Forces of the unknown have caused our world to merge/combine with a typical (or not-so-typical) fantasy world. Old world governments have managed to hold on to major urban and suburban areas, but rural areas range from fragile peace to complete chaos. People and towns from either side suddenly find themselves in a new realm, and portals going between both worlds are scattered throughout the lands.
The old worlds are gone, and two new worlds are in their place. Our side of a SHTF hellhole, and the other side of a untouched land of endless fantastical possibility. Be a STALKER, adventurer, hero, or bandit. The new world is yours.
This is fan/k/sia, and you're here forever.
>writegays:
Send a message to [email protected] if you want to have your story archived
>inb4 "No Fun Allowed"
-You don't have to browse this thread
-Whining about the thread won't stop the people posting shit on it from posting shit
>The fricking sticky
https://www.4binz.org/382
Threadly Question: What kind of music will you bring to the other side?
Classic rock, country, and nightcore.
can I get a based?
(bossa nova, classic rock, funk)
I'd say Dio, but he's probably already over there waiting for us.
who tf is dio
Literally one of the most important figures in rock and Metal history. He invented, with like two other guys, everything that Metal was until screaming morons rebranded "Hardcore punk with thrash guitar" as "Metal" and tried to pretend the past didn't exist.
For frick's sake Dio invented the "Horns" hand gesture you uncultured philistine. Without Dio Metal was just hard rock blues crossover.
%3D
>who tf is dio
ayayaye, next he'll ask what a Van Halen is.
tfw blaring The Highwaymen's Highway man from the comfort of my Willy's MB jeep
I do like these long road trips from FOB to FOB. Being a well armed mailman has its perks, I just hope I don't get the New Vegas treatment.
Rock, heavy metal, classical, and edm. If there's some cute barbarian/orc girls I'll bring some death metal too. I feel like they'd appreciate Amon Amarth
Lyube, Boomer music, Hardstyle, Nightcore, Eban'ko.
STOP BEING FRICKING LATE OP JESUS FU-
Bon Jovi.
The holy trinity of Sabaton, Powerwolf, and Demon Hunter
Ye’s entire catalog
BMSS
Is their music supposed to sound like it was recorded in a basement? Honest question?
which song are you listening to?
If its from Symbols of Great Power or Panzerwitch then yes
I'm pretty sure it WAS recorded in a basement.
Excellent choice
my choice for shock attacks and lightning raids
Black hand is very good, but I like The Power the most
A superior setting would be (what has become) standard high fantasy, just need to find a way to not make it cliched garbage. Its difficult to do that but make it more about normal people going about their days and stories like Saint George and the Dragon or poems like The Witch by C.S. Lewis where there is real evil thats black and white and everybody who comes across it is either oppressed by it or works together to destroy it
dungeon synth, obviously.
Bardcore and Stratovarius, the plan is gaslight the fantasy world peasants that the lyrics are based in our world's historical people
I strap an elf to a chair and put a pair of headphones on her, then turn on a loop of some of the most painful to listen to songs from LISA: The Painful and walk away, I never go back to where I tied her up, she'll be trapped there until she dies of dehydration (which I imagine is absurdly long for elves) or until someone else rescues her.
>Twelve years post opening.
>The F-16's on the flightline began spooling again today, Wire and Lizard hovered off the line for a daytime flight, unusual for them and their kind.
>F-15's likewise ran jet fuel starters with whirring sounds that seemed as though they were the world's largest and loudest vacuum cleaners before they finally began to spin up.
>four squadrons of legacy Hornets and 7 of legacy Super Hornets, the entirety of the last of the flightworthy in existence were the only planes to emit a sound that seemed in place, as the jet-engine like whine of their APUs populated segments of the airfield.
>Today's operations was the last of a series of shakedowns. The mass maintenance program had appeared mostly successful, rejuvinating 3/4 of Lecleria based former US Aerial force assets. After a series of simplistic performance tests the aircraft would re-route to perform a series of massive strikes on a mercenary army that had come south from Norkaria.
>According to signals sent from locations of minute seismic activity and strange radio transmissions, they were known for committing genocide and rape across the lands they travelled, and usually indiscriminately.
>They were thought by the reporting parties, apparently a ship in orbit and a set of super-heavy land assets, to be an enormous walking orgy that killed all men who did not join and raped their wives.
>A unanimous vote was held among the outcasts of the field, many of whom had at least partly integrated into nearby towns and villages to batter the force in a display of violence not seen since the second great mistaken war, when the world of old was given to the malicious powers which would cast them out, believing he march across the gate to be one straight forth unto death.
Big band. A new world full of purpose should not know the depressive morass of the music of the dissolute.
It ain't what you do
>Aircraft began to roll down the runway, attack helicopters hovered or rolled as necessary to begin their courses, cargo choppers laden with fuel began their tracks to rendezvous points that would serve as FARPs for attack choppers to extend to their targets just beneath the leclerian border.
>EWOs, WSOs , Pilots, CP/G's and even a dozen or two RIOs set about the tasks of preparing targeting pods, turning on and programming JDAMs for pre-selected targets, or cycling stations to set them to TOO mode in order to engage targets of opportunity.
>Yankee 1-1 leader, callsign Blink (Lost sight during a DACT exercise once.) recalled that they'd been brought in as he looked down to see 10 B-52's taxi while he himself was already topped up and departing the departure tanker track.
>According to the plan, the F-16 couldn't make it, but on the other hand, sustainment tankers would be further along the flight plan on TACAN channel 99Y, accessed in A/A mode.
>Fly out to waypoint 3, rendezvous with ARCO 1-2, a KC-135 that had a Multi-point refueling system to serve a flight of F-16's and F/A-18C's that would come along for the flight.
>From there, after another top-off, the flight would go on while the tanker diverted for refueling and use its litening pod to find and engage targets on the ground.
>The Hour or so flight out passed, Yankee flight and Nomad flight drained the tanker and went about their path to waypoint 4 for the attack on reported positions.
>SA-342Ms who'd landed after reporting the positions of the invading army, its size and apparent human, orc, goblin and assorted other creature compositions were seen rising from the voids in the canopy of the forest.
>Staggered attack queues were formed in order to deconflict attacks as more aircraft arrived as fragged.
>Blink set about getting his flight a spot, and then turned on his music as he went about the unremarkably brutal stomping of the black dogs.
"Bopper, there's gotta be twenty thousand down there!"
"That's a big on the small side, but at the backside of the issue they' wanna feed our women to their weirdass rape demons. I say we find a couple cages in that big ass smokepit and make our bombs count."
"Fair enough."
>Blink looked around with the litening pod, seeing campfires surrounded with bodies of soldiers, strongly postured, camp prostitutes and sex slaves, seemingly harried and hobbled, by the movements.
>The men around the fires would've had to be deaf not to hear the jets overhead, and many looked to the sky in a fashion which would almost lead one to suspect they know.
"They couldn't know what we're doing up here, could they?"
"Not a CHANCE Blink. They're probably thinking it's the Dragons again, or some strange weather."
"Yeah, you're right. How long until the B-52's are on station?"
"Twenty Seconds!"
>Blink scanned the skys to see where they were, and right on time he caught a fourship of B-52's flying line abreast with about a quarter mile spread just a few miles off.
>Soon the B52's had passed just above the enormous smoke pit cleared by the armies.
>Blink soon found his target of opportunity.
>The blasts were as merciless as they were indifferent to the victims of the strike. Men, Slaves, Dogs, Beasts, engines of war, livestock... All within the areas touched by the blasts were reconstituted and rendered a hail of viscera and bodily fluids, mostly liquefied sinew and blood, and fragments of bones and tendons rained down. Beasts untouched were agitated and thrashing their cages as Blink rollled in and spaced his four bombs for maximum lethality, partially destroying the cages, but with shocking guarantees, ensuring the deaths of all inside, including giants, ogres and any others.
The MFD played out a brutal act as Blink's tablet played out old music. panicked bipedal animals disappeared amid heat and blast, rendering into flying gore.
Time As Fragged. Location As Fragged. Task Pre-Briefed.
"WIRE! Wake up! I wanna be rid of these weapons damn fast, AND DON'T EVEN DREAM OF WASTE!"
>Lizard Was struggling to achieve the fuel efficiency required by the mission. He'd calculated his performance to leave almost no fuel left in the tank at his arrival to the FARP, and began to slightly pitch the chin of the Apache up to gain a velocity dependent lift without using much if any greater amount of torque than the 63% he was already using.
>The Apache began to lift from the canopy of the forest as Wire Looked at the fuel display and proceeded to call up the TADS, WAS the missiles and search targets out. He saw demons being herded into one place to form some kind of battle formation by human handlers, picked one, and toggled the image auto tracker. Once... No luck. Twice, no. On the third try the tracker contrast locked on the mass of bodies, which had been together close enough to form a large enough mass to detect.
>He held the TEDAC trigger in second position to activate the laser, then he held the right trigger for a second.
>...
>FOOSH
"Missile away! Tracking!"
>The missile tracked and five seconds before impact Wire sent another.
>The instant the missile hit, Wire backed the FOV to medium and found another target, Narrowed the FOV, and Waited for impact, having never released the laser spot tracker.
>Wire managed in the first pass to find and attack six targets, leaving two more missiles to use on the groups of stragglers. He wanted to WAS the gun but Lizard beat him to it and slaved it to the PNVS and the Pilot IHADDS. While they were close Wire watched as lizard, normally more sedate, expressed his mounting fury through two thirty round bursts from the chain gun at a formation of harried soldiers trying to shield themselves from the blasts that came from on high.
"Wire, the gun's yours!" Called Lizard as he WAS'd the rockets.
>Lizard turned the helicopter about at speed in and aggressive roll and risked the pull of the collective in order to make the maneuver work, emptying the rockets into a large formation gathering in the clearing and then jettisoning the stations into it while Wire used the gun in a rather non-judicious manner.
>Another formation ahead of the was pelted by yellow tracers coming from an SA-342M gazelle, as the pilot decided to do some Gazelle shit, pitching the helicopter over into a rapid climb, then rolling about to vector onto another formation before letting loose with a barrel melting burst from the miniguns.
"Wire, what do you think goes through the mind of a Gazelle pilot as they do that?" Lizard asked.
"I'm gonna guess that one was screech going 'WHAT I AM IS WHAT I AM, ARE YOU WHAT YOU ARE OR-'" Wire couldn't finish the sentence without breaking into laughter.
>Lizard turned the helicopter left into a bank in order to identify the helicopter.
"Hey Wire, you were close man, that's Chalky."
"No way, Liz, what had to be screech."
Time. Fifteen seconds prior.
Chalky flew the gazelle at 130 miles per hour toward a formation of mercenaries while his copilot worked the designator, He realized that he'd pass about 40 feet over them and was too fast to make the pass work.
"SHOOTING AT THE WALLS OF HEARTACHE-" Chalky wailed, to the great annoyance of his copilot
>Chalky dropped the collective and pitched back the gazelle aggressively before modulating the collective back in.
>The helicopter arced upward, gaining over 500 feet before vectoring with torquie back toward the formation, the nose crossing it as the collective was dropped again.
"-Bang bang! I aaaaaaam the warrior!" Chalky yelled as the guns roared to life.
>Big band. A new world full of purpose should not know the depressive morass of the music of the dissolute.
Bullshit. You'd take big band music anywhere because you just like the stuff so much.
I love Carbenter Bruh
Rammstein, Oomph, And One
Heavy metal, EDM, some classical, rock, and whatever the frick Carpenter Brut and Perturbator count as.
You could've done been better with the image
Does mixing crystal with gunpowder have any effect on the bullet?
You ain't gonna smoke it?
Frick off
>>>/tg/
Not enough Ukraine talk for ya?
>EVERYONE WHO DISLIKES UKRAINE SPAMMING IS LE RUSSIANS
Take your own advice and frick off moron, we wanna discuss music and /k/ fantasy, you have over 25 other threads to circle jerk in so go there
>Yotsuba
>on a blue board
what a maroon
I cant enjoy the color pallet of the normal yotsuba? Nice spelling too, moron
>Nice spelling too, moron
Allow me to repeat myself
You a russian monkey now slurp on muh BUC
We've had these threads for years and years.
we are going to discuss bombing wizards with JDAMS whether you like it or not
Good luck I'm casting from behind fifty crystal balls.
You don't have fifty crystal balls...I like stole/borrowed without permission twenty of them.
Last time I take on an apprentice to clean up the place while I ponder.
Motherfricker, you told me to teach fifty of those Knife Ears that rifles were better than some, "Prissy, tree bow thingy." Then piss away our entire budget for the last three years to teach the Fatass a life long lesson of why summoning gold plated JDAMS are the best way to send someone over the River Styx...and you didn't just send the one.
Stfu and spam more ukraine threads
Trying to keep this thread open till we get over the usual slump of newbies who complain about it.
I know we've had some hardcore moron larpers on here who simp for portalside shit, but you think there are any from there who are hardcore Ameriboos or some shit like pic related? Some merchant who dressed up in cowboy shit with a wheelgat or something similar?
I know plenty of portaler merchants who make their entire living off of selling American junk on their side of the portal. A lot of the uneducated mud slingers over there genuinely believe we're 60 ft tall invincible demigods and will give their last dime for anything American. Although to be fair, compared to some of them we might as well be.
Dullahan stalker neighbor anon here. I went to the supermarket where she works at today(since it's the closest grocery store to me and the prices are about the same as everywhere else) and saw her there at the register. Not surprising since it was during her usual shift. But what did surprise me is she actually smiled when i came up to check out. She is usually very expressionless so it took me by surprise. I made some very brief small talk with her while she rang me up and I left right after. Got home, put stuff up in the shelves or fridge and got a shower, got dressed and stepped out to go for a walk since it feels nice outside today. She was at the end of the driveway waiting... Kind of freaked me out at first since a lot of you said she either wanted to date or kill me. So i took my chances and invited her for a walk while I try to figure out what it is she wants. Wish me luck bros.
So I’ve been looking to enchant my m16 to get a little more stopping power but the bastard elf enchanter is asking for too much coin. On the bright side a local fey said he would do it for free if I just told him my name! I mean they guys basically giving out free enchantments just to meet new people lol
Fool! They wish to know your name to enslave your spirit. The fairies cannot be trusted
>inb4 they havent enslaved me yet
You will see!
You fricked up, my man. Forget the elves and their shitty enchantments. WAAAOW SO COOOL your 2 MOA rifle is now a 1.5 MOA rifle, big fricking deal. What you want is a good high quality BCG and barrel from Dwarven Defense and switch to ammunition made with imbued gnomish gunpowder (not necessarily ammunition manufactured by gnomes, since it can be finnicky). The barrel and BCG can handle the extra oomph and are innately more accurate even though they are ostensibly nonmagical, and the gnomish powder gives you the extra zing you're looking for. The increased recoil is worth it, trust me. Dwarven Defense also makes adjustable gas blocks, and I'd highly recommend them. The BCG can handle the pressure too, but gassing your rifle properly improves recoil and lowers the chance of your rifle being possessed by a gremlin.
If you aren't using Neo-Yugo shit, you are wrong.
>Be me
>Anon Anonius XIV
>Second son of Baron Anon Anonius XIII
>Father is called to fight in the King's army
>he chooses my prick bother, Chaddeus Anonius VII, as commander of his army
>leaves me to command the peasant levy
>don't even get stewardship
>fricking Chaddeus
>six months pass
>nothing interesting happens
>just some highwaymen and the occasional kobold wandering too close to a village
>A caravan comes from the East
>its wagons filled with gold, silver, and israeliteels
>It also bears a message
>its a letter from Chaddeus, he writes of great battles, enemies slain, and treasures taken. He ends by wishing me luck in my "valiant defense of the realm". The rest of the letter is instructions for the steward on what to do with the riches.
>Half are to be traded for goods from abroad, the other half are to be kept in the treasury.
>These caravans of treasure become a regular occurrence
>Every three months, I, being the only knight available, am tasked with taking these treasures to the market so the can be traded for spices and fabrics
>During these excursion I am never needed to actually do anything, just my presence is enough to deter any bandits
>I still get some entertainment from speaking to the merchants and seeing their wares
>they tell tales of all sorts of wonders from abroad
>of particular note are tales of a distant land called "America"
>from what I can surmise, passages to this "America" opened during the great storm
>it is a land of great wealth, where food and water are so plentiful that people fear growing too fat rather than starving
>They have entire cities made of stone works taller than the tallest cathedral
>they have magic tablets which can send messages to anyone, anywhere, and have them read instantly
>personally I doubt these claims, most are likely just tall tales told by the merchants to make their goods seem more valuable
>still the stories are entertaining
>one merchant, named Aurelius, loved to tell stories of them
>particularly his tales of their wars fascinated me
>most recently, they had fought a war against a people of desert dwelling nomads which, despite their greater numbers and weapons, the Americans had lost.
>he told me of a cold war. One where two nations postured and built increasingly large armies, all without ever actually fighting, until one emptied its treasuries and crumbled.
>Then he told me of a man who waged against the entire world
>finally he told me of a great war, this one moved me the most
>It was a war between three kings, all related by blood. Started by the peasantry, but fought by the nobility.
>The war was fierce and bloody, and fighting it destroyed all those involved
>the king in the east, weakened by the war, was slaughtered by his own peasantry
>the king in the middle was forced to abdicate and his kingdom was turned to a vassal state
>the king in the west, though victorious, was left bankrupt, his kingdom declined to obscurity.
>The tales of all the great knights who fought so valiantly and died so gruesomely in vain nearly brought me to tears.
>particularly I loved the tales of those knights of the sky. Voss, Boelke, Fonck, Richtofen, men unmatched in the air, who sent dozens of others crashing to the ground.
>He told me of their mounts, planes they were called. Fokker, Albatross, Sopwith, Nieuport. How they danced and weaved through the skies.
>I wanted, more than anything, to see one of these planes in person
>I offered Aurelius any sum he would ask in exchange for one of these magnificent steeds
>My hopes were dashed when he told it was not possible
>He explained that, just as horses had breeds, so did fighters. The breed of fast and nimble fighters used in the war had been superseded by larger, heavier jets
>These fighters were now nigh extinct, so finding one was extremely unlikely
>still, he promised that if he found one, he would bring it to me
>many more months passed
>Caravans kept coming, filled with treasures and tales of battle
>I was still more interested in the merchants' stories so I didn't bother to read much of them, but from what I did read, I knew the war was still going well but it would keep going for a while longer
>The spoils of war brought prosperity to my father's domain, and soon tales of our wealth spread far and wide
>Merchants and tradesmen came from all around seeking a taste of the wealth
>Aurelius would come and go regularly, bringing with him more exotic goods and tales of aerial battles
>One day, he arrived with something of note
>It was a large roll of yellowed parchment
>He was ecstatic as he unrolled it
>Once I saw its contents I joined in his excitement
>printed on it was the picture of an airplane
>I couldn't read the markings, they were in a strange language, but Aurelius told me what they meant
>It was schematics for a Fokker Dreidecker, the same plane Baron Von Richtofen used
>the Red Baron
>With this, I could build my own plane.
>All I needed was the proper parts and tradesmen with the correct experience
>I payed him handsomely, with 80 pieces of silver, and promised him an additional 80 if he could bring me the required parts
>I also sent runners to the surrounding baronies in search of skilled engineers
>I found one named Leon. He had been working on a steam engine to power a mill in the neighboring barony. He had recently finished his apprenticeship and was searching for new work.
>I hired him on retainer, along with carpenter named Allonso, and a blacksmith named Antony
>With the help of books brought to us by Aurelius, we got to work
>At first we started with scale models, simple kites. Pulled by hand and held aloft by the wind.
>from there, we developed larger and larger kites, until we reached the limits of what the wind could carry
>Leon and Antony worked on developing a simple combustion engine
>It took much trial and error, and many months of work, but eventually we had one
>It was incredibly crude and weak, but it was a combustion engine
>we rushed to affix a propeller to it and mount it to a kite
>it proved too heavy to get off the ground
>undeterred by this, we continued working
>the engine was made stronger and lighter
>eventually, after much work, we finally got it to fly
>it only flew for about 20 feet, and it was unladen, but it flew
>our next milestone was manned flight
>by this time, my father and brother had been gone almost three years
>It came as a shock then, when they suddenly showed up at home
>the king had granted them both leave to visit home
>they were both happy to see how everything had been handled in their absence
>Father was even interested in my plane, though Chadeus just dismissed it as absurd
>We had a flight test scheduled, so I invited him to come and watch if he didn't believe me
>so there I was, out in a wide field on a windy autumn day, with a massive contraption of iron, wood, and canvas sat in front of me
>My father, brother, and a number of footmen sat at a safe distance, watching.
>I climbed inside the plane
>I gassed the engine and Leon gave the propellers a turn
>nothing
>we turned it a few more times
>Then, it sputtered for a moment before roaring to life
>I gave the engine more gas and began moving forward
>faster and faster I went, until I started to feel the plane lift
>higher and higher it inched
>I looked over the side, I was more than twice as high off the ground as when I started and still climbing
>Was I doing it?
>was I actually flying
>I was
>This was it, I was flying
>my mind raced with thoughts of what I'd do now
>these thoughts came crashing down when I felt the plane jerk, then the plane slammed into the ground.
>I was tumbled and tossed around for a moment, then nothing
>just blackness
>I wondered if I was dead
>Then I heard shouting
>the remains of the plane were wrenched from atop me
>I was thoroughly looked over
>nothing but a sprain and some bruises
>Chadeus laughed and said he told me so
>Fricking Chadeus
>The following week they departed and returned to the war
>After I was fully recovered I immediately resumed testing
>with some practice, I learned how to take off and land without incident
>we further refined the aircraft
>eventually it was able to sustain flight for almost two miles, but it was slow and sluggish
>not at all like the agile, swift, birds of prey I had heard of
>we continued work, but regardless of how hard we tried, we couldn't make any progress.
>We hit a wall
>we simply couldn't build an engine strong and light enough to properly propel the plane
>we kept working and working, but after six months of no progress, I began to lose hope
>then something happened
>It was a cold winter's day.
>The dry cold air smelled of dead leaves and mold
>but under that was the feint scent of smoke
>It was dusk when the alarm bells sounded
>we were under attack
>quickly I donned my armor
>There were thunderous crashes that shoot the ground, screams all around, and the air was filled with smoke
>What enemy was this
>There was no way the Easterlings had come this far west
>Was it the Gaelens to the wast, had they invaded?
>the castle shook and dust fell from the rafters
>those must have been bombards, how great an army was it
>I rallied the guard and charged out onto the castle rampart
>what I saw was no army
>It was a awesome and terrible sight
>its was as tall as the castle's highest tower
>its claws, like long lances, tore into the solid stone walls of the castle
>its wings blocked out the sky
>a roaring inferno poured from its mouth
>it was a great red dragon
I need more of this.
I'm a bit sick right now. If the thread's still around once I'm feeling better I'll finish it. If it's not, I'll start a new thread and post the rest there.
don't stop now
this is a good story
Please give us more, Anon.
Dullahan stalker anon here again. I didn't didn't die from my walk with the neighbor girl. I learned a bit about her. Her name is Morrow, like Morrowind, apparently. Her family moved here from the other side after hearing about the luxuries and such we ha e here in the 'modern realm' as Her family calls it.
Ironic since so many of us want to go to the other side for the easier, less tech muddled life style there, myself included. It was a bit unnerving at first walking and talking with her since she carried her head around in her arms sometimes. A little blueish...flame I guess, was dancing around her neck when she had her head off. Think she caught me staring a bit cas she would get shy and blush. Which seems kinda odd since I thought they were dead so how does she blush? Anyway, apparently they live a long time, if not indefinitely from what I gathered, so not sure what her age is. But she looks to be around my age, late twenties/early thirties.
We talked about random stuff small talk consists of like weather, work, and the neighborhood. Overall it lasted about an hour or so, and it was mostly enjoyable. We parted ways at my house and I went back to my usual routine around my home.
That's all for now guys. I'll keep you updated on things as they happen. Stay safe out there.
> be me
> on the other side, hunting some derr to fill up my freezer
> brought the ol’ 45-70 out today
> bit much for deer but hey, you never know what you’ll run into out here
> walk past an old wagon trail while following some fresh tracks
> suddenly out of nowhere hear a man yell at me from down the path
> “ halt there, wanderer! Surrender your valuables and you may just walk away from this unscathed!”
>jogging towards me awkwardly was a young man in a fricking cape
> wearing a fricking domino mask
> visibly out of breath
> process what’s happening to me
>lol. Lmao.
> unsheathes a rapier
> “at haste! Stand and deliver! Hand over your coin, and valuables!”
> raise my rifle and point it right next to your head
> pull the trigger
>the concussive blast of the 405 grain bullet leaving the barrel exploded his right ear drum
> probably will never hear out of that ear ever again
> drops his sword and falls to the floor screaming in pain
> lol
> continue my hunt for those tasty derr
Didn’t get anything but a good laugh that day
Went out to the badlands today. Locals were paying to bag some predators nabbing their herds.
Nice frame rate
How big are the portals generally? Would a horse fit through one?
I suspect a horse would.
Based
Ok, but will a horse fit through it?
yeah
Do to their unstable quantum structure portals fluctuate in size at a rate of 1m/s while unobserved.
when a portal is observed visually or a sapient entity is within 50ft of it the portal will stabilize
>post filled with words like sapient and fluctuate
>do to
Ain't that a pick in the teeth.
It's 'kick' in the teeth, anon.
Potato potato.
Guys, need help quick. A bunch of Amazon's just moved into the neighborhood and they are pushing the local government to give them government mandated husbands. I am ready, but my pelvis is not. What do I do bros?
Pray. Alternatively, use gun.
What caliber for the big gals?
My 5 in
5 inch bore? Rip shoulder.
(I get it's a peepee joke)
Call for a Wizard and explain quickly as they do not have much time to listen to mindless chattering of the…magically impaired…why you need pelvis reinforcement.
I'm a glitterboy with a boom cannon.
Nobody messes with me
>famously vulnerable to brain-magic
>tfw no android elf gf
Frick, wish I had noticed this thread Saturday, will writegay if I get the opportunity tomorrow
Will do my best to keep it alive, anon.
My plan for that scenario:
>Find mages guild asap
>Learn telekinesis
>Antimatter nuke fantasy russia into oblivion by simply switching electrons around
And that is only the beginning of a long list of cool shit one could do with magic normal magehomosexuals are to stupid to come up with
>Antimatter nuke fantasy russia into oblivion by simply switching electrons around
/pol/-lite spotted. Get the frick out newbie.
>Durrr telekinesis has no limits on area or concentration
I love when gays write a huge hole a child could exploit into a system that implied no such thing, then self insert into being "smart enough to exploit it"
>become necromencer
>bring back john lenon
Nothing a .38 special couldn’t take care of
It's been ages since I've posted or written this story, kinda lost motivation when the Ukraine war popped off and killed any threads on here that weren't Ukraine related. And since I'm not sure this tale was archived and this thread is practically dead, I'll just repost everything.
Of Mosins and Magic
Prolog
I remember the power flickering and going out. I'm sure I was browsing /tg/ or /k/, blissfully unaware of the unfolding disaster that was enveloping the globe. I thought nothing of it, went and pulled a lantern from my closet, made my way over to my bookshelf, and grabbed something to pass the time. Meanwhile, our universe was colliding with another, causing Magic, Monsters, and God knows what else to leak into our reality.”
That was almost two years ago. I'm currently stuck in a small Eastern Carolina town, attempting to scratch out a living. I've since learned woodworking, and I help with most of the construction projects around town. The Dollar is now worthless since the grid went down and the federal government collapsed, so instead; I get paid in stuff. This new barter economy is one of the few things I actually enjoy. Getting paid in chickens and smoked meat for a bit of carpentry is a significant upgrade from minimum wage at the dishwasher assembly plant. Though life could be better, I miss the internet, especially PrepHole. What I wouldn't give to shitpost about 40K on /tg/ just one last time. Worst of all, I hate not being able to contact my friends and family. I don't even know if they're still alive at this point, and I don't know how I'd even go about trying to reconnect with them, seeing as they're all down on the Florida panhandle. I don't know anymore, I`m sick of living like a medieval peasant. I'm tired of all the fairy tale tourists and their magic. I'm tired of the wild unicorns eating my garden, I'm tired of the gator folk that have infested my fishing hole, and I'm fricking tired of the werewolf that keeps stealing my chickens!
“Mike, I don't think this is working, I think I feel worse.”
I say, trying to calm down as I sink into the waterbed in the back of Mike’s van.
“I don't know what to tell you, David. Normally that whole 'get it off your chest' thing works, man." Mike gives me a worried glance before pulling a small box of ammo from his glove box.
“Look man. I'm no healer… Maybe you need to see a clerk or a priest or something. Look, I know you're going through some heavy stuff right now… So... I'll give you a discount on your usual, Blinding light enchanted 54r.”
“Thanks… I just wish you'd sell me more than just these non-lethals.”
“You know how I feel about the wildlife, man. Plus, most of my other rounds are way too destructive for pest control.”
I side-eye Mike but accept the box and quickly fumble out a few copper pieces to pay the pseudo wizard. “You still looking for some pure silver? I need those werewolf rounds sooner rather than later. I'm down to my last three hens…”
Mike shifts his oversized hat and slides the coppers into his robe pocket. “Yeah man, yeah. The pure stuff is hard to find right now.”
“Everything's hard to find…” I grumble as I roll to the edge of the bed, sitting up with my feet dangling out the side door of Mike's old panel van, which is on blocks behind a burned-out Dollar General near the edge of town. I look at the setting sun before hopping out of the bachelor wagon. I grab my beat-up Mosin Nagant and sling it over my shoulder.
“It's getting late Mike, I need to get going... Last time I headed home in the dark, I had to stab three goblins with my bayonet.” I fasten my spike bayonet, making this long rifle look more like a spear.
“Yeah yeah, I get it. You be careful, Davy. I can't have my number one customer die on me.” Mike cracks a huge grin and does the finger guns at me. I look back at him with a stern face.
“It's always a possibility.” I say gruffly as I start the walk back to town.
Chapter 1: The Dwarf and the Death cult
It had been a few months since my last talk with Mike. I still couldn’t come to terms with my current situation. Thoughts of what lay beyond the pine groves began to make their way into my dreams. Questions I couldn’t answer would nag at me while I worked. "Is your family alright?" "What’s left of the old world?" "Are you better off here in some backwater?" After a late night at the local bar, I sat on my back porch and pondered these thoughts for longer than I should have. While I sat in a half-drunken stupor, watching a unicorn chew on my tomato plants, I had a terrible idea. I’d head out. Leave this little hamlet and see what’s left of the U.S. Maybe make the trip down to Florida to see if I could locate my parents. Being on the road had to be more interesting than spending the rest of my life in a town named Tick Bite. "That's it," I thought as I stood up and made my way inside my trailer. "I’m leaving, and I’m going to go… I’m going to go…" Where was I planning on going? I knew very little of what was happening outside my rather small village. “Eh, I’ll ask Mike” was the only solution I could think of as I tossed supplies and equipment into my backpack. Halfway through stuffing a pocket full of ravioli cans, I gazed at my gun rack. A pitiful selection of rifles hung there. My M91/30 sat above my other rifles, my pride and joy. Not because it was the only gun I could reliably get ammo for. Below the nugget hung a Ruger 10/22, its red dot sight battery long since dead. I haven't seen a single round of 22lr in almost a year. No need to bring it. And at the bottom of the rack lay my Type 56 SKS, beaten, scratched, and burned from the first few wild months after the grid went down. I owed my life to that rifle, and it saddened me to think I'd be leaving it behind. But I knew which one I'd be dragging with me, the oversized spear that was my Mosin, only because of my 'Emergency Fund.'
I slid the large, green, oval-shaped can out from under my bed, then spent the next few minutes feeling around for the can opener. After finding the odd, forklike object, I looked back to the can. Letters in a strange alphabet and numbers were scrawled in black paint; a large silver brushstroke was the most noticeable feature. I jab the opener into the lid, with the can letting out an evil hiss. I wrench the opener around the can until I can lift the lid, revealing the contents of the green tin tomb.
"Ah yes. 50-year-old Soviet surplus steel core."
I pull one of the twine-bound paper parcels from the can and unwrap it—twenty rounds of silver-tipped 7.62x54r fall into my open hand. Four hundred forty rounds of surplus Soviet munitions and a few leftover Blinding Light rounds were all I had to feed my Mosin, and they would have to last me a good while. I load 12 stripper clips and fill two old Soviet Mosin pouches before setting them aside. I unpack the spam can while leaving the rounds in their brown paper wrappings and repack them into my hiking pack. I take a third pouch and slip my freshly filled oil bottle and cleaning kit, and a few cloth swatches for the bore. After strapping a hatchet to my pack, I stand back and make sure I've packed all the essentials, then grab my rifle and stand it next to my bag.
"Good enough" I mutter before collapsing onto my bed and nodding off to sleep.
That night I had a strange dream of long roads, fantastic creatures, and a group of strangers standing before an ominous black void. I can't recall a time since I've had dreams like that. I woke that morning in a cold sweat and quickly headed off to take a cold shower. After drying myself and brushing my teeth, I knocked back some mouthwash in an attempt to remove the taste of stale well water from my mouth. my stomach growled.
I stood and watched as the eggs fried in the cast iron pan while the wood in my stove crackled. I stood there and thought about what I was about to do and everything that I was soon to leave behind me. I paused and weighed my options as the eggs popped and whined. I could stay, live a Menial life, and never experience what this new world has to offer. Or, I could grow a pair, throw on my kit and get out there, do something, see things. I finished this thought as I slid the two eggs onto a plate. I had made up my mind.
After breakfast, I put on a pair of khaki cargo shorts, a belt, and a green long-sleeved button-down shirt. I fastened the three mosin pouches to my belt and double-checked my kit. A bit soberer, I added some things that I seemed to have forgotten. I shoved a rainfly into my pack as well as a small solar charger. I looked around my room and found myself staring at my small bookshelf. I grab a little red book titled 'The Soviet Mosin-Nagant Manual' and flip through it.
"Might come in handy" I set it aside and reached for another book, 'Things Fall Apart.' The book's cover looked rough from years of resting at the bottom of a backpack.
I let out a slight chuckle before taking both books and packing them away. The last two things I make sure to grab are my buck knife and my crummy gas station zippo, and I flip it over in my hands a few times and study the green four-leafed clover on the lighter's shell before tucking it into my pocket.
Soon enough, I'm looking at myself in a mirror. Before me stands a 6ft man, 23 years old, dressed in business casual with combat boots, holding a +100-year-old rifle with an overflowing hiking bag on his back. I had never felt more like an idiot in my life. But this didn't stop me from turning around, picking up and putting on my old ssh-60 helmet, and walking out the back door on my way to talk to some wizard that lives in a panel van on blocks behind a burned-out Dollar General on the outskirts of town.
The walk to Mike's place went about the same as it usually did. The only difference was my outfit and that my rifle was loaded with actual ammunition, not some magic-less-than-lethal rounds. This brought on a new feeling as I scanned the path ahead. I'm no longer some peasant carpenter with a varmint rifle. Instead, I'm now some sort of wanderer, ready to take on anything the roads and wilderness can throw at me. At least, that's how I felt. In reality, I was no more prepared now than I was a week ago. It's strange the confidence that a loaded gun can afford.
It was around midday when I reached Mike's. As usual, the lazy bastard was asleep when I arrived, and I ended up having to bang on the door.
"Mike! It's Dave, open up." My fist pounded on the van's metal side with a clunk. Then, before I could knock again, the door slid open.
"Keep your pants on, man, whaddya want..."
As he wiped the sleep from his eyes, I watched him do a double-take and look me over.
"Just get drafted?" He struggled to keep from laughing.
"I'm leaving town, Mike. Just thought I'd stop to let you know... and to uh... ask some advice."
"Woah, man, like, you're just gone? like that?" His face turns from an amused expression to one of pensiveness.
"Yeah, I'm striking out today. I even opened up the good stuff..." I say as I slowly work the bolt of my rifle, pulling out a round and handing it to Mike. He sits there and eyeballs it in silence before handing it back to me.
"You uh... said something about advice?" He asks somberly.
"I was wondering, you're a wizard... and most fantasy stories I've come across always have a wizard start the adventure-seeking hero on some sort of quest..." I say with a bit of sarcasm as I sit my rifle down and take a seat next to him.
"Davey, I'm not that type of wizard, my guy... But... I do know a guy that sounds like he'd fit that description..."
We sat and talked for about an hour as Mike informed me of some "kick-ass powerful wizard" that had taken up residence in an apartment tower in a walled city known as Kingston. The place was about ten miles upriver from Tick Bite. So I could either follow the river or head north and reach Grifton and then take what's left of the highway to Kingston. Either way was dangerous. The road would be crawling with bandits and raiding parties, and following the river would pit me against the new local wildlife. So I figured I'd try my luck with the highway, which would give me an excuse to stop into one of the bars in Grifton for a bit.
As I picked up my rifle and said goodbye to Mike, I tossed him the keys to my house.
"Take care of the place, would ya? I don't know if I'll ever be back, but if I'm not... the place is yours."
"I... Thanks, man. I'll make sure it doesn't burn down or fall apart or something... Oh, wait..." He quickly turned around and fumbled in the back of his van for a few minutes before facing me again. He then hands me a disc-shaped pouch with a zipper and a clip on it. "You should take this. It's an old portable CD player I found a while back."
I take the object and unzip it. Sure enough, Inside sat a small circular CD player and a thin, cheap pair of headphones.
"I don't have any discs to give ya, but I'm sure you'll find some out there on your travels."
"Mike... I... thanks, I'm sure I'll find a use for this thing." I look at the object in my hand and think about how this thing hasn't been useful since the '90s before I zip it back up and clip it to my pack. Soon we're just standing there in silence, looking at one another and thinking of what to say next. So we just shook hands, which quickly turned into a hug.
"Mike, I'd say you're the only person in this town I've ever called a friend. And I'm going to miss you."
"You too, man."
And as the sun began to hang low in the sky, I left Mike and started my journey to Kingston.
The road out of town was rough, though this had always been the case. Tick Bite was what some would have called a 'Back Water' before the consolidation of two opposing realities caused living standards to drop faster than a stockbroker on Black Monday. It's what made moving into this hamlet so appealing when I relocated to North Carolina after high school, cheap land, close to my employment, and within walking distance of the river. And as a bonus, most of my neighbors owned enough ordnance to arm a 3rd world nation which kept most of the crack-heads from looting our trailers. It was this combination of things that led to Tick Bite riding out the apocalypse so smoothly. Hell, I'd say the end of days forced tons of improvement due to the need for self-governance and self-sufficiency. Though the roads and paths rarely saw any, especially the road to Grifton.
After a few minutes of walking, I reached the bridge over a little creek known as Eagle Swamp. This had been as far as I have ever roamed since the merge. I take one last look back at the path I have just walked. I think about everything I'm about to leave behind, and then I take another step forward. I am only given a few moments to ponder the weight of my decision before I hear a low rumbling noise from under the bridge.
I sigh as I make my way over to the side of the bridge. I was greeted with the sight of two gatorfolk heads poking from the water. I can see that they're both eyeing me as one rises a bit higher in the water.
"It's been a while, handsome... Haven't seen you fishing in what feels like forever." The overgrown reptile coos in a gruff feminine voice.
"Yeah, I've been busy." I grumbled as I pulled on the sling of my rifle.
"Well, you're here now... why not drop all of that silly gear and go for a swim..."
I gag a little as I straighten my helmet and look away from the pair of pond-scum-covered lizards.
"You know... Suppose we ignore the fact that I don't find the idea of sleeping with an alligator very appealing. Why would I get into the water with a 300lbs gator that can drown and eat me in a heartbeat?"
"Now, why would we do something like that?" The lusty argonian maid shot back at me.
"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now go find some other poor bastard to drag off into the depths. I've got to get going."
The last thing I heard from the pair was "Humans" in a rough and condescending growl. I will give the lizards credit tho, though I'm sure that act has tricked many horny idiots and closeted furries. This wouldn't be the last time I'd have to deal with their kind, either. The Gatorfolk adapted exceptionally quickly to the American South. I've even heard tales of civilized tribes further south in Georgia and Florida, Tho the ones that prowl the waters around Tick Bite seem to be of the 'Savage' Variety.
After ten more minutes of walking and thinking about gator skin boots, I reached the route into Grifton. A half-crumbling road bridge crossed Contentnea Creek with only a single functioning lane that hadn't fallen into the swamp below. Now, I didn't have to stop into Grifton. I could have just stuck to the road and made my way toward the old highway to Kingston. But I felt almost compelled to make my way into town. It was more than likely nerves as the first place I sought out was an establishment that sold something cold and alcoholic. As I made my way towards the main drag, I passed several trade stalls and a street preacher. Before I could make my way past, I heard a man call me.
"Ay, you! You in the green brain bucket!"
I turn to see a squat man dressed in full armor standing in front of a stall.
"Yeah, you lad! You look the type to need something covering your arse!"
I looked the dwarf over and decided to approach him. As I did so, he made his way into his stall. "You seem like you're the adventuring sort…”
"Aye, come in lad, have a browse. I see ya won't be needing a helmet... but could I interest ya in a chest plate?" The stout man began to dig through a crate and quickly produced a slightly dented metal breastplate. I take the piece from him and look it over as he turns and dives back into the box of what I assumed was discount plate mail.
"So lad, ya lookin to do some adventuring? Aye, I remember back when I used to wander the countryside seeking fortune and glory. The name's Rufac, by the way. Rufac Flintkin." He drops four pieces of old armor onto a table and extends a hand toward me.
"David Clark" I say as I shake the dwarf's hand, his iron grip nearly snapping my wrist.
"So... Greaves and braces... plus that chest plate... Hmmm, I think I'll run ya a discount if ye buy the set."
I place a hand on the worn armor on the table and fumble around in my pocket for what little coin I have. "I uh... I've got 11 coppers, three silvers, and a gold piece."
"I could part with these wares for a gold piece... Or..." I watch as a sly grin begins to spread across his bearded face. "...I've been having an issue with a local cult robbing me supplier's caravans on their way inta town. If ya could find a way to stop the attacks, I'd be willing to give ya the armor and abit of pay."
"You honestly think I can stop a cult from raiding your caravans?" I look the dwarf dead in the eyes and watch as he chuckles.
"Aye, Ye wouldn't be alone. Me daughter’s been out stalkin the woods near the highway lookin for their hideout. Plus, ya got that hefty rifle there. Last I checked, these robed weirdos should only have some basic blades and armor."
I watch as he pushes the pile of armor towards me.
"Hell, If it'll boost ye confidence, take the armor."
I pick up an arm brace and look it over. "Alright, I'll do it."
"Good! I'll have Abby meet ya at the tavern once she gets back into town."
Later that evening, I found myself sitting at the bar of a small establishment named the River Bend Inn. I had acquired myself a room after haggling for some time with the Innkeeper and was now nursing a glass of beer and listening to the low murmur of the few other patrons. A jukebox sits in the corner, belting out 'Werewolves of London.'
"Here you go."
I look up to see the Innkeeper slide another beer in front of me. "I didn't..."
"Compliments of the lovely lady." He says as he jerks his thumb in the direction of an elven woman sitting at the end of the bar. As I look over at her, she gives a small wave.
"Well, send her my thanks." I say awkwardly as the barman gives me a strange look before turning away and making his way towards some of the other patrons. I look back down at my still unfinished first glass. As I gaze into the cold amber liquid, I question what the hell I had just signed myself up for, running off a cult? What did I know about cults? What if some of them were magic users? As I sat there and stewed on this, I felt a hand fall onto my shoulder.
"You the guy with the rifle? Dad said you'd be holed up here, waiting on me."
I spin around on the barstool and face a tall, black-cloaked woman in what looked like thick leather armor. A large two-handed sword sheathed on her back catches my attention as she extends a hand for me to shake.
"Yeah, I'm David."
We shake hands, and she takes a seat next to me.
"Abigail. Your armor is loose, by the way."
I place a hand on my chest piece and notice that it is, in fact, slack. As I fumble with the straps, I watch as Abigail pulls off her hood, revealing her pale face and long red hair.
"Muller! The usual. Just put it on Rufac's tab." She then turns back to me.
"You were expecting another dwarf, weren't you?"
I watch as she flashes a smile.
"I uh, I guess I was... look, Rufac said you've been tracking this cult for a while?"
"Straight to business then."
Two drinks later, we were on the road heading north out of town toward the highway. The moon had just begun to rise, and I was visibly on edge as I followed Abigail.
"You don't do much talking, do you."
"Sorry, I'm not used to traveling at night."
"You'll get used to it. It's kinda necessary when you hunt bandits."
"Don't most raiders and bandits move at night?"
"Exactly. During the day, they hunker down and wait in ambush. Always alert for a new target. But during the night, they get sloppy. Moving whole camps, or just hanging around a fire getting drunk. Easier to catch them off guard."
"So is this what you do? Hunt highwaymen for a living?"
"It keeps the town safe and supplied and my father out of my hair."
"Yeah... I've been meaning to ask..."
"No, he isn't my actual father, and yes, I'm sure."
"Ah, well..."
She takes a look back at me, her face hard to make out in the growing darkness.
"You don't get out much, do you."
She said before turning back to face the road ahead of us.
"I'm sorry, I used to work a factory job before the merge, so this adventuring and questing are new to me."
"That's not what I'm talking about; you've got the social skills of a wet sponge. You just... I don't... you seem like you have absolutely no confidence in what you're doing."
She stops and turns to face me. I stop as well and sling my rifle onto my back, letting out a slight clang as it knocked into the hatchet strapped to my pack.
"Look, there's an old RV I've set up as a sort of base. It's on the edge of the intersection where this road ties into highway 11. So we'll stop there for the night, and we can talk while we watch the road."
"I... sure, that sounds good to me."
Abigail turns on her heels and begins to walk forward again.
"Alright, sad-sack. I'll put up with this 'Man of few words' schtick you're doing, but you better be a damn good shot with that rifle of yours."
The moon began to crest the treeline as we reached the intersection. I could barely make out a few houses dotted around near the highway in the darkness and vast fields surrounding the intersection. And what looked like a large cemetery with a funeral home in the back came into view.
"That's Evergreen Memorial."
Abigail spoke softly as we drew closer.
"I've seen the cultists moving in and out of there a few times. I think it may be a ritual site. The RV is just a bit further, parked near a service station up ahead."
The sounds of the night filled the air as we began to bob and weave through stalled and burned-out cars and trucks, Most clearly belonging to various trade guilds. One vehicle of interest was a badly shot-up Humvee, its tires missing and its turret stolen. The Feds had tried their best to maintain order for as long as possible, but it didn't take long for them to become overstretched, dealing with everything from massive dragons to hordes of orcs. Many grunts saw fit to just desert, bringing supplies and equipment with them, putting further strain on the government. The last I had heard, Only New England and pockets of New York state considered themselves part of the 'United States.' The exodus north left plenty of free real estate and munitions in North Carolina. From some of the tales I've heard, most of the Jar-Heads on the coast went rogue and have formed a sort of monster hunters guild. The Airforce supposedly rigged its base in Goldsboro to blow but never managed to fire off the charges. And I'm sure Fort Bragg and Fayetteville have probably long since burned down. But from this chaos, small kingdoms and villages emerged, and they've managed to keep some order over the past few years.
We arrived shortly at the RV, and after Abigail unlocked it, we made our way inside and began to stow our gear. I pulled a pair of binoculars from my bag as I set up in a window, watching the road for signs of movement.
"It's gonna be a while."
I pull the binoculars from my eyes and turn to see Abigail rummaging through one of the cabinets.
"They don't operate on a set schedule, at least not one I could figure out. But what I have learned is that they make their way to the graveyard between 3 am and 6 am. So we've got plenty of time."
"Time to do what?"
I watch as she turns around, pulling a bottle from the cabinet. She sits it on the RV's rickety dining table and turns back to the cupboard to find glasses.
"Drink. Your abit on edge, some liquor should help." she pushes a glass in front of me. "Hope you're fine with Vodka. It's all I've got stored in this place."
"Are these supposed to be shot glasses?" I hold up the drinking glass before taking a seat across from her.
"Can't hold your liquor?" I watch a smile flash across her face as she pours the clear liquid into my glass. It had to be at least five shots worth.
"I'd like to think I can." I say as I put the glass to my lips and take a swig. She drinks from the bottle, turning it up and nearly emptying it.
"Rufac teach you that?"
"Keeping up with my kinsmen is abit of a requirement."
I take another shot.
"So you're an adventurer? I'd hate to find out my father tricked yet another poor wanderer into taking up this fool's errand"
I pull off my old soviet helmet and set it down on the table before taking another swig. "Look, I might not be some knight in shining armor, but I can handle myself in a fight, don't worry."
"What would you know about knights?"
"I've seen movies, read books."
"So you're literate. I've been told that's a rarity in the south."
"You've been talking to too many Yankees."
This friendly interrogation went back and forth for about 2 hours. I spilled my guts about everything that happened to me since the merge, about my life before it, about my parents, and she responded in kind. I learned that She and her father were a part of some supply caravan en route to a dwarven military camp when they got sucked up into some vortex and landed in a field not too far from Ayden, NC. Those first few months were as rough on the 'tourists' as they were on us humans. I also learned that they came from a world called 'Terra Mardoria' and that the place was pretty cool if you overlooked the constant plagues and warring races.
During those two hours, I think I shared more about myself than I've ever shared with another human. It was just nice to talk about what was going on with someone for once, though I'm sure the Vodka helped.
"I'm gonna be honest, Dave, it sounded like your life before all of this sucked. Sure, you didn't have the constant threat of death hanging over you as you do now... but it seemed dull. And then you almost fell back into the same rut back in Tick Bite."
I look down at the bottom of my empty glass as I try to focus on her words.
"Look, it's almost like the universe is trying to tell you to get off your ass and do something."
"I wouldn't say my life has improved since the merge, But I guess I'd agree that it has made things a bit more... exciting."
"You're about to help me ambush a band of cultists. I'd say this is a hell of a lot more exciting than doing taxes."
I stand up and grab my helmet, taking a few steps over to the window.
"You're right, but I think this is the stupidest decision I've ever made, hopefully it won't be the last."
I feel her heavy hand slap me in the back, nearly knocking me forward.
"That's the spirit! You might not be a knight now, but I can see you slaying giants and taking on evil armies soon enough."
Shortly after Abigail's little pep talk, I found myself curled up on the pullout couch, cuddling with my rifle. Abigail volunteered to take first watch, and I wasn't going to complain about being given the opportunity to catch some shuteye. The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep was Abigail slipping out the RV's door and shutting it softly behind her.
And thats chapter 1, feel off the wagon right about here, so there's only 3 pages of chapter 2 written, but I can post what I got and try to bang some more paragraphs out once I get off work tonight. Anyway, thanks for reading my garbage.
God bless Anon.
Excellent! Looking forward to more Mosin Anon!