"The Orange Moon Rises.
The gravel crunches beneath your feet.
The sun has just set.
Ahead of you, the full moon rises, glowing a soft orange.
A blue haze rises from below it.
"Descended of our father,
Born in a place of rain,
The ones who used to dwell here,
She will raise them again."
On a clear day you can still see the spot where Bill Finger's body hit the water. He wrote those funny books that put this city on the map and if you have no idea who I'm talking about then it's because his partner is the one who got all the credit. I guess that's what led to the argument that ended with Bob Kane throwing poor Billie into the drink. But that's what you get when you expect two creative types to share credit. So Bill Finger gets a quiet unremembered funeral and Bobbie Namesakes gets ten years and the bridge named after him.
This city has a funny way of honouring its monsters. Even the ones who draw funny books that make us look like a bunch of ineffectual buffoons. Let me tell you, life does not imitate art. It does not in any way, shape or form resemble the picturesque fantasy Bob Kane and Bill Finger would have you believe. There are no men of steel. No dark knight detectives. Just a thin blue line between order and chaos, between sanity and madness, between Gotham and a world of darkness.
In the days of long past it has always been known that those who fiddle with the fates have the fates fiddle with them. That was when the loom was still visible. Now it is up to those who take it upon themselves to try keep in place the balance, the order, the healthy cycle of life and death, good and evil. Many players try to enter the game of unsettling the scales of balance, you have just been recruited to try rebalance the scales.