S
Sideris
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Original poster
@DarckRedd @Chaka @Hair @Ragoza @Sarky
The sun a golden eye just over the roofs of the eastern city and promising punishing heat under a cloudless sky.
"Don't miss out!" cry the paperboys. "Postings, departures, high tide and low! The returning adventures of Captain Shoals in a gripping two-parter! Two penny a pop! Come read the newest details of killer's latest victim!"
The crowd is already bustling, but not nearly so much for commerce as a growing mob at the southerly mouth of the bazaar, near the wharves. Roused Watchmen bray and bellow, trying to push clear around some spectacle that's caught the mob's eye. The ruckus is getting to be where more and more of the usually indifferent Watch rush past the stalls, cudgels and whistles alive, drawing in like a noose.
"Another! Another!" cries one portly Watchman as he huffs it toward the commotion.
Doughty longshoremen and newly-arrived sailors flee the crowd, retching, eyes haunted. There, at the center of attention, lies another of the victims of the Eyedropper Killer. Another child, lost to the thing that haunts the alleyways. See the features of the killer: disturbing lack of any blood, morbidly antiseptic tang of grain alcohol, wrenched limbs, a horrid rictus; signs of torture, excruciating pain. Cries of horror and growing murmur of the curious drown out the metronome of rocking waves, the mewling of surly gulls along these docks.
"Gods save us." "Poor thing." "Five in a fucking month..." "The Council will hear of this!" "Where's the face?"
The paperboys cry on, their wares are yesterday's kill, not today's.
Horrific Murders Baffle Watch: Does Killer Walk Through Walls?
Cry the hawkers of Shipping News throughout Freeport this sullen morn. One particularly obnoxious pair of young boys heckle any soul rushing past along this stretch of the Docks, just shy of the waking Seaside Market. A slice of the world writ in merchants, spices, alchemical wonders, metals, jewels, textiles from every corner of Rûl's city-states and nations among a veritable forest of stalls, tables, tents. The evening market is leaving laggard as the morning comes alive. Clashing with the thunderous scent of salt and dead fish of the ocean are that of freshly baked breads and sunburnt skin, livestock and drying stone. Rain last night.
The sun a golden eye just over the roofs of the eastern city and promising punishing heat under a cloudless sky.
"Don't miss out!" cry the paperboys. "Postings, departures, high tide and low! The returning adventures of Captain Shoals in a gripping two-parter! Two penny a pop! Come read the newest details of killer's latest victim!"
The crowd is already bustling, but not nearly so much for commerce as a growing mob at the southerly mouth of the bazaar, near the wharves. Roused Watchmen bray and bellow, trying to push clear around some spectacle that's caught the mob's eye. The ruckus is getting to be where more and more of the usually indifferent Watch rush past the stalls, cudgels and whistles alive, drawing in like a noose.
"Another! Another!" cries one portly Watchman as he huffs it toward the commotion.
Doughty longshoremen and newly-arrived sailors flee the crowd, retching, eyes haunted. There, at the center of attention, lies another of the victims of the Eyedropper Killer. Another child, lost to the thing that haunts the alleyways. See the features of the killer: disturbing lack of any blood, morbidly antiseptic tang of grain alcohol, wrenched limbs, a horrid rictus; signs of torture, excruciating pain. Cries of horror and growing murmur of the curious drown out the metronome of rocking waves, the mewling of surly gulls along these docks.
"Gods save us." "Poor thing." "Five in a fucking month..." "The Council will hear of this!" "Where's the face?"
The paperboys cry on, their wares are yesterday's kill, not today's.
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