d20 Nocturnes in Paris en Plus (C&S)

Not-quite-encounters for use as inspiration, perhaps in combination with a carousing (or encounter) table when recounting or resolving a scene in play, sort of local flavour. Or four d5 tables that get weirder, then more normal at the end. Inspired by Chagall's paintings of Paris. The streets of Paris en Plus are strangers at night.

I love Chagall. Just skip the table and pick something from here, it's so wonderful.

1. The moon below: The moon's thin reflection lights this dingy alley, faceted in shallow puddles between the cobbles.
2. The buildings: Curved around you impossibly, the landmarks of the city. Beautiful old stonework, turned monochrome by the moonlight. A cat sits at each door, eyes unblinking, whiskers sharp and long as rapiers. They don't meow if disturbed and walking through a doorway places you at (d5+10)
3. The candlelit fork: A friendly ass's face on a person's body, arm raised in greeting. Carries a pitchfork, candles affixed to each prong. The light seems to pass right through them.
4. The high piper: A towering woman in short tartan dress, skin pale and unblemished. Plays a harsh tune on her pipe, never stopping for breath. She reeks of church smoke. A crowd of penitents drift alongside her, contemplative. 'Follow her light' they say again and again.
5. The playing angel and her prophet: A shining yellow body half-prostrated, eyes towards the heavens. Gaudy flowers on their dress, a bag filled with coins at their side, and shards of smashed vases around their feet. An angel sings unseen at their ear, a viol at its fingers.

It's Paris. En Plus.

6. The lovers and the muse: Two bodies placed together, skin touching but never pressing. Beautiful faces, cast in sunlight despite the night. Their boat rests on the water's surface, fragile to disturbance. The prow is the neck and strings of a cello. Invisible, a muse plays upon it, enchanting the pair.
7. The lovers head and toe: Lovers slowly ambling, one walking on her hands. Weathered faces and threadbare clothes. Smiling constant at one another, dead silent. Their limbs sag slightly at the joints.
8. The lovers in the muddy night: Clung to each other, two bodies laying in a filthy alley. They flash clean toothy smiles at you, their clothes are unblemished despite the dark and the dirt. They offer you drink in a bottlecap, a strong minty spirit.
9. The lovers drowned beside the bridge: Limp bodies holding each other past death, skin bloated and fraying from the water. Their dress is opposite, one bright where the others is dark. The darkly dressed one tilts slowly away from the other, the redhead, down the slope of the riverbank.
10. The walking bird: Eyes closed, a large soft bird gracefully strolling ahead. Feathers so small as to be fur-like. she whistles breathily. Nearby, a shadowy kennel, the dogs howling to her nostalgic tune.

This is what it's all about.

11. The troubadours: One plucks at her fiddle, bright pips of sound. One blows on panpipes, a sound like haunted winds. One drums to your heartbeat, asks to exchange- 'let me play upon your heart- what I give you will never be broken'.
12. The devil and his chorus: 'Far from home Sir' come the cries of soot-boys and business owners. He only laughs deep, rests his head against the fiddle, and starts to play. Cofeehouses reopen as wine dens, players flock with strings and pipes, others join the song with voice or dance. Torchlight flickers with the frenzy, flaring at moments of ecstasy.
13. The detective's fiddle: A face rushing past you, pausing, doubling back. Honest eyes, hair greyed at both sides, a flat expression clamped atop an anxious voice- 'My fiddle, have you seen it?'. A hard lacquered case further down the avenue, empty.
14. The saint in the sky: An orb of light, floating, a face within it. Half formed, skin stretched taut over angular features, the mouth too low almost on its neck. Talks to you in a voice like a shout heard from a long distance- 'Romance will get you-' it's mouth doesn't move as it speaks- 'there is a truer love. let go of this illusion.' Shuts its eyes, eyebrows fall.
15. The music of lights: A grand swath of players, soft and floppy faces all, a narrow aisle between each great group. As the music swells, the aisles widen, the musicians crumpling in on themselves. Dancers rush into the wider aisles, a different colour of dress in each. From red's indulgent waltzes to blue's frenetic galliards, each group's music drifts and changes as the aisles grow.

More late Chagall <3

16. The bridge: Built from dull metal, a marvel of these times. Enough weight placed at the centre and each half turns downward, granting room for tall boats' exit.
17. The moon above: High above you, the moon. A perfect circle sinking in the sky, a brace of stars supporting. Dusty with craters. Losing yourself in her, gentle music echoes in your ears.
18. The river: Wrapped around you, soft and comforting. Wrinkled, strangely warm. You don't want to leave it but you know you must.
19. The boat: A welcoming sight, white wood in a common design. Long enough to lay down in, but only that. Rocks gently against the bank with your breaths.
20. The played: A discarded cello, resting on its side, the bow still working strange incessant arpeggios from its old, outdated body.