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Schoolgirls disappear and adults don’t bat an eye.
The pruner stalks skylines, leaving prophets blind.
Spiders smile and simper, paradise seasoned with lies.
Two men twist hearts to their own ends, their paths entwined.
Bleak graylight fills the night with sighs.
Pale sunlight sears the shadows from the day.
And somewhere, nowhere, the Lostman watches, waits.
For shooting stars, fallen astray.
For human desires, burning away.
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Schoolgirls disappear and adults don’t bat an eye.
The pruner stalks skylines, leaving prophets blind.
Spiders smile and simper, paradise seasoned with lies.
Two men twist hearts to their own ends, their paths entwined.
Bleak graylight fills the night with sighs.
Pale sunlight sears the shadows from the day.
And somewhere, nowhere, the Lostman watches, waits.
For shooting stars, fallen astray.
For human desires, burning away.
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The metropolis of Tenoroshi exists under a veneer of calm, a monochrome cityscape in a constant state of rebirth. Monorails curve eloquently around towers dressed in scaffolding, while convenience stores sprout like weeds every three blocks. School-bound children share the same streets as wage slaves and punk rockers, a human melting pot created by a too-small world, while warehouses and amusement parks stand empty, unmade, relics of child-like dreams hollowed out by pragmatic necessity. No one forgets though. The smokestacks of the crematorium inhales and exhales day in and day out. A holy man stands watch over the graveyard, ringing a bell to help the dead pass on. Streetside memorials emerge as splashes of color upon the pavement, whether it be for those lost by accident, lost by malice, or simply lost. Grayscale is the world of eight hundred thousand people, no matter how bright the neon lights of the red-light district, how vibrant the beats of the downtown core.
This indifference and numbness though, is what keeps this microcosm of a world functioning.
Beneath the grayscale veneer of Tenoroshi is a world that no ordinary person would want to comprehend. Grisly murders go uninvestigated and unreported, dying with the memories of the victims. Buildings vanish overnight, leaving nothing but empty, overgrown lots. The mayor of the town never appears in person, but continues to win elections, over and over again. Rumors and superstitions cross the airwaves constantly, as television hosts invite psychologists and hacks to make sense of the incomprehensible. But no consensus is ever reached, and the legends only grow. Of the Widow, the ruin of all betrayers and deceivers. Of the Firefly, bearing a burning hand, a burning heart. Of Snip-Snip, the giant extending from long-cast shadows. Of Harmoney, the bond-maker and the bond-breaker. All things that no ordinary person would want to comprehend, all things that no ordinary person would want to face, to explore.
But for those that do delve beneath the grayscale veneer of the apathetic metropolis, they would undoubtedly be lead to a certain tale. The story of the Lostman, the miracle-granter who lights the way for the lacking. Never for any price, never for any design. The most famous enigma of all, the most obscure of them all, the most desired of all.
This indifference and numbness though, is what keeps this microcosm of a world functioning.
Beneath the grayscale veneer of Tenoroshi is a world that no ordinary person would want to comprehend. Grisly murders go uninvestigated and unreported, dying with the memories of the victims. Buildings vanish overnight, leaving nothing but empty, overgrown lots. The mayor of the town never appears in person, but continues to win elections, over and over again. Rumors and superstitions cross the airwaves constantly, as television hosts invite psychologists and hacks to make sense of the incomprehensible. But no consensus is ever reached, and the legends only grow. Of the Widow, the ruin of all betrayers and deceivers. Of the Firefly, bearing a burning hand, a burning heart. Of Snip-Snip, the giant extending from long-cast shadows. Of Harmoney, the bond-maker and the bond-breaker. All things that no ordinary person would want to comprehend, all things that no ordinary person would want to face, to explore.
But for those that do delve beneath the grayscale veneer of the apathetic metropolis, they would undoubtedly be lead to a certain tale. The story of the Lostman, the miracle-granter who lights the way for the lacking. Never for any price, never for any design. The most famous enigma of all, the most obscure of them all, the most desired of all.
They are there, on the underside of Tenoroshi
The root of every incident.
The beholder of all.
The asker of one.
What would you change? The world or yourself?
The root of every incident.
The beholder of all.
The asker of one.
What would you change? The world or yourself?
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Tenoroshi is a coastal city cut off from the rest of Japan by steep mountain ranges, with only one freeway and a set of railroads leading out of the city. Constantly renovating in an attempt to fight off economic stagnation and population decline, its efforts are often for naught. Children dream of growing up and leaving, while teenagers feel stifled and suffocated, no matter how they rebel. Still, during the summer, the beaches are nice, and the vistas afforded by mountain hikes offer a pleasant enough sight. With the right branding, the Revitalization Committee in Tenoroshi believes that the city can be a hidden gem of a tourist spot.
Tenoroshi can be broken up into nine districts, each which has a train station in for relatively easy commuting.
Tenoroshi can be broken up into nine districts, each which has a train station in for relatively easy commuting.