 |
| Welcome to the Machine. Art By: Me |
Author's Note:
Well folks, this is the idea I
have been working on for the past week, a follow-up to my Noir
Weights setting (LINK). This mini-setting is based on the music of:
Nick Cave, Warren Zevon, Tom Waits, and Pink Floyd. What you see
below is an outline of the fluff I plan on including in the setting,
I will also be including a bunch of stats for baddies, equipment, and
divine intervention in the final product. I have also included some
of the pictures I have been working on to illustrate this setting. As
always, I would dig your input. At the end of the post I have
included YouTube links to the particular songs that have acted as
inspiration for the setting.
I have been very remiss in thanking folks for the support they have been
giving me. I am bad at communicating with folks in general, which can
come off as being dismissive of their presence in my life and work, this
could not be further from the truth. I am truly lucky to have people
such as yourself read and look at my work, I can't write thank you
enough to express the amount of joy it gives me to know that there are
folks out there who appreciate the insane stuff I make.
 |
| One of the many factory facilities. Just a quick sketch. Art By: Me |
A Place of
Industry and Smoke
Welcome my son
Welcome to the
machine
What did you
dream?
It's alright, we
told you what to dream...
- Pink Floyd
How'd you get here,
to this awful place of smoke, oil, and rust? Perhaps through strange
passages, following the scent of runoff and careless industry? Maybe
you saw the smoke on the horizon, filling the eastern sky from where
you stood in your Eden, and followed a seldom walked road? In the
end, the how might not be so important. The why, however...
There can only
really be one of two why's: curiosity or desperation. Rumor can be a
powerful thing, pushing someone to travel far beyond familiar
territory with the promise of wealth and stories to tell. More
powerful though, are the cries of children and loved ones from empty
bellies and bare feet on broken roads. Factory City offers
fulfillment to both motivations through costs as firm as iron.
At These City
Gates:
Everyone is greeted
by the same sight, giant neon letters of welcome over the titanic,
grinning face of the current Factory Head. As years go on, the faces
change, but they always bear the same qualities: over fed, empty
eyed, a grin of self-satisfaction, and smoke that pours from eyes,
nose, ears, and mouth that never seems to stain the 'skin'. These
heads have made a career of creating filth that never seems to get
them dirty. The heads set on towers of pipes and tubes, pumping forth
product to spew into the air.
Beneath the head, a
giant cement pipe that acts as the only entrance into the city, red
tinged light spilling from the way's terminus. As the roads progress
towards this grand gate of industry, more and more junk begins to
line their sides until they form ten-foot high walls of rust-plated
junk. Though the Factory may have discarded these machines, one might
still find useful parts to scavenge.
If you were to go
here, you would only be one of hundreds; thousands if the economy is
bad. People tend to form groups with strangers, the fear felt in
their first sight of the city enough to push aside any wariness of
the outsider, yet not enough to still their march towards steady pay.
Those that come to this place are desperate enough to brave bad
situations that are as obvious as the sun.
 |
| Tried to draw one of the workers using color and shape more than lines, kinda meh about it. Art By: Me |
Packed in Like
Sardines:
Workers come from
all ages, colors, and sexes, the factory doesn't discriminate. Here,
the elderly (having been robbed of pensions) and children (having
been robbed of any childhood) sit together, hands and fingers moving
with mechanical efficiency.
Paid half in company
script and half in the script of their choice, these workers toil
their mandatory 42-hour work weeks only to spend their days off
wandering the tight concrete halls of the factory. Occasionally,
these leisure seekers might find Doctor Caligari and his strange
Cabinet in a room few remember being there the day before. Other
times, they might find the Owl Cinema or Madam Xaviera's Mechanical
Brothel. These short periods of distraction give the worker enough
strength for another week of shifts.
When done with their
day's entertainment, they may go a company store to purchase varies
necessities with their pay, or send off their 'real' money to needful
loved ones; oddly, the company is very diligent when it comes to this
task, theft of these funds never ends well for the thief.
At the end of the
day, the worker plods their way back to a small room packed with
their few belongings. Laying in bed, the worker might stare up at the
speaker that will wake them all too soon, before they succumb to
their too familiar exhaustion.
 |
| A quick sketch of one of the strange furnaces that powers Factory City. Art By: Me |
Come See My
Wares...
Outside of the items
within the company store, few know what else is made in this city
sized factory. According to the flow of rumor, only the highest in
the company structure know exactly what is made in the factory. Each
worker who is responsible for assembly only combines smaller parts of
a whole, with the parts being incomprehensible alone and together.
Who, or what puts together the final product, no one knows and is
worked too hard to care.
Each shift, for the
progress of industry never ceases, workers move to their stations,
passing worn toilers on their way out. They take their places, the
'cushy' position having metal seats the rest being required to stand.
Looking down for hours, they assemble their work, stopping only for a
short lunch and for the end of the day's toil.
Beneath This
Metal Skin...
Not all runs perfect
and well in this Factory City, and the workers must appeal to greater
forces.
 |
| Designed and directed by his red right hand. Art By: Me |
Management
The only official
higher power is the company, and its representatives. Here, the
worker is encouraged to come to their Production Manager for work
related issues, or their Residential Manager for everything else.
Despite being just a cog in an endless line of management positions,
a Manager wields considerable power, for they can call in the 'Red
Hands' when things get too 'disorderly'.
The Red Hands are
company security, secret police, and strike breakers all rolled into
one organization. Dressing in worker coveralls with added armor and
helmets like welder's masks, their truly defining feature is their
red right hands. Always looking as if covered with wet paint, these
hands are capable of causing pain that transcends the screaming of
nerves and flesh. Just as easily, they can bring pleasure and
healing, the hands can give you want you want as long as you play by
the rules.
 |
| One of the manifestations of Our Lady of Neon. Picture Totally Not By Me |
Divine
Hidden in forgotten
alcoves, empty warehouses, and abandoned control rooms one might find
shrines to little divinities attended to by workers in their off
hours. Despite being disorganized out of a need to stay hidden,
Management doesn't take kindly to other forms of authority, there is
an accepted pantheon within Factory City. Mister Grins, Our Lady of
Neon, The Quick-Fingered Kid, and Mister Stitches are but a few in
this strange family of industrial gods.
Little alters are
piled with the deity's favorite offerings in the hopes of gaining
their attention. However, these offerings are merely a down-payment
for their services, everything in this city comes with a hard price.
Crime
When the divine and
official powers are ineffective, one can always go to 'The Headless'.
The Headless are a cross between a labor union and a gang, wearing
red scarves around their necks and black headbands; these items
symbolizing the blood stump of a neck and the empty space above it.
Founded by a man
named Roland, they began as a union demanding better pay and working
conditions. Unfortunately, he was beheaded by a trusted friend named
Van Owen, this betrayal forming the basis for their name.
Now, they act as
minor saboteurs and contraband runners as a way of combating
Management. If you have the script or coin to pay for their constant
war with the Red Hands, The Headless can be of assistance.
Musical
Influences
Pink Floyd –
Welcome to the Machine: YouTube Link
Warren Zevon –
Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner: YouTube Link
Nick Cave and the
Bad Seeds – Red Right Hand: YouTube Link
Tom Waits – The
Earth Died Screaming: YouTube Link
No comments:
Post a Comment