Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20170125214247/@comment-5543592-20170126220232

(Alright we'll start now that everyone has posted.  Remember that we're waiting for Red though.)

The sky was in a downpour. To those familiar with the Royal Wasteland, this was nothing unusual. Seattle was almost in a constant state of rain. It rained every which way in Seattle, with little rhyme or reason.

The sun would’ve set the wasteland awash in a golden glow, if it had been visible, as it hung high in the sky, signaling the hour of the day as noon. However, it was blocked by heavy gray clouds, that were still and did not appear in any hurry to leave.

The patter of the rain dulled any noise or bustle the wasteland might have on a day like this. There never was much, traffic between settlements was small and most who patrolled the city streets belonged to a military of some sort. But the soft sound of rain landing on pavement, echoing up and down streets and bouncing off of buildings, highlighted just how empty this city was.

The echoes raced down the streets, between the skyscrapers of the inner city, out to the more residential distracts, where Pioneer Square lay, and beyond. In the woodlands beyond Seattle, the rain wasn’t an eerie remind of how the vast majority of the earth was empty, but a nuisance that created mud and obscured one’s vision as a fog dropped into the valleys on the slopes of the Cascades. Seattle was chilly, and this autumn was chillier than most, and foretold of a frigid, unforgiving winter to come.

The echoing rain was like the mournful sigh of a dying man as it ran up and down the city streets. Otherwise, it was absent of sound. The Emerald City lay quiet. But not for long.

In Queen Anne’s Hill, the neighborhood sat vacant and ruined, aside from one house at the far end of a cul-de-sac, where light shown out of the windows, as if to welcome visitors.

At Fort Lawton, the machines that inhabited it seemed to be at work, as if something had caught their attention.

On the road from Mt. Hood, a man lay, a bullet wound in his back, bleeding his life out into the mud.

A man sits on the highest hill of Robert House National Park, messing with some kind of contraption.

And in the downtown of Seattle, beneath the shadow of the Space Needle, a girl cries for her mother.