Post by Soldier 76 on Aug 11, 2016 4:20:02 GMT
Wandering the wasteland, following the trails of game and other wildlife, keeping far from the centers of humanity there was the wildman. Ansell Wolff, the silent hunter. He was not searching for prey today, no today he rubbed his fingers in soot and ash from a long time ago. When the reactor melted down there were many lost to the vaporizing explosion, and many others were shredded by shrapnel, he should know. He would have been one of those had he not fixed himself. Well...fixed as well as one can expect after such an event.
He was in an old forgotten husk of a settlement, suburban as it came in the Outback. This was familiar territory to the wildman. He eased through the reclaimed human world, bush grass and sparse trees doing their best to whittle away the silent remnants of human presence. He sniffed the air, his tactical visor tracking his destination weakly in front of his eyes. Where was he going? It was a special place, today was an anniversary.
He held wild flowers held loosely together by a makeshift bit of rope. His skulking posture, making him seem dangerous and alert. Should he have to deal with predators he was always ready. Finally his destination greeted him. It was just another abandoned hunk of rotting, charred wood. The last pieces of a home. It used to be his home. His mother and father had died in this very building, they had been the first things he had sought out after staving off infection and shock. They had been instantly vaporized nothing left of them but shadows of ash in vaguely human shapes.
He sat down in the home, laying the flower down in front of him. "I don't, talk...much, so; will be brief. I'm here, give you an honor, as much as can give. You were my parents. I was your son," he said in his usual stinted and gruff way. "I miss you. I miss everything." He took a deep breath.
He had erected something of a monument to their existence out of stones and bits of scrap, carving out their names so he wouldn't forget them. Hans, and Eva Wolff. His parents. The man for a brief moment let his guard down, as he sat in the abandoned suburb. Nothing but dust, soot and rot left of what used to be a small, well off neighborhood. If he thinks long enough on it, he can remember laughter, and dinner parties. Friends, familiar faces. "Have to go." He stood up and looked around. Another year out here in the middle of nowhere. The wind whipping up his cloak and dirt pelting his face. A Sandstorm is coming he needed to get out of here before he was scoured off just like the flowers that were shaking.
"Good bye," he finally said before taking a quick but cautious pace out of the old buildings, heading for camp.
He was in an old forgotten husk of a settlement, suburban as it came in the Outback. This was familiar territory to the wildman. He eased through the reclaimed human world, bush grass and sparse trees doing their best to whittle away the silent remnants of human presence. He sniffed the air, his tactical visor tracking his destination weakly in front of his eyes. Where was he going? It was a special place, today was an anniversary.
He held wild flowers held loosely together by a makeshift bit of rope. His skulking posture, making him seem dangerous and alert. Should he have to deal with predators he was always ready. Finally his destination greeted him. It was just another abandoned hunk of rotting, charred wood. The last pieces of a home. It used to be his home. His mother and father had died in this very building, they had been the first things he had sought out after staving off infection and shock. They had been instantly vaporized nothing left of them but shadows of ash in vaguely human shapes.
He sat down in the home, laying the flower down in front of him. "I don't, talk...much, so; will be brief. I'm here, give you an honor, as much as can give. You were my parents. I was your son," he said in his usual stinted and gruff way. "I miss you. I miss everything." He took a deep breath.
He had erected something of a monument to their existence out of stones and bits of scrap, carving out their names so he wouldn't forget them. Hans, and Eva Wolff. His parents. The man for a brief moment let his guard down, as he sat in the abandoned suburb. Nothing but dust, soot and rot left of what used to be a small, well off neighborhood. If he thinks long enough on it, he can remember laughter, and dinner parties. Friends, familiar faces. "Have to go." He stood up and looked around. Another year out here in the middle of nowhere. The wind whipping up his cloak and dirt pelting his face. A Sandstorm is coming he needed to get out of here before he was scoured off just like the flowers that were shaking.
"Good bye," he finally said before taking a quick but cautious pace out of the old buildings, heading for camp.
