Warcradle Scenics: Myskham Einzelsets

Das Myskham Town Set wird von Warcradle nun auch in Einzelteilen verkauft.

Fire Station

Myskham has a tendency for dampness and so the chances of an inferno raging through the town are slim. Still, a fire station is a part of any good city’s infrastructure. Most are well kept and staffed with volunteers eager to do their part, even if that part is mostly waiting around, playing cards to pass the time.

Station 53, however, is another story. The folks that look after this part of town are kept surprisingly busy. The lack of police in the area means the people manning this station have to deal with more than just their fair share of unexplained fires. Breaking up fights, missing people, and sightings of things that can’t be explained. At least that is what the limited paperwork suggests. Could it be that the firefighters of Station 53 are keeping secrets of their own?

The Elder Sign

 

The Elder Sign, while not an imposing site, is certainly a local place for local people. Roger Prendergast was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. Not that he could see the passing of time from the broken clock on the wall.

He nursed his drink. Roger had never tried moonshine before but he had the distinct impression that this was it. He was careful not to spill any for fear of stripping the polish from his shoes.

Despite keeping to himself, he couldn’t help but hear the murmuring coming from the other patrons. It seemed to be an older local dialect, almost unchanged by the passing of time. As if this particular part of town didn’t have access to the outside world, or at least chose not to recognise it. Almost everyone here was stocky, with wrinkled leathery skin, assumedly a product of the local canning factory pumping god-knows-what into the air.

Roger Prendergast hoped his car wouldn’t take much longer to fix. He dreaded the thought of staying for the night.

Subway Station

Most parts of Myskham were connected to the subway system and of those most were perfectly fine to use. Folks living their daily lives, commuting to work, without anything untoward bothering them. There was one station however, on the outskirts of town, that lay unused.

Even by the ne’er-do-wells that called that derelict part of town their home. The rumours were many and varied as to why. Rats the size of dogs, a hideout for a gang of escaped prisoners, unstable architecture that would have it collapse at a moment’s notice.

One deluded person even suggested it was flooded and home to a race of fish people. One thing no one could deny though, was that noise. When all else was quiet, a haunting wail echoed from that mouth to the subterranean world. That was enough to keep anyone away.

Town House

Rows upon rows of terraces criss-cross this part of Myskham. While the boom of industry was strong, town planners thought they could set themselves up for a massive profit by luring workers to this part of town with affordable housing.

They may have put profits ahead of building quality and size but surely they could make a fortune once the houses were full of young families looking for a place to stay. Unfortunately for their profit margins, those already living in the location, as well as the foul smelling fish canning factories that they were to provide workers to, scared their potential workforce off.

The investors can’t afford to put rent up and a good deal of the current inhabitants aren’t even in the system. What began as an experimental company town, has now become a chaotic warren of buildings with some families having access to two or three houses as they knock walls down and convert some areas into communal spaces. The original architects would barely recognise the place.

Urban Scatter

A small, bug-eyed child kicked a can past the Grapevine newsstand. Old magazines whipped around his legs in the cold breeze. String-tied packages of newspapers lay mouldering on the sidewalk.

Folks around here didn’t think much of the city boys and their fake news. They spread information by talking. The gossip among these inhabitants of Myskham spread from house to house faster than a truck could deliver a paper. Those with a suspicious mind might think it was a little too fast to travel, almost as if there was something unnatural going on. Of course, that was impossible. Wasn’t it?

Automobile

While not everyone in Myskham has an automobile, they are quickly becoming commonplace. Even the less savoury parts of the city have got their fair share of vehicles. If you were to ask the locals, few would admit to owning one though.

Most of the automobiles in this part of town are abandoned. Some argue that it’s easier for criminals to lose stolen cars in this part of town thanks to the limited police presence, other folks have less pleasant reasons.

They argue that the civilised citizens of Myskham who end up on the wrong side of town just leave their rides where they are rather than having to deal with anyone with the ‘Myskham look’. Few people like to think of the more dangerous reasons that cars without owners are seen in this part of the city.

Quelle: Warcradle Studio Blog