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Saturday, August 29

Gangs of Freeport: Part 3 – The Narcotics House

At first glance, Vlad thought he was on Dreaming Street. The furtive, the drugged, the soliciting, and the frightened occupied the walkways. Windows were boarded, shuttered, or tastefully curtained, but all were obscured. The entire neighborhood smelled of a bizarre combination of smokes, burning herbs and alchemical substances that make him feel lightheaded.

As Vlad approached his destination, it became obvious that this he was not on Dreaming Street all. The buildings were run-down, the paint and colors peeling. The people had a desperate look to them, and while Dreaming had more than its share of desperation, all who frequented it knew that they could find what they sought—for the right price. He’d learned that when they rescued Corinalous, Kham’s father, from the Well-Dressed Man.

For the people who could not afford Dreaming itself, the streets surrounding it provided a cheaper alternative. People huddled in alleys, shuddering with withdrawal. Red-eyed wretches accosted passersby, begging for sufficient coin to purchase a dose of Ghoul Juice, or a few minutes with their “beloved” harlot, or to pay off their gambling debts before they were fed to the sharks.

Vlad’s target was a shack, sitting on one side of a small alley, sandwiched between a vendor selling cheap used daggers and a brothel so run-down and filthy, it looked as though the venereal diseases might actually leap out and accost passersby on their own. It was a tiny, ramshackle place that might well fall apart if struck sidelong by a stiff breeze. A tiny trail of smoke rose from a tin chimney. The windows were shuttered, and a crude hand-painted sign was tacked to the front door with a rusty nail. It read “Clozed for Bizness.”

Vlad pulled out his tanglefoot bag and began to swing it. People in the street made way for the big Milandisian; he was intimidating enough in full armor…swinging a weapon made everyone think twice.

Then Vlad kicked open the door and threw the bag. It exploded in goo, immediately covering the blitzed out Cutthroats that lazed within.

Vlad drew Grungronazharr and put it against the nearest gang member’s throat. “I want to ask you a few questions.” [MORE]


posted by Michael Tresca at 7:19 AM

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