The Brokeland Blues: A Shadow Run Chronicle
The Story: As Told by John
“Did you know that (once upon time) five years before 2072’s Reawakening, the small, urban district of Yolan was the heart of the musical Electric Bohemian Jazz revolution. This blend of Bohemian, willowy song with mixed with the fast beat of synth & free-style jazz was played directly into the mind jacks of concert goers. Created a following of “Bo-Junkees” who found the new sensation as freeing them from their shitty, little lives as it was addicting. This combined with elaborate laser-light displays, holograms, and legally drug-laced fog machines brought instant success to the new born genre.
Musicians from all over the world came to hear the likes of Beat Street Elvis, The Fat Boys Bungaloo, and Sammy Slag. All of them were gods in their time, and the city prospered in ways economists couldn’t (like so many other monetary phenomena) figure out. It was a musical uprising not unlike 1969’s Woodstock was untouched by the corporate mentality.
For five years, Yolan saw great times. Families moved in, neighborhoods were filled with neighbors again and things were good. Stores of all kinds popped up and there was a cornucopia commerce to be had. The resulting population explosion saw a the potential for prolonged business and greater success. Sadly, it was not to last.
In 2072, the world saw the Reawakening. All sorts of crazy shit happened: magic came back, the ‘puberty talk’ got a whole hell a lot more complicated, and dragons (fucking DRA-GONS) suddenly became a real thing. They weren’t very happy about the stuffed plush toys, either. Thought it demeaning.
Anyway, so magic comes back and suddenly the Neo-Neo-Neo Bohemian revolution isn’t such hot shit anymore. Oddly, the resulting wars and turmoil didn’t kill the movement. That barely touched us here outside of the time a few hobos lit themselves on fire trying to take down the town hall with magic.
No, the killer here was newer music; the magi-punk rockers with their flame-shooting eyes and the newest-age-slam-metal rockers’ faerie eating antics (until the Corporate Court thought it might be nice if faeries had basic rights) took the wind right out out of the sails of love and togetherness. Still, there was a scene here for the next twenty or so years. Eventually Bohemian Jazz died and the town died with it.
Music shops closed down, so did the musi-chip makers, and the tutors. The bigger businesses uprooted and ‘strategically consolidated’ their resources just in time for the corporation wars. Now some of them came back, but not with same force or interest. We buy their shit, but they don’t care about it. Just more leaves on the money tree to them.
Hell, Trumpet Tantrum saw more greats walk through its doors than many cities. Sammy Slag is said to have sat next to Beat Street Elvis the night the latter died of alcohol poisoning and drug overdose. Suicide or some shit.
Now all that’s left is a few of the less niche stores fighting for their lives as gangs from all walks of life shake either shake them down for cash or burn them up for not paying. More houses are shuttered from foreclosure than weather. Nobody is anybody’s friend anymore, and bad shit’s happenin’ to everybody, not just the good guys.
Yolan was once the third-best place to live. Now, thanks poor decisions, crocked mayors, and underhanded business deals ‘Brokeland’ can’t even scrounge zip code envy from a maximum security prison."