Notes:

The thief raced across the rooftops in the howling rain. He didn’t know about angels, but it was fear that gave men wings…

Upon seeing the party enter the room, the tiefling at the desk threw her arms wide and declared: “Ah, dearest of all my friends, welcome!”…

It was at this point that the party realised they should have probably started asking more questions a few hundred fireballs back…

As she stood over the body slowly cooling in the bedroom, she wondered if she had the chance to do it again, she’d stop and do it differently. Of course, she wouldn’t. Call it fate or destiny or whatever, but the truth is there was no choice. If you chose a different option, then you would not be you. You’d be someone else…

The Hill Giants stormed the front gate. It was a dumb move, but these were dumb move guys…

The Blackguard snorted and spat “Well isn’t it the great Ilmaterian saviours of the poor”…

In a maddening scrawl across the alley’s walls were the words “The Flesh of Fallen Angels” and “Mirrors are more fun than scrying”…

The pleasure palace reeked of stale wine, body oil and greed…

Firing a bow is a binary choice. You either do, or you don’t…

If you ever need help setting a gritty mood or are running a Noir-themed game and get stuck on how to describe things, I'd highly recommend adapting Max Payne's writing style.

It just works so well.