City of IF

[Herald]

The Return.

The City of IF. Ancient metropolis of Imagination, steeped in all the historical goings on that cause the annals of history to be littered with bodies, oft stabbed in the back and shoved into the convenient disposal service known as the river.

The once-bustling centre of IF is still shiny with the fancy houses of the rich and famous, polished and cleaned daily by their long suffering underlings who toil away, despite their masters being long absent. Streets are spotless, and the odd citizen meanders about, wondering what happened to this once thriving place. All this is watched over sadly by the outwardly benevolent gaze of King Key.

Across the river IF, which gurgles prettily with the many colours of chemical pollution from the scifi district, and magical run-off from the alchemy labs in the Fantasy forest, lays a darker place though.

Skulking near the Horror stories lurks a once prosperous district, now long abandoned to the lower classes, the workers and shirkers that live in the squalor of poverty. Other... things... also live here, hiding in the shadows, well away from the once sharp gazes of the city Elders, unaware of the loss of many across the water.

Look here now, two large, once grand, buildings stand, back to back. Homes, once luxurious, are now divided into small, squalid, apartments.

Between these two structures, narrow enough and filled with garbage to be overlooked by most is a small alleyway.

Should we step over things best not examined too closely, and head down this narrow passage, we eventually arrive at the end where, set into the wall, is a solid looking door. If we had corporal form we would by stymied by this barrier, which is well made and protected with guards evident and otherwise. However, we are not so restricted, so we can pass through, into the dark room that we find beyond.

It is empty of life, not so much as a rat or a roach dares scuttle across the rich wooden flooring, protected by harsh magics as it is.

To one side is a long bench, a dust cover draped over numerous intriguing shapes that rest thereon.

Along the other side boxes are stacked high, sealed with nails and more, and covered with mystic runes.

The wall facing the door is blank though, with the exception of a large, dark circle, painted in its centre.

And above the door itself is a window. Curiously clean despite the dust of the air outside, and the years of neglect. An odd place for a window, seemingly pointless you may think, except that twice a year, at precisely mid-day, the sun shines directly down the alley outside, and through the glass.

By chance, or destiny perhaps, this time is upon us. Watch as the bright beam lances through into the otherwise dark room, the illumination falling upon the black circle on the wall opposite.

Listen now, as a faint noise is heard. If one has keen hearing, one may think it is screaming. One long scream of terror to be precise.

Indeed, the sound grows louder, and now the tingle of magics can be felt pulsating from the once dark spot. Now this glows with power; no longer a one dimensional picture, but a hole, through which all of space and time can be seen. And something else, some smudge, tumbling through the dimensions, growing closer, larger, until with a ignoble 'pop' the being, for it is a being, is extruded though the portal, to be thrown unceremoniously onto the floor, where it rolls to a halt.

Time passes. The sun moves, and the light from the beam recedes, leaving the gloom behind once more.

The body lays there.

Night falls outside. Still the body remains still. Is it dead?

Eventually, with the coming of dawn, a movement.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the traveller moves. Groaning all the while, large eyes open, taking in the surroundings. Then, with a moan, an arm moves around and pushes against the floor, lifting the body into a sitting position.

The fur that covers our newcomer is matted and brown, and their clothes are ragged and tattered. One gets the impression the body, now thin and frail, was once robust and well fed, and yet there is a determination there. A compulsion to see now faded glories return.

The figure peers around at the desks, and then the boxes.

Finally, after a fit of coughing:

“Well, that hurt like a bitch,” says Chinaren.

[Herald]

And now you know.

My work here is thus done. The Great one shall be here soon. :shock:

[Lebrenth]

As one of those skulkers in the immaculate ruins, I'm inclined to pop in and ask myself if the city is in true peril. I have many fine but old memories of the place. I even bought a shirt. Ha! I remember the underwear with the caption "Step into the story". Good stuff.

So is the newcomer a herald of Key? Has Key grown tired of maintaining the place and decided to give it one last story before its destruction?

I suppose a sudden influx of activity might get a reprieve, but time isn't something I have much of anymore. I think I would really enjoy writing another storygame, if I can get even just 3 regular readers, but could I keep up on it or would it fall apart like 90 percent of storygames already do?

Well, I'm here now. Let's see where we go from here.

[Chinaren]

Well, I've not seen Kinky* since I returned, as described accurately above.

Maybe, if I get time, I'll launch an exhibition.

Hopefully there some people will crawl out of the woodwork. Where's the worm smiley?



*As he likes to be called. Remember that if you see him.

[Tikanni Corazon]

I'm liking the sound of this, and all so very mysterious 😉

Much like Lebby, time to write my own sgs is pretty slim though I'd love to have a go at it should the city be revived. Regardless of that, I'll definitely try to keep myself involved in the new activity and comment on others works.

Looking forward to seeing what's to come 😉 x

[Key]

In the heart of the Royal Palace, the throne room remained as it had for years, perhaps centuries, in all ways save the accumulation of dust the same as when throngs of IFians had come to laugh and cry and plead their cases before the King.

There were no throngs now, no laughter or crying - only one inhabitant, and the same dull sound that echoed through the Ages: King Key's snoring.

Saddled on his throne, fast asleep, the King was a shadow of his former self, the long thin years having wasted away his frame to barely eight hundred pounds.

But then faraway voices echoed through the Palace - faint but real, the voices of returning IFians. King Key groggily woke and looked around the gloomy hall in confusion.

"What? What?" he murmured. "They're back?"

He crossed to the window and looked out over the City. He sniffed the air. There was no mistaking it - the scent of Idearium. The City was alive again.

"Hmmm," he thought. "I wonder what's for breakfast."

[Chinaren]

~hides cape with 'King Chinaren' markings~

Welcome back your roundness! One is so glad to see you are alive and well.

~bows, allowing a shiny crown to fall to the floor~

Er, ah.

~Shrieks, turns and runs away~

:cool:

Good to see you around Kinks. And didn't this place used to have a chatroom? :D

[Lebrenth]

Chinaren wrote: Good to see you around Kinks. And didn't this place used to have a chatroom? :D

Still does. The link is at the top: "The Inn".

Good to see you, Key! You weren't sleeping through an insurrection of some kind, were you?

[Chinaren]

Lebrenth wrote: Chinaren wrote: Good to see you around Kinks. And didn't this place used to have a chatroom? :D

Still does. The link is at the top: "The Inn".


Oh yes, how did I miss that?

[Key]

Good to see you too.

I've been checking in every week. Keeping the city lights on and the streets free of spam, as needed.

:-)