reasonsmysoniscrying: In the ruined post-apocalyptic landscape still decimated by the Great Water Wa
reasonsmysoniscrying: In the ruined post-apocalyptic landscape still decimated by the Great Water Wars of 2143, a lone saddled mammoth emerges from the radioactive dust…. its rider, wrapped in loose-fitting robes that hide his hideously deformed frame, unmounts. Digging through the burned and picked over rubble, a rusted street sign bearing the words “East Avenue” creaks ominously in a breeze so faint that it is otherwise unnoticeable. Skin sloughs off boney fingers as he meticulously picks past debris, discarded by previous generations of herdsman - hoping to find something they missed. The mammoth stamps softly - out of impatience or fear. Night is descending quickly and being this alone, this far from the clan is foolish at best - a death sentence at worst. Suddenly the birds leap from the dunes in a noisy cacophony of fear - and The Rider feels it. It’s another round of Frack Tremors - and this one feels worse than the others. Diving atop a long-ago-burned hibernation capsule (the closest thing to high-ground he could find on such short notice), he pulls his face scarf tight. The mammoth roars in surprise, breaks its lead (worn thin from exposure to the sun and arid air), and lopes off in the direction of the Cobb’s Hill blast crater, hoping to find some water, protection, or companionship in its depths. The Rider groans in dismay and curses his own foolish arrogance. “Surely this day cannot get any worse”, he thinks to himself. It was at that moment the universe proved yet again what cruel disdain it felt for this lowly and forgotten man - the tremor hit its height and a fissure burst open in the sand below. Methane Flames lick his hardened skin as the ground swallows his capsule - and with it his hopes. Hurtling downward into the newly opened sand cavern, he lands with a rough thud. Lying motionless he takes stock of his new wounds. Slowly testing each limb - he is pleasantly surprised to find that they are all still working, more or less. Hopefully back at the village Teach Saydack has something in her Bo'k of Hea'th that will help her mend his finger’s sickening new bend. Dragging himself to his feet, he can hardly believe his eyes. FOOD. Hundreds and hundreds of feet of food. Most of it rusted and ruined by the ravages of time, but his eyes scan for it. The elixir. Surely there MUST be some here, in this vast place. THERE! THERE IT IS! He races as fast as his famine-weakened legs will allow. This is the find of the century! Jug after jug of sticky sweet currency. His clan will be rich beyond all imagination! He grabs as many jugs as his sack will hold and races up the pile of debris for the dim-light of the small opening. If he can just obscure it from prying eyes and get back to the clan for reinforcements, all of this can be theirs and theirs alone. The Rider was so caught up in his dreams of new wealth and what this could mean for his family, he almost didn’t hear it. The clinking of chains, the low growl of a Coywolfbear, and the eerie cackle of its toothless owner. Compared to the syrup he was holding, the Rider knew his life was worth little - and that for his family to survive, he’d have to be the one doing the killing. Gritting his teeth and reaching for his crossbow, he was about to give Rasmargin and his men a sweet surprise…. -- source link