the following is the begginings of a Silent Hill Online Rollplaying Game that unfortunatly dwindled out. Based on the responce here, I plan on extending this into an entire story. everyone omments and suggestions are welcom

Enjoy! :D

Character Name: Nomad Fox

Desc:

Not a lot is know about Nomad's origins except that his parent's were both killed in a fire during a vacation in Eastern Europe. Somehow, he falls into the care of Gypsies who raise him as one of their own.

After awhile he grows bored of Europe and decides to travel to his homeland, America, where apparently all the action is (he's around 16 now)

He spends the next few years hitchhiking across the country supporting himself by doing oddjobs and small art commissions (Painting storefronts and such). He also shows a knack for finding things (lost dogs, runaways, drunk uncles, etc)

During this period, he goes threw some odd business with the self proclaimed 1st Emperor of America.

After that was settled, he seemed to became a magnet for things on the fringes (him being a packrat probably didn't help matter either with all the little trinkets he picked up. His inner coat is riddled with pockets) which forced him to study basic alchemy and ancient religions to deal with some of the odd situations that happen to arise.

While exploring old underground Detroit he discovered a hidden cavern in the old museum of antiquities containing an odd two headed blade. he now wears the two halves of blade in sheathes concealed in is sleeves.

He doesn't know much about it except that it's design looks like a cross between ancient Japanese and Mayan weapons. He has also heard rumors and things that imply that it is enchanted. (Unfortunately, This doesn't exactly help matters either)

Eventually he decided that he might as well be making a profit off his actions so he set up a small Private Investigations firm in Santa Cruz as a front for his operations.

Sin: as he was leaving his makeshift "office" one evening, a well dressed man approached him with an envelope containing train tickets, Photos of an odd looking Blue gemstone and $1000 in twenties. The man said that he represented one "Alexander Crombie", who wished to hire Nomad to locate an artifact called the Channeling Stone. The tickets would take him to a small resort town named Silent Hill, where the stone was last reported to have been seen.

It is snowing. Ick. You can't stand the cold. You glance around, searching for an escape from the wretched whiteness. Suddenly you are struck down by the massive wave of emotion. The sky blackens. The world turns to the color of old blood. Shadows dance across your vision ..... dogs and children and baby dragons... you try and back away and yet you are unable to take your eyes off the oddly disjointed play of the ..... No, not light... something entirely different. There is a sudden sensation of movement. You look up just in time to watch the inky blackness quickly rush in and overtake you. You attempt to scream, and yet, no sound passes through your lips.

SSKSKKSKRRIIEISTCH---*

Nomad's head jerked up as the airbrakes squealed.
"Must have fallen asleep," he muttered to himself. End of the line. Apparently he was the last one to get off the car. He made his way to the door trying to ignore the eerie silence. "appropriate name," he remarked to anyone who could hear him.
The platform turned out to be empty too. "Now this is just ridiculous" Wait, there was one person, a large man in an inky trenchcoat and hat stood at the far end of the platform under an overhang. Nomad started toward him for lack of any better ideas. though by the time he got to the place where he saw the man, there was no one. "What the hell!?" He glanced around the area. There was no where he could have gone. Being paranoid by nature, he checked to see if his blades were secure. After a long nothing, he sighed, "Better get this thing over with." he muttered as he headed for the door. Nomad suddenly shivered uncontrollably, he had just realized that it had started snowing.

He had been wandering the streets for almost half an hour now, and had yet to see another living thing. It was as if everyone just decided to up and leave town. Abruptly too, judging by the half eaten burgers and fry's littering the tables of the Burger Queen he just passed. He snagged a few of the unopened juice bottles he found, seeing no reason for the stuff to go to waste, and doubting that he'd be able to find much else in the way of sustenance. He decided to leave the seemingly untouched food because, hell, for all he knew, the towns people may have been devoered by some carnivorous bacterium in the food supply. Impossible sounding maybe, but... experience has often proven otherwise. Besides, cold fries are gross. Come to think of it, he should probably stay away from the water too.

shhhhhhhhhhhshshhtshhhhhhhhhhhshshhtshhhhs

Nomad jumped. After all the eerie silence, the sudden sound startled him. It seemed to be coming from that alley across the street. As he got closer, the heavy white noise gradually faded into music. The song was Sweet Dreams. The Marilyn Manson cover version it turned out. Too bad, he liked the original Eurythmics tune. Manson just made it sound so....not really bleak, it was like looking at the song distorted through a dusty funhouse mirror. heh, it reminded him of this lakeside resort he now stood in. It was like a messed up Marilyn Manson cover version of whatever this Silent Hill place really was. Nomad caught himself suddenly. How do you "look" at a song? This town was starting to get to him.

He reached the end of the Alley and searched for the source of the song. The music was certainly stronger here.

There.

Tucked next to a few black trashbags sat an old crank up phonograph. Odd, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen of those outside a museum. Nomad walked closer. Sure enough, the record was spinning. The disk was unlabeled but the song was unmistakable. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck as it suddenly hit him that somebody had to have cranked UP the stupid thing. Mentally kicking himself for walking in to a potential trap, he ducked behind a rank smelling dumpster and scanned the immediate area.

The snow swirled around him, partially obscuring his vision.

Nomad could have sworn that he caught a silhouette at the entrance of the alleyway, but when he looked again it was gone.