TheNexusProject/CronesStreet
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Crones' Street
by OhJames
- "DON'T talk to me about that place! It's so grey and dull and... ugh! I need another drink. Make that a double, actually."
- Phylla Desiris, socialite and inept seamstress.
- "In love, eh? Well kid, let me tell you about love. Love is like... love is like a bitter shard of glass, covered in the rotting feces of forsaken bastards, suspended over your heart by a thread and the thread is fraying..."
- conversation between a long-time resident and newcomer, overheard on Crones' Street.
- "Could I move out? Yes. But I'll stay here, where nothing changes and nothing stays the same, thank you very much."
- Dullum the Apathetic philosopher and cynic, upon being asked whether he might be happier in a different locale.
Crones' Street is an eerie stretch of cobbles near the fashionable section of Cinnabar. It is always clean, though no one can seem to remember who does the cleaning, and is distinctly quieter than the surrounding avenues. The sunlight is dappled, flickering with a filmy radiance, regardless of the the actual cloud cover. Rains are common, even when the rest of Nexus is dry, but the rains on Crones' Street are drawn-out, drizzling affairs, as if the heavens themselves are weary and inattentive. The wind bustles about like an elderly amnesiac, barely mustering up enough strength to whistle across the bare branches of the trees that line the street.
Between the trees are those things which give Crones' Street the majority of its reputation. They are statues, hewn roughly from grey marble veined with chalky limestone, and each one is a caricature of the human form. The statues are all different, and all depict different emotions and actions. The most famous statue is of a man and woman sharing a passionate kiss that should be romantic and arousing to its viewers but somehow, though the expressions on the faces and the clever way which the bodies are positioned, leaves art appreciators unsure and troubled. The statue, and all the others on the street, viciously mock the human condition, ridiculing love and despair, passion and indifference.
Because of this constant degradation of the human spirit, only the burnt-out, the despairing elderly, and the die-hard cynics of Nexus ever choose to reside here. Idealists and romantics quickly pack up and leave or have their high-minded notions ground to dust by residents who are only too happy to let them in on "how it really is." Bright colors are frowned upon and, indeed, seem to fade at a surprising rate among the gray statues and naked trees of this depressing boulevard. Even the bright colors of Cobblepaint Avenue are dulled when they cross Crones' Street, although they resume their brilliance about twenty paces away from the intersection.
Several years ago, certain residents of the surrounding areas took it upon themselve to "cheer up" Crones' Street. Within three weeks of work and life on the street itself, four had committed suicide, twelve had turned to heavy drinking, three to mind-altering substances, and one had embarked on his path to becoming the regarded, and deeply cynical, philosopher and poet Dullum the Apathetic.
Rumours
- Crones' Street's statues are vicious pieces of Anathema sorcery and they are creating the miasma of cynicism in an effort to weaken all of Nexus in preparation for an invasion. The statues' influence will spread until all of Nexus is under its sway.
- Those well-meaning people, who just wanted to spruce up that depressing place, didn't give in to drugs or drinking or commit suicide. They were murdered by those jaded cynics who object to anything even slightly good and wholesome.
Secret
- During the Fair Folk invasion of Hollow following the Great Contagion, several unformed raksha danced across Crones' Street, back then called Laughing Maiden Avenue. The raksha were driven off when the Empress activated Creation's defenses, but not before they had eaten up the street's very heart. The god of Laughing Maiden Avenue, having lost her heart, broke down, giving in to age and infirmity, and letting her domain fall into dreadful disrepair, spirtually speaking. Gradually, the once-beautiful statues twisted and decayed into their current state and the street gained its depressing aura. The god of Crones' Street, who has forgotten even her own name now, is the one who cleans up.
