooth olive complexion not displeasing to her. For the first time Therru noticed she was growing up.
The scent of pie floated up into her nostrils and she glanced down to make sure all was still in order. A small pie sat beside her, wrapped in muslin, ready to take to her grandfather for his supper.
As she starts to tidy up after her chore the sound of shattering glass causes her to look up. Rising to her feet she goes to investigate but is distracted by something out of the corner of her eye.
Pivoting on the spot Therru came to a halt, looking directly at the courtyard gate she notices that for the first time in her life the gate is standing open.
* * *
Mary Waters bustled around her kitchen with smart efficiency. Every movement was calculated to make the most of the effort expended, never had it been said that Mary Waters was lazy. Everything about her was in the proper place, from the rolling pin in its drawer to the apron tied perfectly around her trim waist.
A timer peeled out across the room and her long brown braid swayed from side to side as she quickly bent to take a cake from the oven, the delicious aroma winding its way out into the air. Mary inhaled happily – there was nothing she enjoyed quite so much as a job well done - and when it involved cake that was a double bonus.
Just as she is straightening her back a blinding flash of light came out of nowhere and startled Mary. Turning suddenly Mary cried out, her hands flying outwards knocking a vase to the ground.
Looking around Mary notices outside her window that there is smoke in the sky. Wiping her hands on her apron she begins to head outside to investigate further when a loud bang resounds down the street from the left.
* * *
In his workshop fussing over the final touch’s of a pet project to discover whether or not its possible to make a steam elephant - Vazario St Denis was concentrating with all his might.
His dark hair spilled forward into his eyes and he dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, resulting only in smearing grease over his face. Tugging a kerchief from his pocket he wiped ineptly at his face and mutteringly leant back over his task.
A huge mechanical elephant is growing in his workshop. The results of years of studying ancient texts and planning schematics. Picking up his pencil he turned back to his blueprints.
A strange sense of stillness swept across Vaz and just as suddenly he felt a whispering in his ear, like the sweet nothings of a lover. Undiscernible. Turning towards the direction of the sound he saw no one, yet the door leading to the main street was swinging wide open were before it had been shut, as though someone has just passed through.
The door bangs shut and the lights go out. Startled Vazario falls, knocking over a part of his elephant, a small explosion resulting from the destruction of the rear right quarters fuel cylinder.
Suddenly upstairs in his rooms above the workshop he hears the tinny voices of his radio. A plaintive and sweet dirge echoes forth down the staircase.
Funny, he thinks, I didn't leave that on.
* * *
The only animal that remains in Dusk is the horse. It is a remnant from a by-gone era that has managed to adapt to the world around it. No longer used for work tasks but more for pleasantry or the occasional lynch mob, the horses at the Liberty stables are a well cared for and valuable asset.
Having just finished a day of work Dove called in to see her favourite mount Sally-gal, before returning home for the night. Running her hands down Sally-gal’s side Dove felt more settled and at peace here in amongst the hay and horses than anywhere else she had ever been.
People hold no attraction for Dove and she found them to be nothing so much as obnoxious annoyances that wreck what little sanctuary she manages to find at Liberty - by coming to visit the stables at the most frustrating of times people turned a happy chore into a hellish nightmare.
As she picks up a cloth and begins to rub Sally-gal down Dove senses a restlessness about the mare. Unsure as to why she strokes the mares mane and soothes her, whispering in her ear until the mare settles.
As Dove brushes Sally-gal down she looks up for a moment and notices a strange shape in the darkness, hanging by the tack.
Dove moves to approach it, no fear or falter in her step when out of the blue Sally-gal rears and pivots. The panic stricken mare cries out with a desperate whicker and manages to smash open the door to the stall. Pushing her way past Dove Sally-gal went crashing her way out of the stables into the field beyond.
* * *
Freddy Michaels was slumped in the gutter after a few too many whiskeys at the Grande. His head ached and a dull thumping drummed through his head, groaning he put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.
It was then that the thumping got faster and louder, in a panic Freddy opened his eyes in time to see a figure disappear down the alley across the way.
They had seemed to be in a real hurry, so Freddy got curiously to his feet, lurching all the time. He was just about to step off and follow the retreating figure when a shining light caught his eyes.
There, right where it could be plainly seen by anyone was a small statue. It was perched on the railing by the water trough; his first thought was that it must have come from one of the merchant airships that passed through town.
It would be just so easy to grab it, he thought to himself - his compulsions to steal almost dragging him there physically.
(The players have made their choices already. The next chapter will be written soon with a Reader DP and a more flowy storyline - hopefully. Any world questions can go here! the game is here! Feel free to join in - note that if you dont reply to PMs your character will die a death that the Readers chose!)
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shy_blu_eyes
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Joined: 15 May 2008
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Location: Away
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| Posted: Thu Jul 24, 2008 8:47 am Post subject: |
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I LOVE IT!  
It's well written, and has a unique and intriguing setting.
Most importantly, given Key's explination about the origins of IF, it seems like you've found the next legitimate step in the evolution of IF; the RPSG!
You certainly have my attenion.
Can't wait to see more!
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A Mysterious Witch, A Bloodthirsty Noble, A Druid with one personality too many, and An Assassin with a price on his head...
and those are the "Good Guys".
Welcome, to the Barony of Wyndshire!
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