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Welcome To Crown City

Crown City


a part of Welcome To Crown City, by Bartholomew Finch.


Bartholomew Finch holds sovereignty over Crown City, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

618 readers have been here.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

based on a number of things, lots of inspiration from welcome to night vale. but plenty of original ideas too!


Default Location for Welcome To Crown City
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Crown City



Crown City is a part of Welcome To Crown City.

9 Characters Here

H.A.V.E.N. [4] "Humanoid Autonomous Versatile Electrical Network... Haven. That's what they call me."
Alistair Prescott [3] "Time to see what makes you tick."
Wolfgang Abernathy [3] "Yes... That is my name."
Alexandria Belmonte [3] "I'm not dead, but I'm not alive either."
Skylar Jenkins [2] "I used to be a good girl."
Archer Hitchcock [2] "I'm basically Tony Stark... with wings."
Aya Fujino [2] "... What? Oh, sorry, I was daydreaming."
Ellari 'Remorse' Ravenheart [1] "There's a thousand and one uses for a knife, even more so for a hard swingy thing."

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandria Belmonte Character Portrait: Skylar Jenkins Character Portrait: Wolfgang Abernathy Character Portrait: Morgan Prescott Character Portrait: Aya Fujino Character Portrait: Charlotte BlackBourne Character Portrait: Alistair Prescott Character Portrait: Delilah Fairchild Character Portrait: Jack Weiland Character Portrait: Archer Hitchcock Character Portrait: H.A.V.E.N.
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Welcome To Crown City


In The Chambers Of The City Council....

Light from the bay window cast shadows about the room, illuminating on the cobwebs and dust particles that swam freely through the air. It was clear that the room had not been used in some time. A central placed dining table covered in a fine layer of dust took up most of the room. Surface laden with a full set of finely cracked china and fake silver utensils. Opposite the table, against the mahogany wood panel wall rested a bookcase spanning the length of the room. Filled to the brim with book after book, each sporting its own signs of wear and tear. Among the most damaged a red leather journal, its spine painted with fine gold filigree. It was this book that Mayor Bourne promptly plucked from the shelf.

The man in question walked a wide arc around the table to the adjoining room, hidden in a place where the light didn't quite touch. He marched in solemn silence to the singular table in that room. A circular monstrosity that takes up nearly all of the available space. He sat at the head, King Arthur and his Court. He lays the journal heavy upon the table, setting his grim gaze to the occupants of the room. Men and Women alike, wearing masks to obscure every aspect of their identity. Not many of them actually needed to obscurity, but most opted for it as a tradition. For years now the masks, simple clay creations stretched tight over skin before molding just right to its wearer, have been an integral part of these meetings.

"So tell me," Bourne booms, his own masks lips pulling into a taut snarl. Emotion reflected over the surface, "Why it is nobody has stopped these broadcasts!?" His anger swept the room into stony silence. After a beat of timid silence an answer comes, from whispering lips. "We tried sir, its just -" "Its just nothing, we have the best goddamn tech in this forsaken city!" Bourne interrupts, seemingly more interested in causing a scene than discussing anything civilly. The members of the council would be lying had they said their meetings usually went better than this. Bourne was a force to be reckoned with, and this latest slip up was clearly stressing him out.

Bourne's hands slam against the table as he stands once more, crossing quickly to the far wall, where three large monitors hang haphazardly. Yet to be fully installed, or perhaps purposefully hung askew. He flicks on all three, gritting his teeth at the words emblazoned across every single damn one. The strangers are here.

"I want all agents working on this, who ever this message is intended for - no, whoever sent this message is going to be shackled. Do you hear me?!" Barking orders left and right, the Mayor calls the Council to a quick close. With his final words to find out what everything they could. With the extra bodies gone from the room he turns once more, and stares at the monitors listlessly. Turning to his journal from before, he flips through page after page until reaching the final. A page directly in the middle of the book, as if the author had never got the chance to finish.

He scans the page in grim silence, until finally, mercilessly his eyes settle on those damning words.

"The Strangers Are Here."

Welcome To The Den

At the farthest point from the Council Building, in the slums of the City, there lies a place that has been home and haven for many of its wronged citizens. A looming tower, six floors made up of apartments, shops, and most notably a bar. Known as The Den, a place where anyone can go to have sanctuary or safe haven. Guarded by a plethora of wards. Its sprawling visage has been a sign of hope for many of the citizens for years now; Even more so at the founding of the Wicked Six - the Slums resident superheros (or police force if you will.)

Monday nights were rarely packed at the Den, its usual patrons either too tired from the beginning of the week or still hungover from the sunday night parties. Still, workers filed in like flies, buzzing around here and there to serve what little customers they did have. Others filtered down into the basement where their more secretive members liked to stay. All except for Tom, who stood tall and proud against the backdrop of a stage. Microphone in hand, his words garbled and slurred but just barely understandable. It was not unusual for him to be drunk so early, but nonetheless he was.

Many of the patrons in fact were...strangely drunk already. Yet the night had just barely started. It didn't make sense really, not until the workers began to slow down. Foggy brained, feeling sluggish, slumping down into the nearby booths and tables. Some falling to the floor where their heads would clack against the concrete, hard.

Slowly, slowly, and then all at once every single person within the bar collapsed. All except for one little girl, Sonny, neither a patron nor a worker. But a Poltergeist whom had taken up residence there for several millennia. No less than a few seconds later the power shuts down. Curious. Sonny steps through the bars threshold, out into the street. Darkness slowly enveloping the city, building by building. Sonny frowns, watching the pedestrians around her slow to a stop and pass out in much the same way as the bar patrons. Confusion turns to Panic when she notes that even the drivers, though few, have begun to lose control of their cars. Hitting each other, buildings, anything in their way. Sonny turns away, feeling sick at the sound of one car crunching over a fallen pedestrian.

She returns to the bar.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Morgan Prescott Character Portrait: Alistair Prescott Character Portrait: H.A.V.E.N.
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Please, please help me.

Alistair paid little mind to the disembodied voice, hovering just above his left ear where a chilly cold swept over his neck to send chills to his very core. A spectral being made of mist barely clinging to a conscious form. He waved away the being with a huff, heedless to its indigent woes. Seemingly peeved by his actions the spectre releases its grip, drifting about the room without whim or care. Snuffing out traditional wall sconces at it passes by. A ghost having a temper tantrum. There isn't much Alistair can do anyway, he doesn't have the abilities to help.

"Stop antagonizing the civvies," Says Tima, leveling him with a glare that - if he were anyone else - would seem utterly filled with hatred. He shrugs, noting the ache just between his shoulders where echoes of past life pains have begun to flare up. It seems he needs a little bit of a touch up on corpse care, after all he doesn't want to fall to literal pieces anytime soon. "If they would just leave me alone I wouldn't have to, besides, a disembodied soul is not a Civvie, it's merely an echo." He spits, pacing slowly alongside his assassin companion to the front doors of the only safe public library in the city; there were several libraries, and most were infested with danger to the point that even stepping foot inside could mean signing your death warrant. Stacks of old books bundled in their arms, manuscripts and scrolls just ready to tumble over the sides and top where they perch. He tucks his chin over the stack to stop the impending fall.

"Bourne is going to have our heads, all because you had to find some stupid book." She snaps a few moments later intent on berating Alistair as much as she possibly can today, as they come within eyesight of the Council Headquarters. A crossbreed between archaic mansion and modern courthouse. Meshing in all the wrong places to create a hideous monstrosity of a building, sharp edged and just as dangerous as the people who reside in its walls. "What's in these dumb things anyway, don't we have a library?" She asks, her own stack less substantial than his own - she refused to carry any of the tomes he had picked out; he'd have those sent to his office at a later date.

"Ah, ah." Alistair grins, though for lack of joy, "That's none of your business now is it?" He twirls, flashy with every jerky movement. Limbs becoming stiff from the constant weight on his arms. "Besides, there's no fun in telling you and our library doesn't have the specific materials I need." Tima wouldn't appreciate the books for what they are.

"Hmph." Tima doesn't pout visibly, but he can see that she's marginally more frowny faced than usual. He rolls his eyes, and turns back to face the burly red front doors. The color reminding him of blood where the sun didn't cast glowing rays of orange onto the wood. The first room directly through the double doors is a spacious, almost eerily quiet lobby. The receptionist asleep at the desk snoring softly, there's nobody in the lobbies. Simply empty chairs and several withered plants, starved of light.

Alistair strolls past the receptionist to a door directly behind the front desk. Getting eye level with a scanner, going through the motions of bodily detection and identification. Waiting for the telltale beep before opening the door into a long hallway. One of the more modern portions of the building, lit brightly and made more out of steel and metal than wood and magic. He strolled slowly to the very end, where the elevator awaited them patiently.

"You'll be late," Tima scoffs, stepping into the dim elevator beside him. Using her free hand to press the button for the top floor. "Nonsense, unless you plan on making me late." Alistair quips, clearly teasing her without the implied humor. "Right, and then I'd be the dead one." She huffs, the both of them staring at the display showing them each floor. finally stopping at the top the two proceed to drop off the stacks and part ways. Tima to - well, wherever it is she runs off too and Alistair to the knights table.

Picking up his mask on the way, the material forming around his face in a grotesque mockery of him. He's always hated these damned things but Bourne is a stickler for tradition and even Alistair knows which battles to fight. He luckily makes it in record time, sliding in between a few fellow members at the corner of the table. Waiting patiently for the rest to file in for the meeting to start. Its the usual nonsense to start with, reports, statistics, strategies - until at one point Bourne wanders away to retrieve a book from the adjoining room and returns redfaced and Alistair knows they are all about to get backhanded into sunday.

And he's right, which is a pain in and of itself so he tries his best to stifle any caustic remarks until the Council meeting is adjourned and he can leave to complain with his colleagues. "Prescott!" But...well, things apparently don't work out that well for him. One of the council is nearing him now, their face pulled into a strangely gleeful expression. "Sorry to bother but I was wondering if you could take these to the Tech department?" Alistair's mask must reflect some sort of contempt, the other member draws back a bit, uncertain in expression now.

"Do I look like an intern?" He asks, grumbling a bit as he snatches whatever object it is the other members holding in their hands. "No, no, sorry its just you've got clearance to the offices down there and I don't..." The member trails off, Alistair sighs and looks down at the object. A weird black box, about the size of his palm with metal rods sticking out of the ends. There's no buttons or knobs, nothing but smooth black surfaces. "Whats in it for - " He trails off just as he looks up, faced with a completely empty room. Something akin to nervousness itches in his mind. But curiosity outweighs the rest, he'll just take it down and see what they say about it.

A few minutes later and he's standing at the doorway of the tech departments own little slice of heaven. Hands a bit clammy around the little black box. Feeling ill all of a sudden yet not knowing a damned reason why. Something about the box maybe? Its hard to tell, like some sort of energy is radiating outwards. "ugh..." He pushes open the doors, immediately setting off what sounds like a dozen wailing sirens. He drops the box, watching it shatter on impact with the ground. Its pieces scattering like dust in the wind.


Morgan examined the room with wonder, as if he had not been there a dozen times before. Sitting in this very uncomfortable wicker chair, bombarded by clouds of smoke from every puff that Bud takes from the large silver hookah on the table. Its an atmospheric kind of place, half glass, half wooden walls. Larger on the inside due to some sort of magic manipulation. Decorated in a fashion that seems almost too trendy for a head shop owned by an old man. "Sorry man, you want some?" Bud asks, eyes rimmed red as smoke curls outward from parted lips. He's squinting, the cloud of smoke burning his eyes a bit.

Declining with a goofy grin Morgan instead leans back, taking note of the shoppers carefully perusing the shelves and tables lined with various items of ambiguous legalities. There's also Gunner, eyes flicking between an overhead TV and Morgan, every once in a while attention straying to a customer. "We have other matters to discuss," Morgan answers, as casually as possible. Maintaining the easy camaraderie between them has been a bit tricky. Being ex-council doesn't get you much merit around these parts but Buds been surprisingly okay with Morgan butting his head into places it doesn't belong every once in a while.

"Ah, bout the broadcasts then...or is it troubles with the council?" Buds eyes clear up a little bit, seemingly sobered in an instant but Morgan knows him better than to think he's been anything but sober this entire time. Hide behind a cloud of smoke and you can do just about anything without anyone being suspicious. "Thankfully no," Morgan answers to the latter, "But yes to the broadcasts, I've caught wind of something." He leans forward, elbows to knees, quieter than before as he continues on. "The Councils riled up apparantly, shaking as many people down as they can manage. Whatever this is its got Bourne scared."

Bud scoffs, "Nothing scares Bourne." but there is a knowingness there, an unspoken thought between them. If something could manage to scare someone so cold hearted there's no telling how dangerous it could be. "We've got all available resources checking it out, but I'm afraid we just don't know anything." Bud speaks, before Morgan can even continue. Morgan nods, pursing his lips a bit. An unusual frown tugging at his lips. There is no doubt in his mind that the Six are going to protect to citizens but Morgan just wishes after all these years that Bud would trust him with a little bit more than just curt answers.

"Alright," Morgan nods, leaning back once more. Still not happy but willing to let it go for now, "You'll let me know if anything comes up?" He asks, knowing that he doesn't really have the right to ask in the first place. He isn't part of their group, he's just a concerned vigilante to them whose got too much heart and too little brains it seems. Bud nods, uncommitted to answering. Their conversation is over it seems. Morgan had told Haven earlier to meet him after his meeting with Bud, so they can head down to the Den and maybe shake down some more info.

Morgan exits the shop, noticing first how dark it is and secondly how the world has become more sluggish around him. A weight has settled in his gut, thick and foggy. "Damn," He looks at his hand, feeling drunk as his eyes refuse to focus, duplicating his hand over and over again. He wonders if he got contact high, but wouldn't really know the feeling. But this has to be different, it feels too heedy, too thick like something pulling him down. As if gravity has increased exponentially. He only dully notices the blackout before his eyes are rolling up, body going limp, and beginning to fall quickly.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Wolfgang Abernathy Character Portrait: Morgan Prescott Character Portrait: Alistair Prescott Character Portrait: Archer Hitchcock Character Portrait: H.A.V.E.N.
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#, as written by mjolnir

[ Robot ] [ #003663 ] [ Outfit ]


Haven had been standing on her charging panels for the better part of 4 hours. Tedious task. Human's needed sleep to function as she needed to recharge her batteries. The gloominess of Crown City made it difficult for her to charge by solar power, which she generally preferred because she could still do anything she needed while charging. With twilight slowly creeping around the corner, Haven was of the impression better safe than sorry. She had no idea how long Morgan would keep her in the Den and that wasn't somewhere she'd want to run out of power. Haven wasn't entirely sure what they were going to do there, but she confident that it most likely had something to do with the broadcast. Maybe he wanted her there as his own personal lie detector, because she wasn't very good at the whole intimidation aspect.

When her charge reached 100%, Haven stepped off the charging panels. This should last her a good 24 hours, give or take. But she made sure to also charge extra battery packs, which she promptly shoved into a purse. Haven never quite understood the humanly obsession with handbags, but she supposed it'd be better than carrying around a tool kit and extra batteries in the open. That'd through up a red flag for any council member or supporter.

Moving about the silent apartment, the only thing that could be heard was the quiet mechanical sound of her joints moving. A sound more often unnoticed in the hustle and bustle of the outside world, but when in silence it preys on the ears similar to how most humans can hear their own heart beating and blood pumping with the absence of sound.

Haven didn't need a watch to know the time, she just knew similar to how she just knows many things due to her programming. No doubt soon Morgan would be done with his meeting soon and she wasn't fit to walk about the streets. She made her way to the sad excuse of a wardrobe that her and Alex shared in their closet sized apartment. Haven's fingers filed through the hanging clothes like some sort of sorting machine. She never seemed to care so much about the importance of physical appearance or matching clothing, but Alex had taught her at least the basics so she didn't seem completely out of the ordinary.

Grabbing a seemingly basic outfit that by definition matched, Haven wasted no time in getting dressed while making her way towards the bathroom. Haven open the small cabinet that sat across from the toilet to find an assortment of wings. She grabbed one of her more favorites, dark brunette and wavy, pulled back in a high ponytail. Haven placed the wig over the transparent cranium that contained what Archer once called her brain.

After making herself seemingly appear human, Haven grabbed the handbag containing back up batteries and emergency tools, and headed out of the apartment. It usually took her no time at all to reach the head shop, even when she decided to walk instead of taking faster transportation.

Haven rounded the corner just as Morgan exited the store. She hastened her pace to a brisk walk to catch up to him, and began to call out, "Sorry I'm late I had to-" He seemed to be acting strange while a quiet, "Damn," crossed his lips. Haven slowed her pace as she studied him. She was nearly to him as he studied his hands, before his eyes began to roll back in his head. "Morgan!?" Haven dropped her bag and darted towards him with a speed that was ever so slightly inhuman. She slid to her knees onto the rough concrete behind him, getting in position only a millisecond before his head would have slammed into the ground, no doubt causing a concussion.

She caught his head with a combination of her lap and palms, her eyes widening as she looked down at Morgan's limp and unconscious body. "Morgan..." Haven lightly patted his cheeks trying to wake him up. But that didn't continue for long when she started to hear the sounds of squealing tires and crashing cars. She gently set down Morgan's head on the ground, before bursting into the head shop. "Bud!" She called out for him only to quickly realize he too was unconscious. Running back outside to Morgan, Haven noticed that there were numerous bodies laying along the sidewalks, in cars or in even stranger predicaments. But no doubt something was causing this, and most likely her being a robot is the only thing that kept her unaffected.

Haven had a bad feeling about the transpiring events and didn't feel comfortable with her and Morgan being out in the open, especially with him being unconscious. She quickly grabbed her bag, throwing the strap over her head so it dangled across her torso. Returning to Morgan, she leaned down grabbing his arms. She didn't think she could carry him to the Den, it was too far. So instead, she carefully dragged out of sight into a nearby alleyway. Haven knelt back down and rested his head in her lap yet again. She leaned her head down, placing her ear to his chest to make sure he was still breathing. With no other choice, she leaned her back against the side of a building, waiting for him to wake up.


[ Nephilim ] [ #EC195C ] [ Outfit ]


Archer had absolutely no desire what so ever to go listen to Mayor Bourne scold them all for the broadcastings that have been going on. He didn't need to go to the meeting to know what it was about but none the less, it was mandatory and no one fancies pissing off Bourne. So he made his way to the round table, grabbing one of the masks and placing it on his face. Archer always hated the way the material felt upon his face, it made his skin crawl. But it was tradition and god forbid if he went against what was traditional.

He no doubt was one of the first members there, but considering Archer didn't have to travel far save for a couple floors difference in the elevator, he obviously would be fairly punctual. He waited rather impatiently as the others filed in and lastly, a nearly late Alistair. Archer sat rather nonchalantly leaned back in his chair, while twirling a pen along his knuckles as Bourne scolded them like misbehaving children. Once the lecture had finished, everyone was dismissed and Archer didn't feel like waiting around.

Yanking off his mask, he tossed it to the table before heading towards the door. Archer was nearly free until he heard, "Hitchcock." called out. He groaned under a muffled breath before pivoting on his heels to turn and see Mayor Bourne motioning him towards him. Archer cleared his throat, adjusting his sleeves as she walked back over towards him. "Yes sir?" Bourne places his hand threateningly on Archer's shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Do you want to tell me why stranger's are getting into the city?" He swallowed hard before answering, "Sir, I promise you we are going to get to the bottom of this." Bourne grinned menacingly, while squeezing Archer's shoulder tighter. "Oh I know you will... Or I'll be inclined to take my rage out on my head of security who's JOB it is to keep those who are in... in. And strangers out!"

With that Bourne released Archer's shoulder, motioning for him to go. Archer wasn't going to argue that one bit as he swiftly made his way out of the room and to the staircase. He wasn't in the mood to wait for the lethargic elevator when he could reach Security quicker on foot. 10 floors underground was Security and tech. Archer went through the door to be stopped by a man sitting at the front desk. "I.D. Please." Archer slowly turned his head to glare at the man. "You know who I am. Everyone here knows who I am. But yet every single day you insist on asking me for my I.D." The man seemed to grow increasingly nervous. "Apologies sir. But protocol-" "Fuck protocol... Ask me again, and I'll have you thrown out and fed to the rebels faster than you can say sorry!"

The man quickly stood up, nodding and saluting Archer. "Stop browning nosing and get back to fucking work." Archer walked through the full body scanners and walked through the rows of desks that sat dozens of lower rank security members. He made his way to the epicenter of the floor where all the desks seemed to circle around face. In the epicenter was a single glass desk that made up 3/4 of a circle leaving a gap for him to walk into the center, with just enough room move about. Archer placed his hands on the seemingly bare glass top, which then engaged the system. With a raise of his hands holographs shot up from the table surrounding him with glowing lights of blue and red.

Archer put on his headset then began to move his hands around which without the holograms probably would make him look crazy. But with the holograms he was moving around information and looking at city grids. He would then zoom in on certain portions, rotate them or even swipe away layers. "I want to know where the gaps are in our security. Where did the strangers enter the city and where are they? Search every archived footage from city cameras, surges in the electrical grid... Everything!" He barked at the others in the room.

Working his hands more feverishly, he began flipping through grids, charts and pages fast enough to build up a sweat. He threw his hands from left to right, up and down as the information flashed faster before his eyes. He kept digging and sifting until he came to an immediate halt. Archer took a step closer to the hologram, zooming in a very small piece of fractured data in a huge circuit board type grid. He slowly flipped it with his fingers and with that the broadcast finally shut off. "Well... There's one thing down."

Archer's attention was quickly drawn to the door as all the sirens began to blast throughout the floor, setting off lights and loud noises. Alistair entered the floor, and wasn't present more than a second before shattered something on the floor. With one swipe of his hand, Archer's entire work station shuts off. He removes his headset, tossing it on top of the circular glass desk as he made his way to the entrance. He flashes a frustrated glare at the idiot behind the desk, "Turn the fucking alarms off!" The man quickly moved about his cubicle and shut off the alarms.

His eyes glanced over Alistair and the mess he created. "Why does everyone come to my floor to cause problems?" Archer snaps at the guy behind the desk and points at the mess. But once his eyes set upon what it was exactly that Alistair broke, he quickly changed his mind and shooed the guy away. "Where did you get this?" He spoke towards Alistair at that point as he crouched down, and started picking up the pieces to examine them.


[ Stranger ] [ #1D655F ] [ Outfit ]


Wolfgang laid along the edge of the shitty hotel mattress, his entire right side of his body dangling over the edge. His long leg and arm both resting upon the floor, while drool dripped from his open mouth down along the comforter. He woke up suddenly with a loud snort. He groggily brought his hand up to wipe the drool from his mouth and steady himself on the bed. Wolf sat up slowly with his eyes still closed, shifting so that he sat on the edge of his bed, resting his elbows upon his knees. Raising his large hands, he wiped the sleep dust from his eyes before parting his fingers to peek through them.

Sight coming into focus, he quickly realized he wasn't in his room. Wolfgang's brows furrowed as he quickly looked around the room, confusion overwhelming him. Where in the hell am I? He thought to himself. Moving to his feet, he made his way over to the window, pulling back the blinds to look outside. A gasp escapes his lips as he quickly realizes he was in some foreign city that he'd never seen before. How did I get here? He tried to scratch the recesses of his brain to trigger some memory as to how he had gotten there. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't remember a thing. His thoughts were like the pit of tartarus, black, hollow and continued on forever.

Wolf quickly grabbed his jacket and headed out of the room. He made his way down to the main lobby of the less than spectacular hotel. As he hurried past the lobby attendant, they called out to him, "Mr. Abernathy!" He stopped mid-stride and made his way over to the desk. "How... how do you know my name?" "You checked in with us last night sir... You need to pay for your room." Wolfgang searched his pockets for a wallet, while staring blankly at the counter. "Last night? Are you sure? I don't remember coming here." Upon finding his wallet, he pulled it out of his pocket. "Yes sir... If you don't mind me saying, you seemed rather intoxicated." "Right." He said blankly, "How much?"

He paid what was needed for him to stay the night, before shoving his wallet back into his pocket and heading outside. It wasn't until Wolf stepped out onto the sidewalk that he realized what she said, you seemed rather intoxicated. "That's not possible..." He whispered to himself. One thing Wolf knew for sure was he never drank, especially never got drunk. Alcoholism ran in the family so he had always avoided it.

Wolfgang walked down the sidewalk, scratching his head as he tried to wrap his mind around what happened to him. Was he drugged? Did someone bring him here? Why doesn't he remember? All the thoughts were straining him to the point of a headache. It even got to the point where his vision started blurring and a heavy feeling tugged at the pit of his stomach. Could straining for memories cause all of that? Soon everything around him began to spin. Wolf stumbled over to a building, putting out his hand to brace himself. But just as he reached the wall, his eye began to roll back in his head and his body toppled over.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandria Belmonte Character Portrait: Wolfgang Abernathy Character Portrait: Morgan Prescott Character Portrait: Aya Fujino Character Portrait: H.A.V.E.N.
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stranger :: #F08080 :: outfit

Black and white. A colorless vision replayed in Aya's mind, over and over. It was of her, standing still, eyes glued to the digital screen in her hands. Her phone's screen showed no image, just a blank whiteness. There was nothing beneath her feet. No sound to be heard. She couldn't even hear the sound of her own breathing. Complete silence. She would look up, and see standing before her an enormous figure. It was shrouded in darkness, its shape indeterminable. Her eyes would widen at the sight, and she would feel her legs turn to jello. A scream caught in her throat, and with a couple heaving breaths, she tried with all of her might to yell. She could have felt her vocal chords shredding apart, yet she was only met with silence. Darkness would overcome her, then she would reawaken by the brightness of her screen. Over, and over. Until her eyes opened for real.

She woke up slowly. Her body sat unmoving, and though her eyes were open, the lids were heavy, and her mind was still elsewhere. Her gaze followed a couple figures passing by, until a sudden realization jolted her mind awake. Where... was she? She sat more upright, but immediately regretted it afterward, discovering a knot in her neck. She must have been sitting in her position for awhile to have her back and neck ache in that way. Her head throbbed, and she put a hand to her forehead to alleviate the pain. Confusion plastered her features, her eyes darting from side to side. She was sitting on a bench on a sidewalk, and the sky signaled that the night was young. A shudder ran through her body, and she grabbed her arms, suddenly feeling chilly.

Aya stood from her spot, jerking out her arms from momentarily losing her balance. She took in the sights before her. She must have somehow made way into the less fortunate part of town, seeing how poorly kept the streets seemed. The streetlights were dim and crooked, almost eery. The young woman continued to observe her surroundings, wondering what on earth was going on. It couldn't have been a self-made illusion. A dream? A hard pinch on the upper arms told her no. Maybe she daydreamed particularly hard before she passed out on the bench and somehow ended here. What bothered her most was that she couldn't quite remember if that was true or not. The last thing she could recall was washing dishes somewhere that was definitely not here.

Figuring that it standing around and doing nothing won't change the situation, she eyed the bar across the street. There seemed to be a lot of people, and there were a couple others who were approaching the building. Although they didn't seem very open to chatter, she sighed in relief, hoping to get some answers from anyone. She began to cross the street, seeing that no cars were around, and lifted her arm to wave. But before she could even open her mouth to speak, a strange sensation of drowsiness overcame her. Her steps slowed, and she barely made it to the other side before her body limped and dropped to the ground.


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Character Portrait: Alexandria Belmonte Character Portrait: Skylar Jenkins
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Skylar had her head down, buried in her arms, dead asleep. She woke with a soft groan, rolling her head across her arms. She sat up slowly, her muscles sore as she blinked the sleep from her eyes and glanced around, trying to figure out where the hell she was. She didn't recognize anything around her. She appeared to be in a bar, but it wasn't one she recognized, and she knew a lot of bars. She sighed, her head pounding badly as she tried to make sense of what was going on. Despite waking up in completely unfamiliar surroundings, Skye was calm as she flagged down the bartender and glanced around her.

A lot of people might panic or worry, but not Skylar. She was used to waking up in strange locations with huge gaps in her memory. There had been times where she'd woken up and not been able to recall the last several weeks. As the bartender brought her a drink, she did her best to figure out where the hell she was and how she'd gotten there. She tried to think back as far as she could, but she kept drawing a blank, unable to remember anything. It was honestly a little scary, because usually, her black outs were accompanied by flashes of memory at the very least, but she honestly couldn't seem to remember anything.

She'd been sober for a while, that much she could remember. She'd been doing a great job for months. Her little sister had been so proud of her. She'd been sober for longer then she had in a long time, so what the hell had happened? She must have flown right off the handle and lost it completely. God, her sister was going to be pissed when she finally dragged herself back in the door and had to explain to her that she'd fallen off the wagon again.

She couldn't help herself. All it took was one drink, and she fell into a black hole of drugs and drinking that she couldn't seem to pull herself out of on her own. It was ruining her and she knew it, but for some reason, she couldn't help but let it just because it felt good. She was way too good at destroying everything around her and all it ever took to tear her world to pieces was one little drink.

The bartender placed her drink in front of her. A shot of tequila. Skye sighed as she ran her fingertip around the rim of the shot glass and stared at it for a minute, trying her hardest to resist the temptation, knowing if she picked up the glass, there was no going back. She'd be drunk within the hour. It was like the devil himself was staring up at her from the bottom of that shot glass and she was doing everything in her power to pull away and break the spell.

After sitting there for what felt like forever, trying to resist, Skylar finally let out a deep sigh and picked up the glass. She brought it to her lips, feeling a wave of guilt overtake her as she did so, but knowing, the second that liquid fire hit her tongue, it would be washed away, replaced with euphoria. Her head ache would cease to exist and her misery and shame at waking up disorientated in yet another bar would dissipate instantly.

Something strange happened though. A powerful wave of exhaustion washed over her, sucking the energy right out of her body. She lowered the hand holding the shot to rub the grogginess from her eyes, but she couldn't seem to make her other hand move no matter how hard she tried. Eventually, Skye gave up. Whatever was happening to her was too powerful to fight. She closed her eyes and lowered her head to rest on her arms again, blinking slowly, using up the last of her energy pushing back the blackness until finally, she closed her eyes and didn't open them again. The last thing she remembered seeing before passing out cold was the bartender, dropping to the floor.


Alex was busy doing "ghost things". Being a ghost with no job and only one friend who was busy doing other things, she had a lot of free time on her hands. It got awfully boring sometimes. Sure, she was lucky enough to have a physical form, but she couldn't use it too much. So she had to improvise in order to entertain herself. She'd spent about an hour in her physical form that morning getting drunk as hell before changing back to her "ghostly" self and spending the rest of the day doing what she liked to call drunk haunting.

Haunting was fun sometimes, but drunk haunting was always entertaining. Sure, some might see it as cruel to torment innocent humans all day, but she was far past caring. When you can live forever and yet, are barely able to change the TV channel without extreme effort, you get pretty damn bored. Besides, she wasn't really hurting anyone. She just liked to play harmless tricks on people to scare them a little. Sometimes she didn't even do that, sometimes she just liked to follow people around and watch them live their lives. The living were so interesting to her. She was dead and had been for a long time, but if she was being honest, she hadn't come to terms with it yet.

She couldn't make herself pass on if she tried. She just didn't feel like she was ready to give up her time on earth yet. So she just spent her days haunting humans, or following them around, or maybe using her physical form to interact with them. Anything she could do to maintain a connection with the living, she did. She just wanted to be alive again and maybe get the hell out of Crown City for good, but even though she was in denial, she knew that would never happen. She was stuck as she was for the rest of her life, a lonely ghost. How could you blame her for wanting to get fucked up and laugh at the fear of the living?

Alex was starting to bore, however. She was beginning to sober up and she was starting to feel a little bad about scaring some innocent lady out of her mind almost all day. She hadn't hurt her, but still. The woman wasn't going to sleep without nightmares of ghosts for a while. Alex sighed and placed her hand on the woman's arm. This instantly caused her to start screaming, as she couldn't see Alex, but could feel her icy cold touch. In fact, her touch was so cold, that her teeth started to chatter.

She was about to calm the woman down and manipulate her memories a little to make her forget most of the scary events of the day. After all, Alex liked to play fucked up jokes sometimes, but she wasn't ruthless. She had a little bit of mercy in her. However, before she had the chance to dip into her mind and change alleviate her fear, something strange happened. As Alex reached for the woman's subconscious, she felt it slipping away from her. Almost like she was dying, but not quite.

As she watched, the woman simply fell asleep while she grasped her. She took a step back and looked her over in confusion. What the hell?, was all she could think. No one had ever fallen asleep while she was touching them before. That was definitely unexpected. Alex just sighed and rolled her eyes. She'd seen a lot in her many years as a ghost, but even she was still surprised sometimes. She shook it off and made her way through the house into the kitchen. She did the woman a quick favor by using a lot of concentration to flip her oven off for her before closing her eyes and doing what she loved most about being a ghost: teleporting.

When she opened her eyes, she was out in the street, walking back towards the little apartment she shared with Haven. The two of them certainly made interesting room mates, a ghost and a robot, but Haven seemed to be one of the few people Alex found tolerable. More importantly, Haven was on of the few beings that could find Alex tolerable as well so they actually made rather good friends. While Alex wasn't one to get attached emotionally, she couldn't help but love Haven a little. She was so lonely most of the time, it was good to have company.

As she walked down the center of the street, cars drove right through her, having no effect on her. Standing in the street letting cars pass through her was yet another thing she liked to do as a ghost. Every time something or someone drifted through her, it sent a strange sensation though her that she kind of liked. As she walked and yet another zoomed through her, she watched, perplexed, as it veered suddenly off the road and went right into the side of a house, making her raise a brow. She teleported over to the wreckage to find the driver passed out cold at the wheel. Damn. Something freaky was definitely going on in Crown City. Being curious, naturally, she wanted to know just what the fuck was up.


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Character Portrait: Ellari 'Remorse' Ravenheart
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#, as written by Iriden ... o1_500.jpg


First light had broken a short time ago.
A thin ribbon of blue smoke drifted listlessly away from the dark haired young woman sitting atop the railing of a nameless storefront, long since abandoned by its proprietor. Heavier smokers than her even, the occupants now residing inside always had cigarettes to spare for good stories and the old woman willing to barter in sappy romance novels one came across from time to time. They knew her as Eerie, and she never crashed with them, though they offered. She gave everyone nightmares and it wasn’t safe either.

Glowing green wasps floated about without purpose or sound. She chewed her labret, exhaled a deep drag and extended her hand through the cloud. A wasp landed on her palm. She eyed it gently, turning her hand as its wing fluttered and antennae twitched. She breathed in deeply of the hazy city air and steeled her eyes upon it in intense focus. Its glow brightened and she began to feel its prickly legs on her palm. Excitedly, she tried harder but all at once it nearly vanished, only a loose silhouette marking its ‘existence.’ It primed its thin wings and lifted into the air.
She cursed.

“You guys could be handy if I could get you through…” She said dully, taking another drag and looking out into the street.
Filing through the grimy road below her many inhabitants were already or still about. Some shuffled, chilled by the still cool air clinging to the dark corners where the night hid from the piercing rays of the new sun. Tired from the trappings they followed in her embrace, heading home. Others moved hastily, rested and ready to begin their morning.

In the distanced the Den could be seen tall and grim, in a warm kind of way. Everything was a little grim to her. Little glow bugs were all around, even in the distance, resting on trees, floating through window panes and congregating around the sleepiest; unknown to all but her as she understood. Formless and writhing shadow things crept around too, retiring to the darkest corners of the world. Normal people could make them out sometimes at night, when everything is greyscale. If you stare long enough at nowhere in particular, as the speckled static and tiny lights intensify, you can see the shadows breath and sometimes crawl…

The clouds drifted above against the pink morning. She could feel something pushing against her brain in the same place slumber always sat like a lead weight. It pressed into her skull, beginning to push harder than her most extreme fits of dreariness. It was slowly increasing and the alien cause intensifying. Far off she saw power beginning to fail and someone collapse.
“Did that guy pass out? I wonder what he’s got on him… No, no, somethin’s going down.” She said quietly to herself. The glowing bugs gathered in the air around him, covering his head and torso thick as those only in the deepest of ‘sleep’ attract. She flicked her smoldering butt away. It rose, arced and fell. Another person collapsed abruptly close by. A sudden sense of urgency came. She panicked; jumping down the tiered roof and off its shortest part, rolling with practiced clumsiness.
Away she went.
“Oh shit… Fuck, fuck…” She continued in this fashion, frantically whispering all her curses while sprinting. A woman collapsed behind her. The occasional crash could be heard as drivers became hapless passengers. The wasps gathered thick in the air. Her own retinue swelled far more than the normal by the moment.

She ran as hard as she could, rucksack bobbing and rattling. The wall of sleeping was just behind her, but also settling in like a bog before her. ‘It,’ whatever this was, already everywhere, settled in like silt in water.
She was still cursing as she turned hard on her heel and slid into an alleyway, eyes wide, looking for something to climb up or crawl in.
“Lord Albion is coming! He’s finally freaking broke the veil! Or maybe it’s Anduin or fucking Asmodan!?”
She pivoted on her heel and ducked through torn chain link fencing, hopping up as she came through and rolling over a closed dumpster, smacking her knee as she came down. She rose slightly and half squatting leaned hard against the cold steel, looking back where she’d came, panting hard.
“A blood moon!? Hunters Moon!? Virus? Aliens. Fuck…. Um, um maybe it’s just a disease… Or I’ve finally really lost it and I’m sending every ones soul to the Bishop!?”
She started digging in her suede rucksack and produced a pill bottle. Handy things, tough lid, water proof, good shapes. Empty. She cursed and tried another. Same problem.
“Are you kidding me!? I thought I had at least one left.” She mumbled a string of uppers and amphetamines, shaking bottles and checking plastic baggiess as she went. Nothing.
“Really? Fuck. What’s happening!?”
Changing tactics she swiftly slapped herself in the face.
“Owe, damn it.” The intense pressure was still there and growing, her eyelids began to droop more than usual. She slapped herself again. Now her face hurt too. Around her, the glowing wasps began to fall dead to the ground and darken, morphing into all other manor of sinister and other worldly insect. The surfaces of objects began warbling, as if a blanket upon water.
“Shit. I’m totally goin’ down.” She curled up, hugging her knees and began rocking, thinking, whispering her mantra to Aeridin.

Changing tactics again she tried to leave her body. Projection rarely worked and it didn’t this time. Whatever was coming felt almost mechanical, maybe magical, she couldn’t tell in this state. Regardless of the cause she was stuck in this world and at the mercy of whatever horrid dream beast was coming. She feared some ailment that would finally propel her and the others here into the depths her nightmares, the places that exist beyond mortal comprehension.

“This is it. We’re toast… Wait… Can’t crash here, not… safe.” Her journal hung at her side on a strap. It was bound in unidentifiable leather and metal that didn’t corrode and was always cold to the touch. Specifically, the skin warm and metal cold. Duality. With deft practice she produced a pen, clicked it open and noted the date, time of day, thoughts, weather and other details she felt were important. It took her only seconds. Her writing was fast and completely ineligible, more like a bastardized short hand of chicken scratches and notations. Strangely she recalled the keyhole gate dream she went through one year as a child and the tall, slender, pale purple beings in robes that gave her the journal that anchored her life.

Safely tucking it under her roughly patched hoodie she grabbed a homemade incense stick from her pack and lit it. Carefully as her eyes grew heavier she set it in a crack of the crumbling concrete. She loathed the thought of crashing in the open or having that smell for all to find, but hopefully it would prevent something coming through. She crawled between the dumpster and the wall in the back corner. Putting her back against the bricks she pushed with her legs to move the massive thing for a few more inches of purchase. By the graffiti she passed she knew she was near the Den at this point. In her last act of lucidity, she pulled out a heavy wool blanket from her bag, kicked over a waste bin to obstruct the ‘entrance’ and covered herself up hoping for camouflage. Resting her head on the concrete, the last thing she saw was the black tentacles of dream eaters and a multitude of flaming blue eyes beneath the dumpster. Her heart choked. This would be a deep slumber …