Charon; Ferryman of the North

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Charon; Ferryman of the North

He who hunts Man and Beast alike will be feared by all.

Awoken from slumber; with the inability to recall past memories, the first encounter I had was with a Dogman. Its stature was intimidating, with sharp teeth and claws making it a dangerous encounter. There is no backing out, so I went toe to toe, man to beast, and it was confused by my stance and its eyes showed fear; and death rewarding the one who loses the bout. We collided into each other; and I used its fear against it. The Dogman laid limp; pathetic and weak, undeserving to live in this cruel wasteland. And to the victor; the spoils of war. Looking around, I used the glass shards from a broken window to skin off its fur and wore it over me as a prize; the coat as a warning to all who dare oppose me. I scavenged for items around as well as inside the Cryo Facility and took with me the tape of my meeting with the Dogman, the trophy to prove my confrontation.

Dusk soon followed, all while having no clear guidance in sight. A short distance away; in a dense forest, I crafted a makeshift spear by tearing my hospital gown for thread and the shard I used to skin the Dogman on a long branch of a tree. I fixed the shard at the very edge of the long branch, tying it with the small thread from my shredded hospital gown. As I continued on, the moon chased the sun; shrouding my surroundings in total darkness and there it was, I saw a faint dimming glow. I took it as a symbol of my very own rebirth, since I cannot recall a distant memory, and happily indulged in the fact that I am a new Man in this post-apocalyptic world. I began my trek; on me was my prize kill, a strange bronze talisman around my neck, a broad spear clenched in my left hand and the proof of the deadly bout in my right, and a hospital wrist strap on my left wrist; 'Philip Kindred'.

Prying into houses, apartments and buildings and looting it became my profession. I found a Pearson "Yukon" Canvas Backpack, and it became my prized finding, second only to what I wore on me with pride. I looted and found blue jeans, a brown t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of matching pack boots. The trek was long and lonesome, still with no sign of life. It took two days and one night to get to my destination; just when dusk was settling in. There it was, right in front of me. Detroit Megacity. I sold what I did not need outside its gates; in the Junk Market and noticed a very expensive item, a DMC pass. Unable to afford all the wares being offered, I left to join the line to see if I could step inside the Megacity. Yet when it was my turn, the armed guard turned me away, unable to produce a DMC pass on my person. As I looked around wondering where to go next, I noticed a pair of eyes that were fixated on me and he came up to me, introducing himself. I became acquainted with Mr. Hatter, following him to his office. There I noticed he was a collector of sorts, and while we were discussing business matters about a particular silver urn; I offered him another trophy for his collections. I showed him the tape of my earlier confrontation, and he viewed it on the big screen. There, his guards stared at awe and envy, and Mr. Hatter was most pleased. He traded it for the DMC pass; and it was my ticket past the Megacity's thick walls. He offered a job in the future to work under him, and we bid each other farewell afterwards, both satisfied with our new acquisition.

I settled in the outskirts of town, trekking North. Men feared the Northern lands, where loot was bountiful, yet accompanied with death. This is where Dogmen called home, where the Beasts mark their territory and stalk their prey. I adapted to how Dogmen survived; and showed no mercy, hunting and putting down my foes like mere cattle. I adapted to the harshness of life and fed on it, growing stronger with each passing day. I learned to live off the lands, I looted, I murdered, I raided, and I scorched earth. I ate my enemy's food, and destroyed the rest. I left them in the North with not a morsel to feed on, and they starved. I destroyed the weak; and it didn't matter if they were amateur scavengers, bandits who knew the concept of survival or veteran raiders; they all fell limp and cold beneath my feet. If they were unarmed, I answered with a Cleaver in hand. In the beginning it wasn't always so, I answered with a makeshift broad spear. I am above the weak after learning to live in the North, and I took in the the Meat Cleaver as my signature melee weapon; a symbol of my terror. I use it to expose weak flesh, to assert my dominance over the frail and feeble. If they held a melee weapon in their hand, I answered by propelling a few crude piercing arrows with my Compound Bow into their soft, delicate meat. If they were lucky enough to carry a firearm with them into battle, I ducked and became one with the lands and returned the favor without hesitation; for they are cattle and therefore prey, and to strike them down is my Will. It is here, in this treacherous badlands where I was bestowed the name 'Charon', Ferryman of the North.

The North is where I now called home, where men were my practice game and the true sport were the ferocious Beasts who stalked their prey; for they were rare and magnificent, frightening men with their presence. The Dogmen were my true prize, to stalk the stalkers. It is here I learned from them, bettering the Beasts of the wild. I track down my prey, engaging it in the open fields of the wasteland; and it willingly charges towards me. I wait for the hulking Beasts to come within my view, 20-35 downrange. It is here, the sweet spot of antagonizing death that accompanies them. The kill-zone; and the broadhead arrows fly into the raging Beasts. It pierces their coat, slowing down the massive 185kg beasts to a halt; collapsing in front of me due to excruciating pain. The Beast is carved afterwards, and I take my true prize from each Dogman that I put down; dining on their succulent flesh and skin their corpse. I take with me a beautiful coat, a trophy that I sell for the highest bidder at the Junk Market. It will then be sold to a weak mortal inside Detroit Megacity, into the hands of a degenerate who is unworthy to wear the symbol of the Beast. They are fools; who are deemed unfit to live outside the Walls and will become my cattle if they ever step foot outside the gates. My camp is close to the city and near a marsh. This was my home, laid with noise traps to wake me from my slumber, in case Man and Beast step into the grounds I have marked for myself. Men come for gifts bestowed to me from the North; whom were jealous and unfit to earn themselves. I have with me in my home; the liquid to bring life in this desolate wasteland. Endless amounts of Sterilized Water to wash away the dirt on my body from my daily exploits, to rinse the open wounds made by man's pathetic attempts to kill me, and it is they who are sent to the afterlife. Sterilized Water circulates the weakness out of me; replenishing my thirst for war. The wasteland is what I have adapted to; learning from the dangerous Beasts is no simple feat. One learns quickly to look after only one man, if not one must surely perish in this unforgiving world. The weak is to be left to their demise, because it is they who have sewn their paths to weakness, and the strong reaps from their shortcomings. To be weak is to be wretched and it is not worth the energy of the strong to save them, there is no just reason in this immoral world to be punished for their idiocies. Survival of the fittest is what the North teaches its pupils. Might is right and it reflected religiously; the sheep becomes a slave to the shepherd, to be hung like a trophy by other men who are stronger than they, or to fall due to the nature of the badlands itself.

My continuous progress of survival did not come without rewards; first it was corrective eye surgery inside Haggerty Health Clinic. Then came Prosthetic and Augmentation procedures, state of the art replacement eyes fitted with both telescopic and night vision upgrades so I can stalk prey with ease. As I visit my hunting grounds with my newly acquired modification; my victims catch a glimpse of my soulless eyes, and the ones who escape whispers to others in their commune of their past member's demise. I have considered the modification a small gift from the North; which is where Dogmen await their doom and men fall before my feet. My steel rip into their succulent flesh, my arrows pierce their soft meat, my rounds shred their weak bodies, resulting in lifeless corpses, to nurture the soil where they fall. To be the Ferryman himself is to be privileged, the items burdened upon them is my coin, ripe for the taking. To take is to be just in an immoral land, for it is righteous to claim what is mine in advance, payment for me to send them on their way to the afterlife. It is there, where I have earned enough ammunition to take out an pack of raiders charging before me with crowbars and cleavers in hand, only to be put down like livestock with my Deltec "1911" .45 semi-automatic handgun. It is there in the North, where I have now laid my eyes on my first winter, and with snow welcoming me; it has welcomed the lifeless corpses alongside my tracks. It's a sign, of plenty more winters to come. Bad men now spread rumours to each other at night around a warming campfire, that Charon will get you if you slip up in the wastes. When weak men roam at night; fearing the blindness, I welcome it for it is my hunting grounds, where I control the populace of both Man and Beast. I, Charon; am the one who feasts on the flesh of Beast. It is I, Charon; who discards man's flesh , tainted with weakness, and so I spit at the sight of consuming harmless flesh. For what is a man who consumes the flesh of the weak, resulting in poisoning himself with weakness? I am the symbol for strength; and prove my worth by clashing with man and beast alike; to prove who is fit for this land. In the end, the Righteous Path is the Lonely Path; to be in a community proves to the Strong that man cannot protect himself by his lonesome. For I am not man, I am more than man. I am Charon, the Ferryman of the North and I am here to take my payment in advance from my prey in this Harsh, Winter, North.

View of stats & camp of [Entry Thu, 12/19/2013]

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Just wait till you have to take on screaming memes. (Screaming melonheads)

I have, I found it more to be a nuisance than an actual threat unless you encountered them in the forest or inside a close-proximity hex.

Or if you do something stupid. (That seems to be the way most far in players meet their ends)

Woah, just Woah

Rylanman

I hope that's a good "woah" and you enjoyed it. If not, let me know what I can improve on. It's been awhile since I wrote anything besides for my classes.