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Post by Helmfirth Human Resistance on Aug 9, 2017 16:15:41 GMT -8
 "A spoonful of compassion in your corner of hell."
The Dead End appears to at one point have been a more upscale boarding house situated on the edge Alnwick's commercial district. The building's location, at the end of a dead-end alleyway, is what gave the name to the new business that has since taken over the structure. Perhaps the house was bought and paid for fairly, but that seems less likely when one considers the number of people that simply go missing in Alnwick, leaving all of their worldly possessions behind, and the fact that the house was quickly converted into a drug den.
However it came into the hands of its current occupants, The Dead End has gotten a reputation for being the place people go to when they're simply sick of the misery, sick of the worry, and just want a little reprieve from their problems. Here, anyone with coin can buy any amount of all manner of intoxicating substance, and be left to their own devices. The better paying guests are shown a room for privacy, but those who would rather spend their coin on drug than privacy can be seen sitting out in the open areas of the bottom floor of the house, smoking, ingesting, and injecting their tiny respite from the world that has become far too much.
It is not uncommon to find those that have either purposefully or accidentally brought their misery to an end permanently. |
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Shenk
Established
Roleplay posts: 11 
Physical Description: Scabs, sores, and pustules adorn the otherwise humanoid man's face and body, particularly over his right eye which is all but covered in the red infection. His skin is strangely pale, and his teeth are crooked.
Registered: Jul 19, 2017 14:33:52 GMT -8
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Post by Shenk on Sept 3, 2017 9:20:36 GMT -8
Shenk walked into the Dead End in the company of a person no one in the establishment would describe as anything but a perfect stranger, but it wouldn’t at all seem out of the ordinary in a place like the Dead End. People were constantly in flux going in and out of the drug den, and while the person behind the makeshift bar would know the regulars - not a lot of the patrons stopped and took time to get to know one-another. Shenk, slightly winded and obviously tiring quickly from the journey from the coast walked over to the small bar just inside the door on the right, built in front of the door to the room the proprietors of the Dead End apparently used as a store room. Looking down, anyone would be able to see that Shenk was simply following a trail of blood that led from the front door to the door behind the bar, the bright crimson still apparent as it seemed several people had either been dragged or carried through the door, their wounds spilling blood on to the floor as they went. Shenk coughed as he pulled up on the heavy bit of countertop that was secured to the bar with hinges, moving it out of the way so he could pass, which he would have if the woman behind the bar hadn’t immediately and forcefully pushed it back over. The heavy wood countertop slammed down hard with a bang, nearly crushing Shenk’s fingers as it crashed back into place. The woman looked at Shenk expectantly, and almost immediately the shambling disease-ridden man began shouting angrily at her. “What the hell do you mean almost crushing my fingers you ignorant wench!? And don’t give me any of your ‘secret clubhouse password’ bullshit! The devil herself has come to Erstonia and all you lot give a damn about is your stupid little code!” The woman slammed her hand down on the countertop as Shenk ended his sentence, obviously winding up a fiery retort of her own. “It’s our ‘secret clubhouse’ bullshit that keeps the devil away from here, you disgusting bag of pus! And you can’t go in anyway! The people in there have enough problems right now without having to worry about if they’re going to look like you if they make it!” The woman’s tone was firm, and her voice, though loud and angry, stood in sharp contrast to the broken, hoarse, and scratchy monotone that Shenk’s vocal cords produced. Shenk turned to the person that accompanied him. “Just go in there and find Isaac. He’s an elf; an ugly bastard with tattoos on his face, you can’t miss him. Tell him Shenk sent you, or your cat is sick, or whatever the fuck these morons tell you to say to him. I brought you as far as I’m going to.” Shenk began to walk back towards the front door of the house, and the woman behind the bar - still obviously riled from Shenk’s outburst - raised the countertop once again to allow the newcomer through. Once through the door, one would find a set of creaky wooden steps, also marked with droplets and drag marks of blood, leading down to a relatively large and open basement teeming with movement and activity. The room, dark and dimly lit by lanterns, immediately would appear to be a makeshift hospital, as the few wounded that got left behind by Chataya’s attack were receiving care from those willing to offer it. There were a few cots strewn around, but most of the patients were either laid out on tables or sitting up in chairs as a handful of people rushed around trying to tend to the most badly wounded first. In the middle of the (only slightly) organized chaos, stood Isaac Aldre , working to stop the bleeding from several gashes in a man’s chest - gashes that could have been made by the claws of a hellhound. |
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