Age of the End Times

[Pureblood-Sin]

It's cold, I thought to myself dully...then again, its always cold here; colder than what Scandinavia had been before everything went to Niflheim, yet not as cold as the winter itself. Spring, as meager and lifeless as it was, had come; few was the life I had seen. Odd, considering that I expected the road to be full of life; but then again, few traveled the roads these days. My feet, or rather what was left of them, ached as I tro through the still-thick snow. Hair and beard bound in braids, each kept intact with twisted paper clips whilst my body was wrapped in occasional-clinking chain-mail and a mix of modern winter clothing and animal furs; I was probably quite the sight, still saner than some of the folks I've seen in my travels. Glancing around though the perpetual, if partially translucent haze, I could not see any sign of snow; glancing back however, I could see a large blob of darkness in the distance. Whilst it seemed not to move, I knew very well that it was an ash storm heading my way. Admittedly, they were pretty uncommon this far north from the Mediterranean, occasionally happening once or twice a month...but that doesn't stop the cause of our current environmental predicament from occasionally paying us a visit at random. Thus far, in my 20 years of wandering, the ash has had no negative effect on my health so far...but I'll be damned if that was going to happen so far along my path. With this in mind, I began to quicken my pace, causing the axe across my back to clatter with my shield; surely this "Riksrösen" couldn't be that far away? Then again, it could be next to any of the cairns that mark the borders between what was once Norway and Sweden.

In about, what felt like a few hours, I began to wonder whether or not this place still even existed...or perhaps someone's idea of a sadistic joke. I glanced back; the ash storm was getting closer, looming ever so slowly like a grey tide of choking embraces. Strange how I've remained so poetic, I thought with intrigue. Just as my hope finding shelter from the storm began to wane, it was then that I saw lights in the distance. For the first time in a long time, something fluttered in my heart; hope. They couldn't be bandits; given the slowly encroaching armies of the Danes and the Sami, they aren't foolish enough to advertise their whereabouts to two of the greatest threats they could end up facing. In due time, I found myself upon its outskirts and two men approached me. Both armed with antique rifles, they looked at me warily given my appeanace; the tallest of the two spoke first in what I recognised to be Norwegian.

"Stopp der, hva gjør du her?" Followed by his partner who spoke in Swedish; "Stopp där , vad är ditt företag här?" The latter of the two I could understand better, what with it being Swedish I've picked up and not Norwegian; my comparatively limited grasp isn't enough to divine aspects of the shared mutual intelligibility between them. I promptly replied in my best Swedish, gesturing to the distant darkness behind me "Jag letar efter vila skydd från askan stormen..." then my grin turned a little wry, "och kanske någon som talar Engelska, är inte min Svenska bäst." Turning to his Norwegian partner, he muttered something that they could both understand; after shared nods, the Swede turned back to me and spoke in somewhat accented English.

"Very well, come in, but do not stir any trouble unless you want a bullet in the brain."

"On Tyr's right hand, you have my word, tack själv." I replied, believing it courteous to thank the Swede in his tongue. After that, the two guards parted and let me enter before scarpering off; no doubt to inform whoever was in charge about my news. For now, I had to go and find somewhere to stay, perhaps one of these tents or rusty shacks would let me in...
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OOC: This is where you guys come in; its up to you to describe whats going on. Are you just arriving? Or have you been here for a while?

 

[Andrewza]

The cold had started to lessen off, spring was approaching. The 20th spring since the end, the 20th since been stranded as far north from home with out being south. Though spring did not mean the cold was gone, just that it was less cold. The fire in front of the tent I called home was still needed to warm me though hopeful it would not rain.

with my rifle, and crossbow laying in my tent and some soup cooking in pot I looked far more welcoming than many of the other shut tents. The fact I was reading a travel guide in English would of indicated to any observant viewer that I was English speaking.

 

[Talon maara]

View attachment 2761 It was another cold night. I sit amidst the camp, in the back of my small 4 seater sandrail. View attachment 2762 View attachment 2763 Wasnt much, just a small Awd, detuned 85hp diesel that topped a wopping 40mph but had a massive range, I carried all my gear onboard.

Riley my 2 year old border collie lay at my side. Both of us straining to remain warm by the small camp fire. View attachment 2764

"Blast its cold...."

I muttered to one of the neighbors (@Andrewza ) whos tent was quit pleasing to the eyes as he read a small book, i couldnt make out what the book was called but it was decently sized.

The mix of smells was one to remember. The lack of showers and the smell of food and fires burning around the camp was...well....unforgiving.

Seeing a newer face arrive at camp (@Pureblood-Sin ) i slowly made my way to my fire pouring a small cup of hot black coffee mixed with a hint of hot cocoa for a more pleasing flavor.

"Howdy, you gotta be cold....as i can see you have packed light....rather very light?"

I hollered out raising the cup to the figure.

"Come join me, i got room onboard."

Pointing to the small transporter that sat slunked behind me.

"Shes not pretty but she does the job just fine. I dont have much, just a few MRE's and water. BUT i got enough fuel to travel the globe. HAHAHA well i use it more to start fires than anything."

Making my way to the bug i slowly moved my gear aside revealing the back row of seats.

"You could hunker here if ya need. Me and riley can sit up here. She prefers to stay by me than really wonder to far. But your welcome if you would like."

Pointing to the shacks a few meters away

"You dont want to stay with them really, they can be pigs. I heard from a source they tend to well...aquire YOUR belongings."

Grabbing my two Gurkha Kukri machetes i slid them closer to show they were there and i would use them if necessary. My bow and home made arrows lay in the drivers seat next to riley as she slept on the wheel well above the tire.

Pulling out my sleep system i laid out in the seat covering my body to help stay warm. Not sure if the new face would come join me or not. It was totally up to him.

 

[Tristar]

I tell myself everyday, every night- you want to live, you have to be ready to do some of the dirtiest work you could imagine and that wasn't counting for the unaccountable. It was already a dog-eat-dog world as far as the eye could see in the market, even worse so in international economics. Thought the worse things only came in the form of numbers going up or down, policies being rejected or the nature of probability slapping you in the face; that was before the world went to sh*t of course. Now I counted myself lucky- lucky - just to be able to stay warm for the night. The cold. It bites the tips of your fingers, gnawing on your flesh bit by bit. Sooner or later, you learn to despise the frigid wasteland just as I do.

But for your sake, I truly hope you'll be reading this after Hell had come and gone. Maybe this is the scourging of the sin of humanity, much like the Flooding the Sunday School teachers used to teach us about- several degrees colder, and dangers far more terrifying than slipping overboard a cruise ship.

For instance, perhaps the growling threat of the bruiser in front of me, a foot taller than my diminutive five foot and eleven inches; muscles bulged, teeth gnashed and eyes locked in my cold defiant ones, hardened by the things my hands had to do. My tongue licked the chipped front tooth I had bore since twelve, the silence of the bar piercing the veil of tension. Cold beer leaked down from his face, a nice red bulge on the back of his head although you couldn't see it with his ugly mug staring at you. Welcome to the Shack.

Riksrösen- we see ourselves in Riksrösen. I'd arrived a month ago, hoping to do some honest work, get some honest pay- ration slips for food handouts by the two rivalling government to encourage more support for their cause. I only say ration slips, because these were 'neutral' cards: find yourself a forger, you could have yourself a stack of 'Kalmar Union certified' ration slips or 'Sapmi Certs', depending on your choice of poison. Find him some functioning car batteries, I was told. Scavenge them from the nearby scrapyard or even venture into the bandit-infested town five kilometers to the east, he said. Pay me ten slips for each battery and he could go do whatever he wanted to do with those batteries, I didn't care; I braved the cold and nearly got shot by two twins at a gas station. Hauled three car batteries, arriving here only at night when the wolves started howling only to be paid for barely a quarter of what was owed.

Gentlemen bought me a drink to compensate me for my near loss of my life, precious as it was to me.

I no longer have a drink, but now he's drenched in watered down piss and probably itching to wreck me. "Skær lort, du skylder mig mere." I spat out, the guttural tongue of the Danes rolling awkwardly off my chapped lips. "Din lille lort, jeg vil skide dig ihjel-" He couldn't finish his next sentence as I headbutted the giant in his nose and used my momentum to force him down onto the table, hearing the sickening crunch of glass breaking underneath his broad back. The bartender eyed us with a dirty rag in an equally dirty mug, his mustache twitching. Before my employer could retaliate I leaned back and punched his exposed groin- very suddenly his tensed body collapse, sliding off the wooden table and onto the dirty floor in a fetal position, groaning. The men within the room collectively wince and even I felt a twinge of guilt in me. But I had to live too. I never let him recover, kicking him to his back and knee dropping onto his chest.

He grunted and I punched his jaw; my knuckles still stung from that blow. His head snapped back and he tried to resist; I punched twice, thrice to make sure he got the message. Moments later he relented with blood spattered on my fist; this was the Shack baby, live with it. "Rationeringskort nu, røvhul." Struggling to breathe, I eased off the pressure to let him breath. His hand reached into his pocket and proffered to me the rest of my payment. Nodding, I slowly got off his body, my former employer coughing as he struggled to catch his breath. Remembering a solid piece of advice my mother gave to me long ago, I gave him a swift kick to his gut, putting as much rage into it as possible- I was rewarded with a painful cry.

"Må ikke kneppe med mig røvhul." I spat out before taking large steps out of the Shack, never leaving my eye off of my downed opponent.

I probably didn't have to tell you how fast my heart was beating: I was scared, very scared. I would have to find a way out of Riksrösen by the week, by the day: leaving now would only put more miles between me and a very angry Dane and I'm at least 60% sure what I did to him would be paled out in comparison to his vengeance. Spotting one of the campfires blazing merrily, my weathered nose caught the smell of coffee and cocoa- my insides could use a get-me-up and the silhouette of a transporter was outlined by the lighting of fire.

Things were looking up for me and so long as the owner of the car, who was greeting a newcomer, was accepting of an extra pair of hands to help I could be out of here very soon. Take calmer paces towards the campfire, I held my arms to my chest to make myself smaller and more docile- and for the most part to keep myself warm- to the mug-bearing stranger.

Damn I wanted that swill.

I greeted him with an exclamation, shivering in the cold. "Olla!" I cried, teeth chattering. "Har du noget imod at dele ilden? Og måske en kop noget varme?" If you were wondering why I refused to converse in English, it was partly for my own benefit as well: living in Denmark meant speaking the language, right? Granted there was a high English speaking population, but there was greater respect to the local customs and frankly, I couldn't tell apart the difference between these pale faced men. European, American- back in Malaysia, we'd call them Mat Salleh- Mad Sailor being the original meaning, but now it was a colloquialism for any Caucasian. Really, subtlety wasn't our trademark.

If he spoke English, that was all good- I miss speaking English.

 

[Pureblood-Sin]

Finding myself deeper and deeper into this tent-city, it felt strange to be amongst so many people; I could see a few children running around, having snowball fights with one another...I wasn't sure if it had been contaminated with ash, seeing as it was white and not stained with grey. Still they needed levity, they were still children after all...the adults certainly looked as if they needed it too. Quite a few of them eyed me warily, yet they remained silent; not that I could blame them though, these days have certainly added a new meaning to the term, "stranger danger". Anyone could pose a threat, and you treated them as such until proven otherwise. Soon enough, I found myself within another cluster of tents; one of them was open, sat within was a man with blonde hair and a fierce build and was reading a book written in English, whilst the other had hair that was a hodgepodge of light and dark...and both of them were taller than I am. Still I had a saying echo within my mind; the bigger they are, the easier it is to punch them in the nuts if necessary. To them, I must look like a crazy mountain man; yet it seems one of them was going to extend his hospitality to me as he spoke.

"Howdy, you gotta be cold....as i can see you have packed light....rather very light?" He yelled as he offered a cup filled with something that steamed. I remained silent as he continued, noting his American accent. "Come join me, i got room onboard." The words came as he gestured towards a vehicle of all things; whilst it looked like something built by an Ork, I was still intrigued that here before stood a vehicle. "She's not pretty but she does the job just fine. I don't have much, just a few MRE's and water. BUT i got enough fuel to travel the globe. HAHAHA well I use it more to start fires than anything." He soon began to clear the back compartments, revealing more seats. "You could hunker here if ya need. Me and Riley can sit up here. She prefers to stay by me than really wonder to far. But your welcome if you would like." He then turned to more distant group of tents, proceeding to warn me of going there. I accepted the mug, and smiled through my thick beard; my words revealed my (more or less) hodgepodge English accent.

"Your hospitality is accepted, and travelling all across Sweden and then crossing into Norway on foot tends to make travelling light for a man such as myself necessary...and less juicier to rob." Soon enough, someone else manifested within the corner of my eye; the newcomer was Asian in appearance, and judging by his noticeably darker complexion, I'd say South-East Asian. Holding himself to keep out the cold, he spoke Danish in a voice that seemed very familiar...yet I could not put my finger on it, it had been so long after all. I realised that I could understand Danish better than I could Norwegian, but I had another inkling as to another Germanic language he spoke.

"Judging by the fact that you're speaking Danish here on the Norwegian-Swedish border, you must have a good grasp of it to divine the well-known mutual intelligibility between it, Swedish and Norwegian. I suspect however, that you also speak English...probably better than you can Danish." I turned to my American acquaintance and his mysterious friend, "And I also believe you wish to join us." After that was said, I then accepted the seat and proceeded to unzip my coat whilst I was beside the fire; Mjolnir pendant clattered against the slightly rusty chain-mail beneath it as both came into sight. I pulled my shield and axe free from their holdings on my back and laid them flat, noting the American's khukris. I proceeded to take my hat off, revealing that much of my braid had come undone, revealing the mass of silvery and brown hair beneath. As I proceeded to fix it, I spoke.

"Here, I am named Haukur (pronounced "Hay-kur" with roll on the r) and I will enjoy myself. I should let you blokes know that an ash storm is coming this way...methinks in a few hours time."

 

[Talon maara]

"Storm?" I slowly questioned." How long ago did you see it??"

Stepping out i moved to the center of a few tents. Knowing an ash storm is full of ash, wind and lightening. A Fierce mix brewed together to create a travelers nightmare. I personally, preffered a sandstorm any day over an ash storm.

"We need to move...at least to a more sheltered location....these tents wont hold out against the wind, nor the shacks protect against the poisoning air."

Running back to the buggy i kicked out the fire and started to pack my things.

"Riley? Up!" I chattered signaling the pup to hop in. "You are more than welcome to tag." Looking to both the males who slowly approached. "Sorry man i cant understand you..." (@Tristar )

"Hey brother, we got a storm moving in" looking to the fellow reading the book to my left amidst his camp. (@Andrewza )

At this point i wasnt to worried about the rest of the camp, after all its a dog eat dog world now and this settlement wasnt really in it for the long run it seemed like. Just a passer by rag tag location of a gypsy camp in my opinion.

The buggy had a small amount of room inside but had enough room to lay out a covering tarp with our gear over head.

'Acidic rain.....i hate it...' I thought to myself. Rapping my face up in a towel as a stumbled to the ignition turning over the buggies TDI till it started clanking and clocking like an abused diesel does.
(@Benvenu7 )

 

[Andrewza]

"Sure it's cold but at least it is warming up a bit. We may even get sun, hopefully" It had been along time since the sun shown through, the first few years even with out clouds only a few rays of light penetrated the ash but now it was more a long never ending cloud cover.

with two new guests Andrew gave the soup a final stir. He was glade he made more than needed. "well, welcome, the soup is done, potato, elk and some herbs. pretty tasty you welcome to cup. So you guys travelled long then, I am updating my map with locations of interests"

 

[Pureblood-Sin]

I turned to the American who seemed overly cautious about the coming storm; having often covered myself with a lot of blankets and laid low, it wasn't that hard. Plus it was only poisonous when you inhaled the ash, of which often came in abundance.

"I saw it hours ago, that's why I quickly rushed here after seeing it on the horizon. Don't worry friend, the ash storms here are nowhere near as bad as the epicenter of the eruptions; not to mention much slower; it should arrive by nightfall at my lowest estimates. Only the ash is poisonous, as long as one's mouth and nasal passages are covered, you won't have to worry about screwing your lungs up; other bits definitely require more precautions. So ease up, we've plenty of time to prepare."

Soon afterwards, the blonde one spoke, offering us soup; it was in that instant that I recognised a South African accent. How could I not? I found such an accent attractive, regardless of whether its of South African English or Afrikaner origin...yet given how intermixed the population was these days, unless belonging to one of the Bantu tribes, accent was not always an identifier amongst the European-descended population; or so I read, never been to the Rainbow Nation. Hoped to do so one day, before it all went to Niflheim. Taking the soup from the South African, I replied with a smile.

"Lekker, thanks for the soup man..." Soon enough, my insatiable appetite for knowledge came to the fore; it always was the best and worst of my personality traits. "Anglo or Afrikaner if you don't my asking?"

 

[Richie B.]

Well this wasn't pretty, a ash storm seemed to be catching up to him, and thanks to his motorcycle being a crappy ride he was sure he will get caught up in it if he wasn't careful. Pushing his bike as hard as he could wasn't the most idea of situations, he could barely keep it together as it is now, if it got any worse he would need to get a new one. And that would not be pretty, the ride was long and boring having heard about a town some kilometers out he felt that was his best bet for surviving the ash storm. Hopefully with a few intact buildings and some cars so he can take what little gas that would be left. He was driving on none paved road but it was clear that a lot of people have recently come this way, didn't need any special training to figure that out.
Though dick didn't want to waste time if people were out here and not prepared for the ash storm then they could very well all die. Though many people feel that it's all about survival of the fittest but dick is still a very soft guy. As he continued to drive he saw a light that was close, most likely a small village, which meant people, so either that's a good place or might lead to his untimely death. So of course Dick did the stupid thing and went to warn the settlement of the ash storm, riding to the settlement Dick felt happy, glad to at least be doing a small kindness in a world where kindness was almost never given.

Upon arriving he meet two guards outside, keeping his shotgun in a single hand he was waved down by the guards. Not wasting anytime he spoke a bit too fast and in English.

"There is a ash storm coming quickly if you guys don't get to shelter quickly shit will really hit the fan." Dick only hoped they listened as they went off to warn the others.

Looking around and yelling every so often about being ready for a ash storm he found a group of people around a really questionable car. Though the fire was inviting, not to mention the rich smell in the air, dick remained focus on the task before him.

"Hey guys don't know if your aware but a ash storm is coming, might want to find someplace with a little more protection. I'm heading into the town to look for some protection myself if you are all interested." Dick didn't know these people but he hated seeing anyone get hurt plus he felt that they were heading out at least he thought so.

So dick felt that if they were heading out might as well join them, and better to tell them than to suddenly follow them which might cause problems later on the road.

@Talon maara @Pureblood-Sin @Tristar @Andrewza

 

[Crim]

The sound of rhaspy breathing filled the tent as the Doctor searched for his tools. A gust of wind made the tent rock, giving the doctor pause. He watched the tent sway and sighed. He most certainly would not have been happy if the tent had fallen. Granted, that had never happened to him. It was a large canopy built alongside a standing building. It wasn't so much of a tent as it was a building that just happened to have canvas walls. The doctor poked his head out of the tent and took a deep breath. He grumbled and sighed. He didn't need his breather for now, but he knew he would. The doctor was an American, known for lung problems after the Yellowstone Eruption. These lung problems had killed his wife and he knew he was living on borrowed time too. Down south, in Germany, there was a pejorative for Americans who came over to Europe to escape the hellhole that was their entire continent.

Schwartzelunge.

Black lung. It was an anatomical description as much as it was a namesake for the doctor. He had gone by this name for years now. If he thought about it, there probably wasn't anyone left who remembered his real name anymore. Doctor Schwartzelunge was the only name he had answered to for the past several years. He had gone from prestigious doctor to ruthless killer a hundred times over by now. But to the people of this little town, he was only the unseeming Doctor Schwartzelunge, the doctor who just... appeared one day. Set up shop a few months ago and he's been there ever since. They knew him as the doctor with the greying red hair, who didn't seem like he could hurt a fly.

They hadn't seen him during his hunts. Doctor Schwartzelunge had lost quite a bit to religious zealots in Scandinavia. And he had done quite a bit to exact his revenge. He had worked with several black markets, wearing a disguise akin to a plague doctor. And when he got too loud, he'd move somewhere else. The plague doctor outfit itself was stashed away in a medical cabinet. Schwartzelunge checked his patient chart and proceeded to make his rounds through the tent.
"Juhani, hur är de foten?" he asked. The man had a puzzled look. "Jag är ledsen. Hur är din fot?" Schwartzelunge replied, catching his broken Swedish. Juhani had come in the other day with frostbite on his foot and was resting up in Schwartzelunge's clinic. "Det finns en snöstorm kommer. Kommer du att vara okej här i kväll?" he asked the man. He responded in the affirmative. Schwartzelunge walked over and gave Juhani a smile, checked to see he had everything he needed, and closed his room, locking it with a padlock. Schwartzelunge had been burned by working alone before, with morphine in the same building as people in pain. He wasn't about to lose his supply. Again. Schwartzelunge looked out of the tent again and smelled the air. Ash storm was getting closer. Time to tie down the tent.

 

[Chask274]

A howl of pain and a string of curses followed the retreating figure as it backed out of the psuedo-alley between two pavilion-sized tents. The figure was limping backwards and had a drawn and nocked bow trained on the source of the cursing. "Må ikke dobbelt krydse mig næste gang, røvhul!" Turning away once the would-be thief was out of sight, he relaxed his draw arm, put the arrow back in it's quiver, and slung the bow over his shoulder. 'Blasted idiot, he's quick with that knife, I'll give him that.' Glancing down at his leg, he took note of the long cut along his thigh. Thankfully it wasn't too deep, but his basic medkit wouldn't be capable of patching it up either. Glancing around, he realized he was close to Doc Schwartzelunge's tent. He hadn't ever had personal need of the doctor's services before, but had heard of him from various people around town. He quickly bound the wound with a handkerchief to slow the bleeding before setting off for the doctor's tent.

A few moments later, and he limped into the tent. Unclipping his mask, he cleared his throat before speaking in an American-accented voice that was more than a little scratchy. "Hey there, Doc. You available at the moment? I got jumped by some low-life and took a knife to the leg. Could use some help." To emphasize his point, he gestured to the now bloodstained cloth tied around his leg.

 

[Tristar]

Acid rain; back then it was an uncommon occurrence by itself and relatively harmless so long as you had a thin piece of fabric between your skin and the rain. Nowadays they usually roamed as part of an ash storm, several magnitudes more dangerous than they were before. Without stuff specifically made to counter their corrosive effects, you were going to be in a lot of agony- a patch of skin on my back tingled at the prospect of being caught out once more. But for now, we relish on the kinder things in life.

This warm cup of broth I held now for instance, the pungent smell reminding me faintly of a particularly spiked fruit- the taste was better and less of a 'refined' taste as connoisseurs would call it. It was good ol' plain 'taters and something gamey and like all traditional European cuisine severely lacking in the spices. Nonetheless it still warmed the insides and rejuvenated me even just by existing: the radiated heat was enough to send color to my face after a long while of looking akin to a ghost. My frozen ears caught the words of conversation directed to me, and with a cup in hand and a mouthful of broth in between I had all the excuse to be reserved and offered a noncommittal shrug in response.

Truth be told, I wasn't ready to reveal my capacity to speak the lingua-franca just yet- it would make an invaluable advantage for me, along with procuring a motorcycle as quick as I can: I had no intention of continuing this journey with the merry band as long as I had to. I learned long ago that I had developed the taste for lone escapades, relying on my three best helpers: Me, Myself and I. Sure, you ran the risk of dying but I had long given up the prospect of salvation- if I die, I die- hopefully- with my chin straight up.

Potentially with something to get back at my murderers but beggars can't be choosers.

An interloper arrived shortly after aboard a bike- a bike!- to warn us of the ash storm we were well aware off several minutes ago; stashing away the now empty cup by the fire place I claimed a spot at the back of the jury-rigged vehicle, holding onto my makeshift spear-staff. Held horizontally on a moving platform and it became a cheap if effective lance. Looking at the stranger's motorcycle, the impulsive part of me screamed to jack it from him and dash out- I had the means to do it and the desperation for it. Except it wouldn't be a worthwhile trade.

"*Vi ved, fremmede." I caroled to what I presumed to be our second rider: Good, more space in the car. "**Du ønsker ikke at bo her når stormen rammer: Bedre at løbe det, når du kan."

*We know, stranger.
** You don't want to be here when the storm hits; better to outrun it when you can.

 

[Talon maara]

As i started the buggy, i checked the fuel tank ensuring it had SOME remaining before i and whom ever ventured outside the wire.

The tank was only half full giving us enough to make it deep into Russia IF we needed too. Russia was a very dangerous route these days. Scattered with bands of thieves, murderers and rogues all over the domain. Who killed and or stole all your belongings.

I had a feeling we would need to be leaving soon seeing that it was becoming day and during the day well it wasnt always pleasant being around others in these such times, and well......the ash storm was heading this way.

As i rounded the rear of the buggy, i noticed a Group of men who seemed to be looking for someone. They were carrying a few weapons to include a set of rifles. Searching a tent known to belonging to a doctor, where a man had entered previously with a bandage on his leg.

Looking to the group i tried getting their attention.

"Wonder what they want?" I questioned.

"Where is he?!" One of the men questioned "have you seen a small oriental man? About yay tall?" As another signaled to the side of his body gesturing the mans size.

Looking to the oriental man who earlier approached (@Tristar ) my eyes got wider.

"Tell us where he is?!" Another yelled pulling out a torch he held it close to the DR.'s tent as if he was to set it ablaze. (@Chask274 , @Crim)

 

[Pureblood-Sin]

Watching the conflict that was coming, I couldn't count my blessings enough when two other men walked into our next of this ragged woods. Here, they spoke in accented English, anticipating the number of non-Scandinavians here; immediately, I recognised them to be the two guards I encountered when I first arrived here.

"Alright people, listen up; we've got an ash storm incoming and the council has issued a retreat into the...errr...wine cellars of the Last Chance. All peoples are expected to be there by sunset...don't bother coming if you arrive after." They then turned to the men who it seemed were in a blood hunt; keeping my axe close, I watched as they spoke to these ones in their native tongue. From what I could glean, they were telling them to knock it off, sort it out another time or be exiled from the 'town' under pain of death. I suppose that extreme measures were needed to keep some vestige order in this place. Watching as both parties proceeded to leave, I turned to my new acquaintances and smiled.

"Welp, I guess that means there is no need to rush anywhere like headless chickens...those two seemed a little uncertain about the naming of this wine cellar didn't they?"

 

[ctrocks307]

I walked to the camp's entrance, my bow drawn with one arrow already notched. As I approached the guards, I tensed the bow string, their guns were much faster than his bow, but he was a better shot than they were. "Identification, now," one of the guards said in Swedish. "Shield," I said, the guards realized who I was and moved aside, leaving me to enter the camp unquestioned. The center of the town was a buzz of life and activity, then the announcement for an ash storm came on. He ran to the destination and made sure that people got in and he gave them a small piece of fabric to cover their mouths, the ash was already coming in. Making sure people got in and made it to the cellars.

 

[Necris]

I've been walking a few days now, running the storm that was blowing over the country always keeping a few hours ahead but it was almost on top of me now, my long coat snaps at my ankles as the wind chases me, its a good coat, heavy wool its kept me warm for twenty years now, its a little loose on the shoulders these days, I'm leaner than I was back then but it's still a good coat, always keeps the water off me, with the help of judicious application of lanolin and wax over the years, over my shoulders is a leather hood, its down now gathered round my neck keeping the cold wind off it.

My clothing is old and worn showing signs of repair with patches and replacement parts the trousers showing the worst of the wear are now made of at least four pairs to make once comfortable pair, over which I wear a long leather skirt it helps for working at a forge protects me from sparks gives me a more vicious wilder look, win win.

My gear is either hanging off my waist, namely the short sword, hammers and other tools or in the pack on my back some sleeping kit and some spare clothing a few useful bits and bobs and my bow and arrows, I keep the short spear in my hand, using it as a walking stick as I approach the tent village up ahead, hoping I can find some shelter. In my other hand I have a brace of bunnies I caught during the day, hoping to trade them for shelter.

When the guards at the makeshift gate levelled their weapons at me I slowed my paces.

"Hey guys, storms coming, what's it going to cost to let me inside?"

One of the guards looked at the brace in my hands.

"The meat."

I held them out there were eight in total

"How about six, I've still got to eat and it leaves three each of you two."

"Deal, head to the Last Chance if you're looking to ride the storm out."

The man nodded and I unhooked two of the bunnies before handing them over, inside the collection of tents there seemed to be a commotion brewing up even as the storm rolled in, shaking my head I turn and head towards the Last Chance.