Right! So since I haven't been able to draw lately because of time constraints with work and all, i've taken to writing on my breaks and what not. The big inspiration is Unhallowed Metropolis, and doing my best to follow the fluf and all of the game correctly (save a few points of literary license..) Hope people enjoy, and would love to get some feed back on it!
The Metropolis sat silent in the dark. Clogged with a thick black smog it had an ominous feel to it. The light from the windows and street lamps was choked and garbled by the thick cloud leaving the streets shadowed and forboding. But even still the streets werent empty, the smog so thick it hid the fact of night and day was a common thing in the Metropolis. Men walked down the streets to and from work, Ladies of the Evening stood at the street and alley corners discretely trying to bring interest and business to themselves, children galavanted through the streets tugging and pushing at one other, a corpse cart rattled down the street towed by horses, the cart stacked with the bodies of the deceased. All a normal site for the time, as was the gas-masks worn by the men, woman, children, and even the horses, though some wore simple cloths over their mouths, a sign of the lower class, conversely here and there one could spot a man or woman sporting finely crafted and customized gas-masks detailed in silver and gold. The mark of Higher class Aristocrats. Their clothing seemed heavily reminescent of Victorian times though black was more heavily favored, as was heavy coats to protect their clothing from the soot in the air. But it was no call back to older Victorian times, as they had never really ended, only renewed themselves.
The alleyway seemed another world, much darker, and much more lethal. Vents poured non-stop streams of black smoke and soot, excre from the forges of Industry or people simply trying to keep warm in the cold, threatening to choke an unmasked person as sure as a wire around the throat. Things crawled through the trash and refuse, vermin, but not simple cats, dogs, and rats, but ghouls. Twisted little mutant dwarves who fed off the flesh of the dead, scavenging through the wast hoping to find useful scraps to salvage, or if luck favored them a body someone had hidden away. Suddenly the ghouls scattered, one diving down a storm drain while another shuffled under a manhole cover, short squat body containing a great deal of strength to heft the steel slug covering the hole. A woman walked out of the depths, a strange uncomfortable wiggle in her step and a dirty ready sash around her waist identified her as a Working Girl, a harlot who had just concluded business by the way she counted a handful of coins and bills. A red shawl covered her face, part to help filter out the smoke and fog, to let potential customers judge her face, and of course, accessibility. By most standards she didnt look bad either, skin free of blemishes, scars, pox, or other disfigurements; eyes a bright vibrant green, though a bit red tinged from the soot in the air; and her hair a dirty blonde, at least that not covered by the shawl. She likely had little trouble finding business.
The sewer cover rattled a moment, the ghouls likely still around and watching. They savored fresh warm meat of humans over all others, save a few elders who claimed cyanide or arsenic gave it the most wonderful flavor, they would rarely go as far as to murder for it. Entire tribes had been wiped out in the past at simple rumors of hunting. But she wasn't the reason they had fled.
The harlot continued down the alleyway, finishing her count she slipped the coins into a purse sewn into her dress, hidden just below the plain sight of others. She froze suddenly at something rustling in the darkness, and old rusted metal can rolling out of the shadows. She dipped her hand under her shawl drawing a "profilactic" a small revolver many carried for self-defense. A figure moved out of the shadows at a ragged place, it seemed to move wrong, much to freely, almost like an spider moving through an unfamiliar area. Another woman, this one skinny and lanky, her skin pallid, but the same time ruddy, she was dressed in white bed linens, and while stained a brackish dark color, it only made her skin seem more unnatural. The Harlots eyes were more drawn to the woman's face, No gas-mask or dust cloth concealing her features or protecting her from the haze, by all means she should have been curled up in a ball gasping on the soot clogging her throat. Instead she wore a strange lopsided smile, jagged little teeth peering from under her vibrantly crimson lips. The Harlot raised her revolver taking quick aim before squeezing the trigger, "klick-KOOM!" The bullet lanced from the barrel trailing burning gases before tearing a jagged ugly hole through the Pale Womans throat making her stagger backwards a step, thick black blood pouring from the ooze like warm molasses. That in itself was frightening, what made it horrifying was the Pale Womans expression, one of ecstasy, as if she enjoyed the pain and damage the lead chunk had caused.
"Upir!" The Harlot barely managed to gag out before the Pale Woman lunged out with inhuman speed, fingers raking across her throat. The flesh from her fingertips worn and worried away leaving only the bloodied bone underneath, and even that had been ground to sharp points. Brilliant vermilion splashed against the street top, a horrible jagged gash torn from her ear all the way to her throat, carotid artery split open pouring blood down her chest staining her bodice red. The Pale Woman grabbed her roughly, jaws opening wide revealings sharp jagged teeth stained a brownish red. The Harlot didn't struggle, her body felt numb and empty, a result from the shock of the attack and blood, her mind protesting the reality of the situation, telling her that it wasn't real, that she was asleep and having a nightmare, that her friends were playing a cruel prank, that things like this only happened in the penny dreadfuls. Reality reasserted itself as the Pale Woman bit into the wound causing unimaginable agony. She did not chew, but gnawed, sucked, and slurped greedily swallowing large mouthfuls of the womans life, only seeming to take pleasure in the pain she caused.
Her body twitched and spasmed from the pain, but even that seemed to fade with her vision, growing heavy and numb. Over the slurping and moaning she caught a noise from up the alley, the grating of steel on concrete. "OVER THERE! THE FUCKING THING IS OVER THERE!" a new voice called out, but it was filled with raw seething hate. The Pale Woman dropped her at the yell, the Harlots body collapsing into a pile on the ground like a discarded ragdoll, and stared into the darkness warily for the source of the voice.
The pounding of feet and grinding of steel grew louder and louder, a chill feebly running down the Harlots spine until the figure emerged from the smog and shadows and she fainted. Dead.
(More to come next time!)