Necropolis City Hall

Here is where they business of state is handled. People come and go conversing in the lobby and making deals with politicians. Those who are permitted often take private business to the morgue below.

There are 0 people here The most recent statement was made about 3882 hours ago.

: On the street outside, a business man staggers along, bouncing off lamp posts and on and off the curb. His suit is disheveled, his fingers clutch at his hair, his eyes are wide and distraught.

: "HELP ME!" He screams at passers by. They take no notice. "CAN YOU SEE ME? CAN YOU HEAR ME!??!"

: Nothing.

: He attempts to grab at one of the people on the street, then freezes and screams at his hands, wordless with terror.

: Shaking, he lurches on. Mumbling "Help me, why can't you see me, somebody's got to be able to hear me, what's happened, where did I go, this is a nightmare, a nightmare, someone wake me up, please dear God someone WAKE ME UP!!!!!!!"

: He passes a wild-eyed, thuggish youth on the corner; long, greasy hair, skin eruptions and infections, dirty, ragged fingernails, and famine-thin. This teen sniggers, eyes tracking the shuddering, moaning, man as he catches sight of his reflection in a window and screams again. As the terrified man continues pin-balling down the street, he pushes away from the wall and follows, still giggling.

: "Oh man.... best prank ever." He mutters to himself as the mortal, screaming, picks up speed and dashes into an alley, followed by the loutish youth.

Raymond Bowie, <outside>: *soft footsteps could only give away his presence to ones with the keenest of hearing as he leaves an alleyway, as his sandy brown hair with a few spics of silver & gold flicker in the light parts into a low pony-tail and frames his European clean shaven face. 6' tall & his broad shoulders give away a fighters stance. His eyes are behind a pair of wire rimmed shades/glasses as he peer beneath his bangs & reading his surroundings. He's calm, gives a slight stand-offish feel. His skin has a healthy luster combining with his stature giving him a disciplined, athletic body. He dons a Polo-shirt, light-pants held by a belt. His clothes are well fitted, snug but it lets the viewer aware of his muscular definition and range of movement. They reveal one who works out regularly (not in the gym sense) & uses his body with great power rigorously. Hands covered with a pair of black reinforced fingerless gloves that look like braces. His feet wear a pair of black work boots* [Apparent Age is mid-late 30's, Weight is about 220 lbs.]

Raymond Bowie, <outside>: *stepping out of the growing shadows of the Buildings shadows that grow late with the day, while looking about as he adjusts his shades and smirks* Sloppy. *wanders a path down the street with the light traffic, and stops at the Alleyway* I'll find you soon, then questions will be answered. *as he enters another Alleyway* [Gone For Now]

: --- There are 0 people here The most recent statement was made about 1055 hours ago. ---

David Fionndamh <Busker>: His slightly larger that five and a half frame seeming more energetic than his mid-twenties age would suggest with a clean t-shirt, threadbare jeans with some minor rips and a pair of worn hiking boots. His face is clean shaven with fair skin, his usually unruly red hair is pulled back into a tail ((usual for picks of Steven Segal)) and has the scent of 'Irish Springs' on him. His instrument case ((dulcimer, if one knows)) is slung over his shoulder. David goes to a half wall In front of the building, then gets from the case a dulcimer. After getting situated, he starts to pick a tune of 'Here We Come A-wassailing', though fine tuning as he goes. ((it's 20:35 CDT for those keeping time on the 3rd of September, in the AC year of Two-thousand Seventeenth))

David Fionndamh <Busker>: David continues to play different tunes, grinning a bit wider with a nod of thanks to those that do feel charitable, though otherwise playing his music for those that want to hear & his enjoyment on the nice evening. He does several different songs, though most are instrumentals, for people to listen to as they pass by on te holiday weekend.

David Fionndamh <Busker>: ((Listening to for inspiration while going into lurk-mode. Will be updating my view ever 8-10 minutes to see if someone enters & wants to RP.))

David Fionndamh <Busker>: With the streetlights on, and the Moon visible, He packs up and leaves the streets. ((Have a good Holiday you all, Out at 23:45 EDT))

: :

: :

: :

: A vote for Whit Floogle is a vote for Normalcy!

A White Persian Cat: *Green eyes blink as a fluffy white cat slinks through the dark halls, making it's way past the Janitor and into the open door of the Mayor's Office..*

: *in comes a girl with LARGE bags and starts decorating the church with Crochetted and Knitted Blankets/Hats/Scarfs/Gloves all over for any and all who are in need or want*

Your Nickname:


Color: Say it:
Your Statement (Max 1000 chars):

The Streets of Necropolis (0)
A slowly flickering streetlight illuminates this dark street. All roads though town lead to this main road. Shadowy figures dart in and out of alleyways, and only the brave or foolish remain here long.
The City Morgue (0)
This dreary place is located below the Necropolis City Hall and is where those who wish for their conversations to fall on only truly dead ears meet to discuss their plans.

This site is enhanced with Interaction.