Music for inspiration and mood.
The night is cold and dark. A light drizzle moistens the air and frigid winds from the ocean seep through the cracks of buildings and streets. It is late summer, or early autumn perhaps. It is nearly impossible to tell in a harbor city like Veroia. A foul stench of sewer and algae and rotten fish is ever so present. The people pass each other by without a glance, almost disgusted by one another. Strange sounds can be heard from dark alleys and corners, and the occasional gunshot echoes from far away. This vile place is cursed.
* = random element of the game.
@pathfinder
Your senses suddenly spur awake. The realization of forlorn surroundings invades your better judgement, inducing doubt and fear, but you resist irrational thoughts and reckless action. As your eyes adjust to the darkness and dim lights, the blur of the world around you sharpens. An alleyway presents itself with some manner of closed restaurant to your right and a storage facility to your right left. Dead ahead you behold a building that is being renovated, and there appears to be a presence to human beings inside.
Upon moving your body it appears as if though you are unscathed, but you have no memory of the past few hours, so how you got here is a mystery. Your clothes are soaked wet—perhaps from the rain, or maybe from being submerged. Beside you is a stitched bag, which contains your personal belongings. Whoever put you in this miserable state surely would not go through the trouble, so you probably managed to collect them yourself. It also appears as if you bagged something particularly useful: an unopened roll of bandages*, neatly wrapped in plastic. You do not recall when you acquired it or how, but it is there nonetheless.
On the top of a streetlight not far away, you see a black crow creaking and crackling. Upon adjusting your eyes to better see its details, you notice that the bird has a third eye in its forehead—perhaps it wants to tell you something. Further, a number of dumpsters and trashcans surround you. They probably contain waste from the restaurant and the storage facility. While both of these establishments appear to be closed, there are probably a number of ways to get inside and warm up.
(!item acquired: Bandages)
@Marik
You wake up with a jerk. Rapid breaths convey a sense of panic and despair. The room is silent and you are the only living soul inside. It appears to be some kind of old, perhaps recently abandoned or closed theatre. Perhaps someone is mocking you with the scenery. Upon closer inspection of the various paintings and engravings you notice that they are slowly moving about, displaying their stories and gestures as if alive. Such a realization seems impossible, however. Maybe you are just hallucinating due to dehydration or hunger, tiredness, or something else. There is no way that paintings being alive can be real.
Despite what your eyes tell you about the reality you are currently in, your body is unharmed. However, your clothes are wet and ragged. Considering that you are inside, it appears very strange; maybe you were submerged recently, or perhaps it is raining and you were recently outside, even if you cannot remember it. Moving about you notice that Karen’s Backpack is tucked away underneath chair close by, and you feel your wallet in your back pocket. There is nothing else in the room except one thing, an axe*. You see it resting against the wall a few feet away. It looks used and suspicious, covered in dried blood and mud. There is no doubt in your heart or mind that it has been used to kill people and whatever else.
The room only has one exit, a door behind the stage. There does not appear to be much else useful to anyone except maybe an actor or actress. From the door in the back, behind the stage, you hear muffled whispers in an indistinguishable language. Perhaps there are people here willing to help you, answer questions. But, then again, maybe they are the ones who did all the horrid things you remember from before you woke up.
(!item acquired: Used Axe)
@Dragonite777
The beating downpour in this part of town forces you awake. You lay on the stone-cold asphalt next to a tiny car lot and what appears to be an equally small pawnshop. On a billboard towering above your head you see an ad that urges everyone to Join the Force, whatever that means. A slight panic grips you at the realization of an alien surrounding and no recollection of how you got there, but you manage to pull through.
As you try to move, you feel your satchel lay next to you. The fingerless gloves you often wear are strapped tightly around your hands. Your beloved cloak has been balled up and tossed at the top of the fence of the car lot, now completely soaked. In your hand, however, you feel a set of car keys*. They certainly are not yours, so perhaps you stole them. Maybe you are lucky enough that the keys are meant for one of the two cars parked in the lot, or perhaps whoever is inside the lit pawnshop knows.
On top of a nearby closed dumpster you hear a cat moaning. Upon closer inspection, you can see that its fur is pitch-black and that it has a third eye situated in its forehead. You know that such a thing is not possible, so you must be hallucinating. However, the cat does not appear to wish you harm, rather to tell you something or have you follow him.
(!item acquired: Car Keys)
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