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     Last Updated: 1/17/2020
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Hi Faggots.
Started writing this in a /k/ fantasy thread back in late 2018, but abandoned it. I decided to pick it up again and see where I can take it.
There's another archive out there (with a lot more views), but contacting the guy in charge of it is not always easy, so I'll keep it here, ask him to link to this one instead.

Here we go.

1.
>A few years after both the Merge and the Collapse
>Things haven't gone back to normal yet
>they probably never will, but we're getting used to it
>No news from the Feds in a while
>Seems like they have given up and are leaving us alone
>they can't defend us, so why would we pay taxes?
>they did not agree with our stance at first
>but a few ambushes and fallen trees have convinced them
>Sadly, the feds were not the only ones who wanted to "tax" us
>Orkish warbands ranging from small to not-so-small have attacked us relentlessly
>But for a few months, it's been strangely calm
>Not sure if they're planning something or if they just got tired of it
>Probably neither, they're not smart enough and all they like is fighting
>And that's why we have sentries like me
>We don't have alarms set up, all we got are bells. Electricity is for radios only
>We've guessed power lines have been destroyed or the Dams shitted up by the Greens, or both
>Only radio signal we've been picking up clearly is really weird
>What sounds like Mongolian Throat-Singing, 24/7
>And it's more than just one track, doesn't sound like it's looping
>No idea where it's coming from really, we only got one antenna
>Anyways, we have larger fish to fry
>We've gotten used to this way of life well enough, thanks to some preppers and our older townsfolk
>Some of them were of those who farmed this land in the fifties, when there was barely any infrastructure
>they know how to do stuff the old way, no running water or electricity needed
>We've managed to keep the town safe and well-fed
>We've also received refugees from nearby towns who got raided and razed by the Greens
>We needed their expertise and manpower, and over here, we stick together
>Ork attacks were hard to fight though, the only weapons we had were hunting rifles
>Some of us are knowledgeable in metalworking and gunsmithing, we even built some SMGs ourselves, along reloading ammo
>We repaired the guns the Orks had too
Cont

2.
>My turn on the watchtower tonight
>It's pretty cold up here, but I'm used to it
>Only me, my Double-Great-Grandpa's old 1891 Dragoon Mosin and a bottle of Moonshine
>He was a Russian Cossack and fought in WW1
>My Grandpa told me he fought the Commies from Kuban to Siberia, fled to Canada in 1921 after the Whites lost Vladivostok
>He hopped on a boat to Canada as the city fell, few of his comrades made it
>Only spoke French and Russian, so he moved to rural French Canada
>We've passed down this bad boy for generations, along with his Shashka, both in great condition
>Once again it is used for war
>This time, it's not to hold back the Reds, but to hold back the Greens
>While examining the masterful engineering of the Hexagon bolt, I take a sip form my canteen
>Moonshine is pretty good, but mixed with water because I don't want to be blind drunk on watch
>It was a gift from Jean-Pierre, the local Doctor and Bartender
>I've heard rumours about him cooking up Pervitin in the back of his bar
>He's a good christian, but I don't blame him
>Fuck it's hard staying awake
>Maybe this alcohol is still too strong
>It's been Six Months since the last raid, so I guess I could take a nap...
>FUCK YOU RETARD
>DON'T THINK THAT YOU MORON, YOU'LL JINX IT
>I slap myself in the face
>The sharp pain on my cheek reminds me of Mama
>I did retarded shit back then, I don't blame her
>She cooked really well, was a great woman
>She wasn't here to see what happened, died in a Car Accident
>Rest in peace Mama
>Although she wasn't here to witness all the weird shit that went down
>The blanket she made for me is pretty darn warm, great for sleeping outside
>it almost seems like she knew about what was coming
>Honestly, I wouldn't care that much if we could still watch Hockey on TV
>The Sun is rising and the Town is waking
>I'm no longer needed, I can go back to sleep
>I'll stay up here, this place is not that bad.
>Pull my Expos Cap down and drift into sleep
Cont

3.
>Next day, chilling with Bros at JP's Tavern
>Had no Tavern in town prior to the Collapse, so it's a big log cabin we built a while ago
>He has a distillery at the back, and a room for himself
>Bob the Carpenter made some chairs and tables, antique store had a really old Pool table
>I always sucked at pool, but it's fun
>Playing with Mike and Frank while Steph is throwing knives at a target hung on the wall
>Frank wins again, Mike was probably distracted by his own thoughts
>He's probably thinking about his weird conspiracy theories
>Frank buys us drinks because he won
>It's supposed to work the other way, but we accept it
>Ok bro we know you really want that place in heaven, but this is a bit much
>We order some drinks, try to make smalltalk with JP
>He's a bit jumpy, maybe the rumors are true
>If yes, his supply could come in handy in emergency situations
>I remember reading about a Finn that downed his entire squad's supply of Pervitin
>His squadmates, stunned, saw him disappear into the woods at warp speed
>probably melted tracks in the snow
>They find him a few weeks later, 400km from his previous position, in a pit in the snow
>He has no ammunition, no food except for some pine buds in his pack
>His pulse was 200 beats/minute and he had dropped down to 43 kilos
>As long as we don't take 30 tablets in one shot like he did, we would probably be fine
>Extra energy could save our lives, and those of the whole community we swore to protect
>Back on track.
>As the bartender comes back with our drinks, Mike goes on one of his legendary rants
>He sounds almost exactly like Alex Jones
>Something about how the Government is run by interdimensional child-molesting demons
>Also according to him Elves are an Hoax
>As he's getting to the part where the RCMP is teaming up with Orks to destroy Catholic Communities, a familiar figure approaches
>It's Chief, the guy in charge of the town's Militia, our Boss
>He's a big guy (UUUU)
Cont.

4.
>He explains to us that the Radio silence has been broken for the first time in months
>And it isn't another Mongolian Music Station
>Apparently a some kind of Caravan got stranded in the woods around a hundred clicks from here
>Said their horses and cattle disappeared during the night
>Sounds like bullshit, but Chief says they'll pay us if we guide them back to safety
>in weapons
>ShieetNegroThatsAllYouHadToSay.webm
>As expected, Mike, Frank and Steph volunteer too
>We decide to not use the main roads
>We would risk getting spotted, and fucked by snow anyways
>We grab our gear and our guns
>But not Steph, he grabs his knives
>Once all our gear is ready, we go rest in the barracks
>Tomorrow we leave at dawn
Next Morning
>Frank wakes up first, cooks us some eggs and venison for breakfast
>so much for leaving at dawn
>It's pretty good, we probably won't have eggs in the woods but we can hunt
>We say our goodbyes and disappear innawoods
>We aren't boy scouts by any means, but we aren't retarded
>Our lads have gone in the woods before to help refugees (not the rapey kind, the useful kind)
>We haven't gotten any more refugees since a while back, all towns around us probably got raided bare
>Luckily, the position of the Caravan is pretty close to somewhere we've already been
>It was a great spot to ambush RCMP patrols
>It's a small clearing, with cliffs on both sides of the road
>It's a great spot for an ambush
>Caravan guys are fucking retarded if they thought that was a good spot for a camp
>Fuckers are asking for trouble
>We've been walking through the woods for a while, it will probably take a hand of days to get there and back
>Find a good spot near a creek for camp
>I mean it would be nicer if it wasn't completely frozen
>Gets pretty cold at this time of the year, but seems like it got worse since the merge
>But we're not urbanite niggers, we can handle it
>Frank and Steph go hunting while we set up a fire and a camp
Cont

5.
>Coming back to camp with firewood in my arms
>Wait nigger I think I heard something
>While Mike is fixed on disassembling and cleaning his M1, something is fucking with our packs
>I quietly lower the wood on the ground and whip out my trusty Hi-Power
>with shaking hands, screw on a silencer (I threaded the barrel a while ago) as fast as I possibly can without making too much noise
>one of the fuckers raises his head
>It's a little fucking bunny cunt
>LOOKSLIKEMEATISBACKONTHEMENU.pdn
>shoot the fucker in the head
>pink mist all my rucksack
>we'll deal with that later
>before the stealing niggers can even react, they have already met their maker
>Mike almost gets a heart attack, jumps from his seat
>he whips out his 1911, and mag-dumps into the woods while screaming "FUCK YOU GAY JEWNIGGERS"
>1911 Jams before he empties his extended mag
>kek, but at least his hand is fine
>Knowing his luck, his gun would've blown up if it was a glock
>He racks the slide but somehow accidentally drops the mag
>Madman freaks out, throws his 1911 at a tree, making some bark come off
>Having heard the shots, Frank and Steph come back running
>WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS DOING? YOU DUMB ANIMALS ARE GOING TO GET US SPOTTED AND YOURSELVES KILLED!
>I've never seen Frank this mad
>I explain what happened while Mike picks up his gun and his mag
>We laugh it off, Mike included
>Steph explains that they were coming back when they heard the gunfire, they dropped their catches though
>I show Frank the dead rabbits, and Steph leaves to get the Turkeys they caught
>When he comes back, we've already got the rabbits skinned and roasting
>That shit's great, tastes even better when you caught them yourself
>Turkey's great too, maybe we can keep some for letter to supplement our rations
>Aaaaand it's gone
>Too bad, we'll catch more game later
>I fall asleep in my Hammock with a full stomach, hugging my nugget, wondering about who the fuck is in charge of Chinggis Radio
Cont

6.
Two Days later
>We've been walking for a while, nothing much happened yesterday
>Found some more rabbits, but nothing more
>Better than nothing, they tasted great
>We're getting close to the Caravan's last position
>Maybe a day more or so, but we need to find a crossing first
>most of the river is frozen, but the ice isn't thick enough in most places
>We're following the river, looking for a possible crossing
>Mike just WONT SHUT THE FUCK UP
>He wasn't too annoying at first, but damn when it's been 3 days of him schizo-ranting
>He even scared away a deer before we could shoot it
>I like the guy, but for fucks sake can't he shut the fuck up?
>Frank seems fine with it, like nothing can annoy him
>Steph randomly throws knives at trees in front of us, then picks them back up
>He's getting really good at this
>The sound of him sharpening his knives have helped me fall asleep for the last few nights
>I wonder if Knife Sharpening ASMR is a thing
>Or was a thing, not even sure if the internet still exists
>not up here at least, maybe when it's all over he can start an ASMR channel
>/K/omfy /K/ommando Noises or something like that
>Told him about it, he likes the idea
>Maybe if Elon Musk gave us satellite internet instead of giving it to africans we could do it
>too bad, everyone knows nigerian children need to be taught about javascript
>It's getting darker, we should set up camp soon
>Would be nice to find a crossing today
>Oh, talking of the devil
>Seems like this not as wide
>Frank is poking the ice with his walking cane to see if it's good enough
>No idea why he uses a cane, he's as old as we are, plus he has good legs
>Of course, steph, not giving a fuck, just runs past him to the middle of the river
>I think he saw something
>With a crazed look on his face, he takes out a fucking SS dagger and starts stabbing the ice
>niggerwhatthefuckareyoudoing.jpeg
Cont

7.
>he makes some kind of round hole in the ice with a few precise stabs
>leaves his SS dagger on the ice, takes out his switchblade
>with the switchblade in hand, he looks at the water, 100% focused on whatever the fuck he is trying to do
>still has a faint smile on his face
>after a few long seconds of us looking at him, dumbfounded, he takes a single stab at the water
>he plunges his other arm in the freezing river
>his hand comes back out with a fucking trout in it
>it doesn't take long before it stops wriggling, the switchblade still in its side
>he slaps the fish on the ice
>LOOKSLIKEMEATISBACKONTHEMENUBOYS_2.webm
>still frozen by what we had just witnessed, he gets up and turns to us with a shit-eating grin
>we walk up to him to examine his catch, still amazed
>"NIGGER HOW THE FUCK?"
>Steph looks me dead in the eyes
>he simply whispers one word
>"Anime."
>ok fair enough
>We pick our shit back up
>Frank wants to empty the fish NOW
>Ok foodbro, do your thing
>As he gets his tools out, I hear faint rustling in the bushes from the other side of the river
>OH SHIT
>Me, Frank and Steph leg it to the other side of the river and take cover
>I get my Nugget out and go prone behind a fallen tree
>A few paces on my right, Steph is crouched behind a rock
>He already has knives in both hands, and one in his mouth
>How many fucking knives does he have?
>No idea where Frank went, but I know he's a good shot with his Ruger American, I trust him
>A few seconds pass, and after what feels like eternity we hear more rustling
>As a human figure wanders out of the woods, I take my aim
>Oh, we're retarded
>It's just Mike, he was probably taking a piss
>"Hi guys sorry I had shit to do in the bushes wait what is that fucking hole in the-"
>His is interrupted by the crack of a gunshot from his side of the woods
>As Mike's body falls limp, a small streak of dark blood descends from his scalp

8.
>My mind goes from DEFCON 5 to DEFCON 1 in less than a heartbeat
>Faster than that time my Dad found me wanking to Lutty Schematics
>I frantically look for hostiles
>Somewhere far to my right, I hear Frank yell "THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE TREES"
>Good news, it wasn't one of us
>Bad news, we've got friends
>Before I can say anything, Steph leaps from behind his rock shouting something about Gooks
>As he darts towards the other side of the river, gunfire erupts from the treeline
>Not missing a beat, I start shooting towards the muzzle flash to cover him
>Seems like Frank is doing the same, as I hear more gunshots from our side
>Not sure what the fuck Steph is doing, we need to catch up to him before he gets killed
>Gunfire from the other side are getting less disciplined, Steph is distracting them
>We seize the opportunity and run to the other side as well
>I almost trip in the fishing hole Steph made, but I make it to the treeline
>I can see Steph wrestling something, I get closer to get a better shot at it
>As I take my aim from behind a tree, Steph ends up between me and my target
>I see another figure approach from his side, and I switch targets
>It has some sort of dark brown longcoat on, but I can't figure out what it is
>Shoot the fucker before he shoots Steph's ass
>Frank comes out of nowhere and points his snub nose .357 at Steph's wrestling buddy
>The thing's head get turned into mush, and both Steph's face and the snow is turned red
>Fuck I hope they didn't have AIDS
>Before Steph can complain about it, another figure comes out from behind the trees
>It tries to shoot its AKS at Frank, but misses and hits a tree, sending shards flying
>Steph turns and throws a knife at the thing
>CRITICAL HIT
>It falls backwards, magdumping into the sky
>We stay silently in cover
>Seems like that was the last one
>Steph whips out his SS dagger with the same grin as when he caught that fish
>It's probably still on the ice
>Just like Mike
>Fuck

9.
I haven't written anything in a while, sorry about that.
>We examine the corpses
>no idea what the fuck these things are, their skin is white, and their faces fucked
>they look like skinny albino retard-orcs with down syndrome
>Their guns seem functional, but we don't have any .22 lr or 7.62x39
>We couldn't find any ammo on the bodies, it's like all they had were the mags
>weird
>I'm no doctors, but these things don't look like their were healthy
>rotten teeth, hands black and rotting like they got gangrene
>two out of the tree of them had a missing eye
>what the fuck
>this nigger's throat was torn open
>Steph says it wasn't him
>that fucker was trying to kill us moments ago, how in the fuck was he alive?
>After Steph takes out some Canine teeth, says it's for a necklace
>I've seen weirder, whatever floats your boat
>We go back to the river, Mike is still laying on his back
>That empty look in his eyes, looking into the sky
>F
>At least he got shot with .22lr, otherwise it would be a closed casket
>Frank closes his eyes, and we carry him into the woods
>We find a nice spot under an uprooted tree
>The hole is pretty big
>The ground is completely frozen, we can't do much better
>Spend a few hours pilling up dirt and rocks to bury his body, along with his Garand
>Steph makes a crude cross out of some thick branches, carves out Mike's name in it
>Frank gives him one last prayer, and we go back to the river
>We'll miss you brother
>We won't let his death be in vain, we have to carry on with our mission
>Probably a day's march more through the woods
>We grab our stuff (and the fish) and go
>We barely talk to each other, and walk as quietly as possible
>There are probably other retarded downy-ork shitters in the woods, we gotta be careful
>We make silently make camp, and it feels awfully quiet without Mike's ranting
>We fall asleep quietly, the moon obscured by the trees and snowfall
Cont.

10.
>wake up the smell of cooking fish
>Tastes great, but there's not much
>"At least I only have to share with two guys"
>fuck off Steph
>it's not funny you damn knife-wielding snowgook
>we pack up and continue towards the objective, we're getting close
>we don't have GPS equipment, so we're using a map and a compass
>Talking of compasses, they started acting weird since the merge
>we've figured out a couple months earlier that they point slightly more towards the east than they used to
>easy fix, we just opened them and rotated the scales
>thank god, Boss was a Astronomy nerd
>The compasses are still weird though, they act a bit erratic sometimes
>from time to time, the pointer starts shaking left to right for a while
>only happens a few times per month, probably due to some fantasynigger phenomenon
>Not much of an issue, usually it doesn't last for too long
>We've gotten used to shit like this, a bunch of other weird shit has happened since the merge
>Back on track
>We're getting really close to Caravan's location, but it's awfully quiet
>Strange for a group of a few dozen, maybe they encountered the same fucks we did
>We arrive to the clearing next to the road, but there's no one here
>There are a bunch of horse-drawn carts (with the horses missing), two carriages pulled on the side of the road
>There is a small ring of stones with burnt wood, probably a fire spot
>We look around to find any clues about what happened to the Caravan
>we've already found multiple weapons and other equipment, but no bodies
>"Huh... Guys? Come look at this"
>Me and Steph get to where Frank is, and we're welcomed by one horrifying sight
>There's a corpse in one of the Carriage, and frozen bloodstains the the walls
>The guy is missing part of the back of his skull, and his jaw is open
>the door is stuck shut, but after Frank opens it with a crowbar he found
>The body falls to the ground, along with a snub-nosed .357
>what the fuck happened here
Cont.

11.
>We look through the corpse's stuff
>had a New Brunswick driver's license, name was John Smith, age 62
>Seriously?
>After looking around the clearing for a second time, we haven't found any more bodies
>I find what looks like an FN FAL partly buried in the snow, wood furniture
>His previous owner probably won't need it, I dig it up to look closer
>The thin layer of ice around it, separating the fresh snow from the older snow, breaks as I dig it up
>the snow under it looks a bit pink
>oh no
>I put the FAL back on the ground and remove more snow
>under the fresh snow (it had been snowing for a few days), the old snow is red with blood
>After telling the others, we get to removing the top layer around where I found the FAL
>the more we clear, the more we can see some kind of trail of blood
>We follow it and continue revealing it
>it leads into the woods
>someone's corpse got dragged around, if they had limped it wouldn't look like that
>our quiet talking is interrupted a distant, but clear sound of marching and voices
>somewhere down the road, there's some kind of group approaching
>We're not sure who these guys are
>but knowing the fate of the caravan, we aren't risking it
>without even having to talk, we immediately agree to go back in the woods from where we came
>we quietly disappear into the woods, moving a bit slowly to avoid getting spotted
>as the voices get closer, they also get clearer
>doesn't sound like any language I know, but it's somewhat familiar
>we carry on onwards, it sounds like there's many of them, it's not worth confronting them
>first time we've seen or heard an hostile party around here, we have to tell the others
>Fuck our mission, the Caravan is gone, dead men need no guides
>Maybe the cunts who destroyed it are the same who killed mike
>And the same as those on our tail
>My thoughts are once again cut short by something unexpected
>Gobbo right up front
>And his little shitnigger eyes are on us
Cont.

12.
>Reacting quicker than I could've, Mike throws a knife at the gobbo
>it hits the gobbo in square between its eyes
>the little fucker's dead before he can even react
>before his little skelly body can hit the ground, our ears get raped
>I have earplugs on, so no shit Orkshits heard it
>It's coming from the dead goblin
>fucker had a dead man's switch on itself
>sentries with dead man switch alarms?
>fuck that's actually a pretty good idea I guess
>if your sentries are expected to die of course
>No more time to think, we have to get the fuck away
>We start running faster than blacks athletes during the olympics
>Jumping over roots and shit
>there's not too much snow because these woods are dense as fuck, thank god
>Over the sound of our own footsteps, we hear Hooting and Hollering behind us
>fuck
>it's soon followed by gunshots and the sound of bullets whizzing past
>there are wood shards flying everywhere, one hits me in the leg
>FUCK
>tap into my French genes
>start running even faster despite the 3 inch piece of wood in my leg
>we're loosing them, gunshots are fewer, they're trying to catch up
>quickly look over my shoulder
>gobbos running on all fours, followed by running orks
>an Ork stops and takes aim
>I get a tree behind me and it
>I still hear the thunder of his niggerrigged AK
>It is soon followed by the sound of a 7.62x39 bullet tearing it's way through flesh
>Frank lets out a scream
>look over my shoulder again
>silverware spills everywhere out of his pouch as he falls
>he takes out his Hi-Power, starts firing wildly
>A goblin runs through the gunfire, gets dangerously close to him
>pistol empty, he picks up a fork on his right and stabs the goblin under the jaw
>"KEEP RUNNING, I'LL HOLD EM O-"
>He gets shot in the face, and the snow around him is turned pink
>"RUN FAGGOT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE NEXT"
>thanks for the advice Steph
>Turn my head back, hit a tree
>Head hurts like hell, get back up and keep running
Cont.

13.
>Continue running despite the pain
>leaving a trail of red snow behind me, can't lose them
>Must. Keep. Running.
>Trip on a root
>break my fall with my hands
>get back up, keep running
>Maybe I can get away
>They stopped firing,
>realise Steph is still here
>He's running a bit slower than I am
>he's also limping a bit
>our pursers are gaining on us
>Steph gets his foot stuck in something
>trips and falls, but he isn't able to get up
>I catch up to him, I try to help him up
>"More than my ankle's fucked. Go."
>I look down at his shirt, it's bright red and looks humid
>I'm not leaving you alone, not with these greenniggers-
>"Look kid, I'm done running. In fact, I've been waiting for this moment my whole life"
>He pulls out his SS dagger and a stielhandgranate
>"It just came sooner than I expected. Go tell the others: fun time's over."
>he takes out a mauser broomhandle
>first time I've seen him with a gun
>"See you in Valhalla brother!"
>G-Goodbye brother
>I get up and run, leg still hurting, but I won't let him die in vain
>I hear multiple gunshots behind me, but I can't look back
>Maybe I heard him yell "Meine Ehre heißt Treue" but I'm not sure, my german's rusty
>As the gunshots grow distant, my pain becomes worse
>Just. Keep. Running.
>The now almost inaudible gunshots are silenced by a loud explosion
>inhuman screaming resonates through the dark forest like the howling of wolves
>I keep running, but my conscience becomes weaker
>Have I lost too much blood?
>Am I going to die?
>before I can think any more about it, I trip over a root
>I fail to regain footing, the ground disappears from under me
>right shoulder hits a tree trunk
>everything around me is moving
>world keeps changing from normal to upside-down and normal again
>hit more branches and roots as I tumble down the cliff
>Hit my head on something hard on my way down
>last thing I can hear is the rushing of water
>everything goes black
>finally I can rest

14.
>Gunshots
>Snow
>Fire
>The Smell of burning wood
>I stand up
>Everything is on fire
>But everything is silent
>Houses are burning all around me
>Home
>Screams
>It's from the tavern
>Run towards it
>Deep snow makes slow down
>I sink into the snow
>Up to my knees
>Up to my waist
>Cold
>Door of the tavern opens
>It's mike
>He's looking at me
>his own blood staining his clothes and his face
>His eyes are closed
>Dig my way out of the snow
>get inside the tavern
>Mike is dead on the floor
>Frank is against the wall, disfigured, bloody hole in his left temple
>Hear steps from the backstore
>Hello?
>Nothing
>then, a voice
>"Ich schwöre bei Gott diesen heiligen Eid,
daß ich meinem Volk und Vaterland allzeit treu und redlich dienen
und als tapferer und gehorsamer Soldat bereit sein will,
jederzeit für diesen Eid mein Leben einzusetzen."
>what
>it's Steph
>run to the backstore
>nothing there
>I look on the floor
>His SS dagger, broomhandle and Stielhandgranate
>the cap on the grenade is removed, and the string and bead have been pulled
>run out of the tavern
>it explodes when I reach the doorstep
>I get thrown into the snow
>black out
>All I feel is cold
>Wake up
>I'm on the shore of the river
>clothes aren't even wet
>how in the fuck
>I fill my canteen from the river
>Despite being dry, I feel awfully cold
>and hungry
>I check my pack
>rations are completely gone
>Well, fuck
>As I get up, I notice something shimmer on my left thigh
>it's the scabbard for Steph's nazi dagger
>how in the fuck
>did he give it to me before I left?
>Did he give it to me before I passed out?
>No, I had heard his grenade, and his ankle was fucked
>I'm alone here, others are dead
>I need to get back to the Village
>Were the fuck am I?
>I don't recognize this place
>Maybe if I find a road or a landmark or something
>But right now I'm hungry
>I need to kill something before the sun sets
>I pack up my stuff and walk into the woods

15.
>I've been walking through the woods for a while
>No signs of game or enemy activity
>Found out I still had some hardtack in my pack, so I'm fine for now
>The woods are quiet, all I hear is the sound of my own footsteps in the snow
>The sun is starting to set, and I'm getting tired
>I think I know which river I'm following now
>Not long ago I encountered a recognizable river bend on the map
>It's pretty far from the caravan though
>How much time has passed since I blacked out?
>The cunts we encountered are probably still traveling up the road
>I take out my map, trying to find a way to avoid that road
>They were travelling west right? They came from the opposite way we came
>Oh fuck
>That road is pretty long, but it leads directly to our village
>I need to get there before the white orkniggers do
>I need to find my way and haul ass
>Not going to sleep this early, I'm no bitch
>Three of my comrades died, no way I'm letting the whole village get murdered
>Fuck I miss them
>Almost tear up right there, but no time for that
>If I head north-east now, I should be able to get there pretty quick
>If I'm where I think I am
>I'll stop walking when I get too tired to stand
>humming to pass the time
>getting confused between the lyrics of "SS marschiert in Feindesland" and "La Légion marche vers le front"
>It's the same melody
>but different languages tho, you fucking retard
>really need to take a break
>take out my hammock
>wait what
>has tears and holes in it
>look at part of the pack it was in
>holes are torn in it like it got shot
>how in the fuck
>dig deeper into the bag
>it smells like alcohol
>my moonshine flask has two holes in it
>Mike was right all along
>9mm is a weak caliber
>Thank god for JP's moonshine, without it I would have bled out in the river
>maybe
>Attach the hammock between two medium-sized trees
>Try to fall asleep while hugging my nugget
>it's a bit harder without Steph's knife sharpening ASMR
Cont.

16.
>next morning
>wake up scared, sweaty and confused
>what the fuck is happening
>probably just a dream
>I sit in the hammock, locking left, right and behind
>not white niggers
>yeah definitively just a dream
>look through backpack for a snack before going
>almost no hardtack left
>jerky bag is gone
>after smashing my last hardtack supplies, I refill my canteen and pack my shit up
>according the map, I should run into a logging trail that follows the river for a bit
>start walking, following the river
>soon enough, I hit the trail marked on the map
>it's a bit overgrown and covered in snow, but I can make out the trail by it's absence of trees
>if I follow it for a while, I should run into a small creek
>follow that creek and then I'll be back on our original trail
>...our trail
>not really "ours" anymore, the others are gone
>fuck
>well, no yet time for mourning
>that comes later
>for now, I need to get to that creek
>then I get to town, alert town about what's coming and help organize a defense
>focus on the task, mourn after
>but fuck, it's hard not to think about it
>Mike's empty stare
>The way Frank's blood tainted the snow
>How that yellow-ish glow lit up the trees in front of me when Steph's grenade blew
>Will I ever see them again?
>Hopefully not so soon, I got things to do
>can't afford the whole town ending like them
>still hungry
>having my mind set on other shit helps though
>snow is starting to fall
>damn that's a lot of snow
>the pine trees are protecting me from most of the snow
>but it doesn't take long for it to pile up on the branches, causes them to bend a bit
>snow randomly falls in small avalanches around me
>I'm often looking up to avoid getting turned into a snowman
>spend too much time looking up
>trip on a root under the snow
>fall face first into the snow
>really fucking cold, try to get up from the soft, almost quicksand-like snow
>as I'm getting up, I hear a branch above creak
>For Fuck's Sake

17.
>Get up again and shake out the snow
>Notice my coat is a bit torn on my left arm, probably because of branches and shit
>I'll patch it up later, got worse problems to deal with
>Continue walking forwards, keeping my eyes open for small animals that could be hiding in the snow or whatever
>Can't really use the tracking skills Steph showed us these past years together, I have to hurry
>I'll have Steak, Corn and Potatoes' at JP's when I get home
>the three elements
>also beer
>kind of like plasma, doesn't really fit in but still there I guess
>So if Steak is Solids, then which one is gas?
>Plasma is closer to gas, and Grain is closer to Beer
>but you can make Vodka out of Potatoes
>can you make Alcohol out of Corn?
>realize how fucking retarded these thoughts are
>maybe despite what the psychologist said when I was little, I have doubts about not having autism
>-haha Anon you're so qwerky and random xd rawr :3
>holy fuck you're a pathetic nigger
>-hey, shut the fuck up, you stop thinking about this shit when everyone you know could end up raped by fantasy niggers
>I guess you're right
>-also, pretending you have voices in your head doesn't make you look relatable or misunderstood, just makes you look retarded
>then shut the fuck up nigger
>keep walking
>left, right, left, right
>start humming FMJ marching songs
>what exactly do they say after the eskimo pussy thing again?
>good for you? good for me? Mighty cold?
>fuck I don't remember in which order
>my mind just drifts off and disconnects after a while
>I'm completely distracted by my own thoughts, my legs are working by themselves
>holy shit
>A COYOTE
>it looks angry
>it's snarling at me
>Shoulder my Mosin
>Fire in the air to scare it away
>it jumps back a bit
>but it doesn't leave
>FUCK
>as I work the bolt to fire another warning shot, the fucker charges me
>Fucking jumps on me
>catches me off guard, jumps on me
>it's mouth is drooling with white saliva
>FUCKFUCKFUCK

18.
>it's trying to snap it's yapper at my face, but I'm holding it back with my arm
>trying to find Steph's dagger
>my frozen fingers touch the glorious product of teutonic craftsmanship
>grip the handle and try stabbing the wannabe wolf under the jaw
>before I can get the blade in the fucker, he manages to break free of my left arm
>react quickly, jump forward and pin it to the ground
>stab him again, this time he can't dodge
>the now reddened steel hits him right in the soft spot under the jaw, near the neck
>it works with zombies in movies and video games, why not for nigger dogs?
>with an iron grip, twist the blade using my whole arm
>Hear something snap, and the animal goes limp
>I don't even have to think about it, I'm already skinning the fucker
>soon I realize what I'm doing
>what the fuck?
>decide not to eat it, because eating carnivores is for niggers
>also it could have diseases
>still getting the skin though
>while I'm finishing the job, the adrenaline wears off
>I feel some pain on my left hand
>look at it closer
>notice what looks like small scratches on my knuckles
>wipe the coyote blood off in the snow
>hurts a bit, but I know cold helps with injuries
>look again
>the lines are deeper than I thought, they're cuts
>hurts like a bitch now, I rub more snow on them
>rip some fabric off my spare shirt and wrap it around the injury tightly
>oh fuck
>I remember how the coyote was drooling
>it was also very aggressive
>Hope I'm not getting rabies
>I think we got medicine in town
>just another reason to get there fast
>I don't want to end up like that Coyote
>Clean the skin the best I can with snow, still a bit dirty
>fix the bayonet on my mosin and hang the coyote skin on it
>as I walk, the rifle is slung over my shoulder with the skin on it, and it's flapping around a bit
>realize that it wasn't a great idea
>attach it to my bag with some rope, now it's better
>I think I can hear the creek now, I'm getting closer

19.
>I don't feel as cold anymore
>not sure if I'm getting better or just used to it
>as long as my legs don't freeze solid I should be fine
>my beard would probably have ice in it if it was longer
>haven't shaved it in a while, but it's still short
>I need more facial insulation
>gotta get that homeless man look
>everything helps when it's this cold outside
>get to the creek, I just need to follow it for a while then turn east
>stop for a while, cleaing the coyote skin a bit more and salting it
>read on /out/ that it prevents it from rotting
>the scenery is quite beautiful, almost forget that I need to hurry
>if the white orks or whatever get to town first, we're fucked
>fill up my canteen, pop a tablet in it and head up the creek
>left leg hurts like a bitch
>probably because of that 3inch shard of wood I removed a while ago
>can't really run or jog, so I'm just taking fast, long strides
>virginwalk.png
>I should get to the bigass rock that marks the point where I need to turn east
>we used it as a landmark, we have a few things like that marked on the map
>snow starts falling hard
>I though it was finally over, I had like at least 6 hours without snowfall in the last week
>and it's back again
>once I get out of the creek's clearing it won't be able to slow me anymore
>the trees usually block most of it for a while
>also protects from most of the wind
>through the thick white fog created by the snowfall, I notice the shape of the rock
>thing's hard to miss, it's like at least 16 feet tall
>natives probably venerated it back in the day
>I wouldn't laugh at them, that rock's an absolute unit
>check my compass real quick
>the needle's freaking out, moving left to right very fast with no discernible pattern
>what in the fuck
>it has done this since the merge, but never this intense
>it still somewhat points north, doesn't conflict with what my map shows
>turn towards what I think is east and carry on
>I should arrive before nightfall

20.
>Night has already fallen, and I'm not there yet
>my wounds don't help, caught my hand on a branch and re-opened the coyote's cut
>As I try to hurry, branches keep slapping me in the face
>tried taking a shortcut, ended up going through a denser part of the woods
>I should still arrive to town soon
>as I stop to take my breath, the quiet sounds of the forest are suddenly accompanied by distant, but clear gunfire
>oh fuck not again
>I wipe my brow of both sweat and melted snow, get up and haul ass the best I can
>the sounds of gunshots are from the town's direction
>fuck fuck fuck
>orks can't have gotten there already
>Leg still hurts like a bitch, but the adrenaline helps a lot
>Every stride hurts still, but I have to carry on
>A wounded leg is nothing next to a massacred community
>Break into a sprint, avoiding roots and getting branches out of my way with Steph's dagger in hand
>As I get closer to the gunfight, it grows louder
>explosions, gunshots, the roar of fire
>yells and screams
>I cut my way through the forest, and I end up in a field outside town
>several farmhouses and barns are on fire, and parts of the pallisade is down
>the moon is almost completely blocked by black smoke
>once I cose the distance with the gate, the gunfire has grown more sparse
>I get my Mosin out and rush through the gate
>the MG nests we had set up are completely gone, and the sandbags have spilled dirt and sand on the snow
>beyond the gate, half the town is on fire
>the light of fires is almost blinding, and the heat is getting worse
>Orks are walking down the streets, executing survivors and stacking bodies in carts
>Trying not to alert them, I follow walls and get to the first semi-intact building I can find
>The view through the windows of the tavern is obstructed by frost
>I decide to go in anyway, I can't afford getting seen
>after a few tries at opening hit, I kick down the door
>I am faced with two orks in the process of looting corpses

21.
>Oh fuck
>they're loudly arguing about who gets to keep a watch
>they haven't heard me
>Shoulder my mosin, aim at the back of the one closest to me
>Their shouting is rendered inaudible by the beautiful sound of Russki Retribution
>Glorious 7.62x54r goes straight through the fucker, pulverising the floorboards behind him
>Soaked in his own brother's blood, the other ork turns and rushes me
>No time to work the bolt
>He swings a crude machete at me
>Barely avoid getting my arm chopped off
>Swing my mosin around and hit his jaw with the butt off my rifle
>While he's still dazed, I kick him in his left leg
>I'm no taekwondo expert, but it's still enough to make him fall to the ground
>he tries to jump back up, but his face meets my right knee
>pull out Steph's dagger and stick it in the soft spot under his jaw, turning it slightly
>he collapses to the ground, spraying blood all over my coat
>fuck now I have to clean it
>pick up the watch they were fighting over
>mfw it's broken
>stupid orks
>the dead guy is some old boomer who came here often to rant about the government
>was a nice guy, but his wife and children had gotten killed during one of the early raids
>at least he won't be sad anymore
>pocket it and get to the backstore to see if anyone's there
>door is unlocked, but there is some resistance
>slowly creak it open
>room seems open, wedge myself through the door
>look at what was blocking the door
>there's a dead body slumped against the door
>move around it to examine it
>pull his head back to see his face
>It's JP, the barman and local schizo
>his eyes are rolled over, and he has dried blood running down his nose and scalp
>close his eyes with my fingers
>rest in peace mein negger
>His Webley is laying on the ground, emptied
>the room reeks of a weird, chemical smell
>I notice something covered by a large piece of cloth at the back of the room
>curious, I gently pull the drape from it
>oh shit
>the rumors were true

22.
>there's a bunch of lab equipment on a table, with metal tanks of various sizes
>no idea what any of the equipment is really, but I know what it's for
>after looking through it for a while, I see it
>a small box labeled "Papa's Pervitin: L-Methamphetamine"
>"DANGER: Keep Away From Children"
>like that ever stopped anyone
>open it up
>inside it are what looks like a few dozen or so paper penny rolls
>but they aren't filled with pennies
>fucker has been mass-producing this shit
>and making it into tablets
>I hear orkish-sounding shouts outside the building
>fuck they probably heard me assblasting that nigger
>grab as many tubes as I can and stuff them in my pack
>Hearing footsteps in the room other side of the door, I get my mosin out
>I shatter the window with its buttplate
>as I climb out, an ork kicks the door open, throwing JP's body on the floor
>I freak out and clumsily roll through the window, ending up in the snow
>Not injured from the glass shards, but my clothes are slightly more fucked
>get up and metal gear my way out of there
>hugging walls and jumping from shadow to shadow, I get ever closer to my parents' house
>It was maintained by a family friend, John, while I spent most of my time in the barracks
>I never really liked doing home maintenance anyways, and living in that house without them felt weird
>As I get closer to it though, I see orks lighting homes on fire and rounding up townsfolk
>fuck fuck fuck
>I hurry the fuck up, a new rush of adrenaline making my leg pain almost vanish
>as I get closer to it, the smell of burnt wood and other things I can't identify gets stronger
>there's a huge fucking fire down the road, bigger than those we light every year for St-Jean-Baptiste
>I try to shield my face from the blinding light and the heat with my hand
>but now I can smell it better
>burning flesh and clothes
>they're burning bodies on the pyre
>and judging by the screams
>some are alive
>whatintheactualfuck.satanism

23.
>I stand there for a few seconds, shocked
>I soon realize they could spot me any moment, and I retreat back into the shadows
>I take the long way around, avoiding roads and light
>Orks are busy looting and burning, so they don't seem to notice me
>As I leave the town center, the roar of fires becomes distant and quiet
>I'm coming home
>as I get on top of the valley that overlooks the lake where our house is, I hear gunfire from down the valley
>I look towards the origin of the sound
>Someone bunkered up in a building close to our home
>Every so often, the eerie silence floating in the air is broken by a rifle shot and inhuman screams, and another ork raider hits the ground
>After getting my binos and looking at the houses for a while, I spot him
>some fudd boomer is sitting in a chair on his balcony, his rifle rested on some sandbags and furniture
>he has pretty good aim from hunting with his DURR rifle
>Orks can't see him from where they are
>as soon as they get in sight of him, they get blown the fuck apart
>I lower my binoculars are start sneaking towards his fudd fortress
>One ork gets lucky and manages to get a shot off towards McFudd before getting dome'd
>The boomer flinches, and knocks down a lantern with his elbow by accident
>the lantern hits the ground, and flaming oil is splashed across the frozen ground
>McFudd's position is compromised
>As I get closer and closer, Orks rally and start a balls-to-the-wall assault against McFudd
>He does not miss a single shot, but the Orks are many and his rounds are few
>As Flames from the broken lantern's fuel lick the wall of his home, his assailants close the distance
>Curses are heard and orks are shot down one by one, but it is all in vain
>molotovs are thrown, further feeding the brazier that is now the Little Fudd That Could's funeral pyre
>In cover behind a low stone wall, I try to cover Fudd's retreat by shooting his attackers in the back
>I'm not letting this faggot die

24.
>As Sgt Boomer McFudd tries to retreat back into his domicile, he gets hit
>Fuck no, it's not over for you yet
>fucking orks won't fucking have it this easy
>this is my fucking town god damnit
>these are my people
>I get one of JP's paper tubes of finnish autism out of my pack, and I try to take a tablet out
>can't fucking get it out
>fuck it, if I'm doing this, I'm going the whole way
>rip the fucking open and down the hole thing with some weak-ass beer
>I get up and sprint towards the backs of molotov-throwing Orks, cheering after having finally hit their target
>before they can notice someone is running towards their backs, I'm behind the one closest to me
>fucker isn't much taller than me, so I spin and hit him in the back of the head with the buttplate of my mosin
>he trips and falls to the ground, and before he can get up, I smash the back of his skull with the heel of my boot
>the crack is heard by every single fucker around me
>before one of them can fire a shot, I put a fist-sized hole in one of them
>jumping to the ground, I avoid a volley from anothers' pipe gun
>one of them, feeling braver, jumps on top of me
>I use my rifle like a stick, deflecting his blow
>I swing it back around, striking the left side of his jaw, dislocating it
>while he is screaming in pain, without missing a beat, I get back on top of him
>he tries to shield his face with his hands, but it doesn't stop my dagger from plunging itself several times through his eye socket
>I get up while grabbing his limp body, shielding myself from their puny bullets
>the ork is heavy, but my time helping farmers and working out seems to have paid off
>or maybe it has more to do with the potent mix of adrenaline and meth flowing through my veins
>doesn't matter, I rush towards the nearest living ork and throw myself at him, knocking him to the ground
>he looses grip of his SMG, which looks like a crude grease gun
>I pick it up and empty it's magazine in his neck and face

25.
>Looking up, I see a white ork standing a few meters from me, jaw dropped
>his skin is pale, even for white skin, but his shaking had has a sawed-off in it
>I roll on my side towards my nugget
>the orks shoots at me, but misses his first shot, and his second is sent in the air because of recoil
>before he can reload, I have already grabbed my nugget and worked the bolt
>my barrel pointed towards him, he freaks out and drops his gun
>he turns around and runs as fast as is orkanly possible, but it is all in vain
>these fuckers didn't spare any of my brothers or any of my people
>I shoot the fucker through the spine, and he collapses to the ground screaming
>Looking around for a second, I see three more orks hurrying towards my position, alarmed by the screams of their brothers
>prone behind a corpse, I send shot after shot into their group
>there are now three more burning casings on the ground, along with three new cold bodies
>McFudd's house is now completely drowned in flames, threatening to set other nearby buildings alight
>I run down the street towards my home, and thank god, it isn't on fire
>I spot a group of of orks, maybe a dozen or so, hurrying down the street
>before they get close enough to notice me in the dark, I enter and close the door behind me
>my eyes are by now accustomed to the light
>it looks exactly like it was 11 years ago, before they left me
>it almost seems like I've entered another dimension, one that is like ours but stuck in the past
>same couch, same tapestry, same furniture...
>it's strange and uncanny, but somehow comforting at the same time
>I head up the stairs and down to the corridor, towards the main bedroom
>Seems like John has been sleeping in the guest room this whole time, because it hasn't changed either
>Same bed covers, same end table, same tall hardwood dressers
>Same pictures on the walls...
>One of them catches my eye
>Something seems off about it

26.
>It's a picture of a man that looks to be in his 30s, along with his wife
>He is sporting a pretty cool mustache, and somewhat Asiatic features
>They are both dressed nicely for the occasion, but still somewhat modest
>I notice small, white letters scratched into the bottom edge of the picture
>I have to squint my eyes a little bit to read it
>"Alexander A. Aurlovin (Aleksandr Alexeyevich Orlovzreniylev) and Isabelle Cloutier"
>Oh I'm retarded
>It's the guy my grandpa told me about all these years ago
>his own grandfather, the Cossack soldier that fought in the Russian civil war
>the man who brought our mosin to Canada, along with his Shashka
>My thoughts are cut short by the crash of broken windows, followed by the smell of burning gasoline
>They're burning down the building
>Quickly looking again at his picture, Aleksandr seems like he's looking at me
>looking at me like he's expecting something of me
>maybe it's just the drugs
>I decide to take the pictures from the wall to prevent them from burning
>I remove Aleksandr's and his wife's from the wall, but there's something behind it
>some kind of safe
>I test the lock just in case
>it's unlocked
>I open it, and look inside it
>a key with a label attached to it's ring
>one single word on it
>"Maria"
>not sure what it is for, but I can try something
>I've seen this brand of key somewhere before
>I look under the bed, and I find what I was looking for
>I drag out the large box from under the bed, and with trembling hands, I insert and turn the key in the lock
>once opened, the sight is beautiful
>it's my Great-Great-Grandfather's Shashka, our heirloom
>my hands still trembling, I take it out of it's sarcophagus
>the blade seems still sharp, almost glowing in the golden light of the fire...
>wait
>the fire?
>OH MY FUCKING FUCK
>I push the Shashka back in it's scabbard and turn towards the door
>the whole fucking corridor is on fire, along with most of the house
>GODFUCKING DAMNIT

27.
>the heat and smell is unbearable
>I grab my shit and get to the window
>thanks to some miracle, that thing easily slides open, don't have to break it
>Good thing, glass shards are a bitch
>As the scorching heat on my back becomes ever stronger, I squeeze through the window, landing in the snow below
>it cushions my fall well enough, and no one seems to have noticed me
>I get up without taking time to brush the snow off, get some distance between me and the building
>I decide look back one last time at my burning house
>through the window, I can barely catch a glimpse of something
>A picture of my parents was on the wall opposite of the window
>I hadn't noticed that one when I was in the room, but thanks to the intense glow of the flames, I can see it even from here
>It's an old picture of my parents, soon after they were married
>I hadn't seen them in a very long time, but it seems like this will be the last moment
>the flames start licking the bottom of the picture, and darkness spreads over it like some kind of shadow, consuming it
>I guess I should be sad right now, but so much bullshit is coming my way recently that I barely react to it
>it's just a picture, right?
>I hear strange voices from the other side of the house, so I'll have to think of this later
>they're still looking through the streets for survivors, and have set fire to most of the street
>From my hiding place behind a brown leafless bush, I can see that there are many more of them
>seems like the raiding party is sticking together to raze what's left of the town
>are they sticking together for organization-related reasons, or are they together because they fear getting picked off?
>talking of sticky, my entire fucking body is sweaty, even though it's so cold an icicle would come out if I took a piss
>Heart is also beating out of control, seems like these meds are having an effect
>no idea how I'm still lucid after emptying an ENTIRE tube
>or am I?

28.
>Doesn't fucking matter, too late to go back
>I quickly look around for one last time, and decide I can't use the road
>To many hostiles, Mosin can only have 5 rounds in it at a time
>The house is quickly burning and staying this close to the inferno would be risky
>They'll probably come around to the back of the houses after a while, and they would have me outnumbered at least ten times over
>The only way I can escape is down the hill
>Big open area, but there's a line of bushes and a lake at the bottom
>It should be frozen solid at the time of the year, but the ice seems a bit transparent from where I am standing
>Fuck it, I'm going in
>I get up, and still shielded from view from the street by the burning building, I sprint towards the lake
>I don't even feel any of the injuries I have sustained to my legs
>All I feel is the need to get to that damn lake
>As I'm getting closer to the bank of the lake, I hear a distant shout behind me
>No time to look over my shoulder to check, but I assume they've seen me
>I focus on the task at hand and get to the lake
>I slow down to get a better look at the lake, to judge if it can hold my weight
>VERY BAD MISTAKE
>A shot lands right in front of me, punching a hole in the ice and cracking it
>The ice is too weak
>Doesn't matter, we don't have a plan B
>I run and jump feet first into the ice
>it shatters, and I am soon under in the frozen water
>I swim under the ice, bullets making trails through the water around me
>Getting away from the bank, the ice above me becomes thinner and thinner until it is completely absent
>The ice is still goddamn freezing though
>I get to the surface for air, swimming to the other coast as fast as a snownigger on drugs
>Basically that's all I am at this point

29.
>a new volley of bullets sends water splashing around me, so I go down under the surface again
>I am running short of breath, but my only other option is death
>The ice above me returns as I approach the other bank of the lake, and the gunfire stops
>I get very close to the edge, but I hesitate to break through the ice
>They'll see me if they are still watching the lake, and I'll be an easy target
>I get my dagger out and wait for what feels like an eternity, slowly running out of breath
>1, 2, 3, 4, 5...
>I can't stay much longer, and they've probably fucked off by now
>I stab the ice with vigor, using what little energy I have left in me
>My mind is cloudy and my vision starts to fade, but I'm not dead yet
>I finish digging a hole just large enough to squeeze my head through
>I take a quick breath, then pull myself through the hole, disappearing into the woods
>Soon, running between trees and leaping over roots, I get a glimpse of something through the trees
>I quickly identify it as some sort of goblin scout or sentry or something like that, holding something in his left hand
>Where I have seen this before?
>Running towards it, I use my momentum to throw his head into a tree
>While the goblin is dazzled, I wrap my arm around its throat, silencing him
>before he has time to react, I grab his left hand hand take hold of the device inside it
>dead man's switch
>I tighten my grip around the crude switch, tightening my other arm around the goblins neck
>I apply more pressure and something snaps, making his whole body go limp
>I lower its lifeless body to the ground with the device still in hand
>without letting go of it, I wrap tape tight around the thing, preventing the switch from springing back
>I leave the body and the contraption on the ground, and continue on my way
>I get as much distance between me and the dead goblin, in case the alarm still somehow triggers
>They aren't getting me this time
>but this is only round one

30.
>I continue on my way through the woods
>I'm getting pretty cold being this wet
>swimming through a freezing lake at night tends to do that
>I'm now deep in the woods, and out of sight of the burning town
>my coat is starting to dry from all the running
>it would probably freeze solid if I stop moving though
>They'll be looking for me, and there's way too many of them
>Fight or Flight has completely taken over my mind, all I think about at this point is running the fuck away
>The biting cold and the dampness of my clothes doesn't matter anymore
>I still feel conscious, but nothing else is on my mind but running
>Time seems like just a blur at this point, feels like a weird conscious dream, but awake
>Trees and minutes seem to simply fly by, and it seems like it will never end

31.
>After what feels like an eternity, I finally wake up
>was it all a dream?
>I sit up from the ground, but I got a really bad headache
>my mind is cloudy and I cannot think straight, feels worse than any hangover
>While I'm getting my bearings, I realize that I am cold, hungry and extremely thirsty
>I half-consciously look through my pack, but I have no rations left
>fuck
>Slowly regaining consciousness, but still with a painful headache, I get back up on my legs
>I can barely fucking stand straight, my legs are fucking shaking, not from the cold, but something else
>I feel extremely weak, but at least I'm not damp like when I went through the lake
>did that even fucking happen?
>I pull out my canteen to get a sip, but it is empty
>has a bullet hole in it
>guess that answers my question
>I patch it up with tape
>I pick up my shit and start limping through the woods, looking for signs of an animal or something
>my legs don't hurt as much as they used to, but they are still shaky, probably from the hunger and thirst
>for a while, I can't find any animals to catch, so I decide to fix the water issue instead
>I find a nice spot where the snow is packed tight, and I start picking dry branches and stuff
>a few moments later, I got a small fire going, and I'm melting snow in a pot
>I filter out the dirt and stuff from the water and drink it
>really fucking thirsty, so I have to get more to have anything left for my canteen
>my mouth feeling slightly less dry, I continue on my way looking for something to eat
>this part of the woods has barely any signs of animal life, so I decide fuck it
>Finns or natives or whatever did it, so guess I could try
>I get a knife out and I start cutting and peeling bark from a pine tree
>I heard somewhere that the second and third layers are edible
>guess it's worth a try, I'm fucking starving anyways
>I start chewing on some of it
>tastes weird, and it's really tough, but still better than I expected

32.
>decide to peel off a bit more and boil some, maybe that'll help with the texture
>still tastes a bit weird, but now at least I'm not destroying my jaw
>My stomach slightly less wanting to kill me, I get up and continue on my way
>priority is to find food that doesn't taste like turpentine
>preferably of the four legged kind
>before communications got fucked, I heard rumors about a guy that tried eating ork flesh
>not going to repeat his mistake
>plus those fuckers are nastier than any animal I've seen
>I'm almost throwing up just thinking about it
>push those repugnant thoughts away, keep walking through the snow
>Still got a pounding headache, but my mind is slightly less cloudy now that I have taken in some fresh air
>So, status report
>No idea where the fuck I am, probably somewhere east of the lake, I think that's the side I crossed to
>No idea how much time passed since then, so I could be anywhere in *that* region
>pull out my compass, trying to figure out where the fuck I am
>what the actual fuck
>it's going fucking crazy, spinning erratically, like it is trying to point in every direction at once
>compasses have acted pretty weird since shit went down I heard, but never been this bad
>guess I got to do it the old way
>seems to be somewhere about noon right now, I think
>I think we are somewhere around February, but I'm not sure
>left the town to look for the Caravan like what? Two weeks earlier?
>no fucking idea, feels like it all happened a century ago
>using the sun, I get a general idea of direction
>but still, no idea where the fuck I'm going
>town is completely razed, and I'd be surprised to find any survivors
>only settlement in the region that was left mostly untouched until now
>maybe if I go south I can reach civilization?
>not sure if there's anything left honestly

33.
>Guess I'll be walking for a while
>Closest settlements are days, maybe even weeks of walking through the woods away
>not even sure if those settlements still exist, we had no contact with the outside world save for the odd caravan
>I'm running a bit low on ammo, and I'm getting hungry again
>not sure what I should do now
>closest town is too far away
>compass is completely fucked
>first time I've felt this aimless in a long time
>my friends are gone, my family is gone, my home is gone
>everyone I ever knew: dead.
>cogsspinning.gif
>but there's one "acquaintance" that is left
>the ones responsible for the death of my brothers, sisters and cousins
>Mike, Frank, Steph-
>JP, Boomer, and all the other ones who died in the bonfire that became of our home.
>Those responsible will pay tenfold in blood for every name
>I haven't been aimless often in life
>but even with the destruction of my old life, this isn't one of those moments
>I now have one, clear goal in mind, one that I will never forget.
>I will hunt down every single last one of these animals, and punish them for what they've done.
>I will send these disgusting pale-as-snow monsters back where they belong;
>not the parrallel world they came from, but their true origin:
>Hell.

34.
>Since yesterday, I started counting
>I thought it would help me keep a semblance of sanity
>It's really hard to remember how long you've been somewhere when you don't have a calendar
>we haven't used phones much since the collapse, cell towers are broken, and most power lines have been wrecked
>Maybe I should've brought a watch, but where the fuck am I supposed to find batteries?
>Guess some markings on the stock of my mosin will have to do
>seems right to have one side for orks and one side for days
>So I think it's been two days since the village?
>feels like a month ago, and when we first left feels like more than a year
>I should stop blacking out so much, it makes things confusing
>I've been trekking trough the woods for a while
>I don't like sleeping on an almost-empty stomach, but I'm tired as fuck
>Taking that much pervitin sure takes a toll on ye
>hammock is in a really shitty condition, I'll have to fix it later
>it's really cold out there, but thank god for coyote skins
>I need to acquire more, maybe I could make a blanket
>...or a coat?
>fuck that sounds nice, my clothes are basically rags at this point anyway
>either I'm getting accustomed to the cold or my nerves are dying
>I don't know, I'm no doctor, but turning into an ice cube sounds like a bad idea
>I'd probably look like those cold, pale ork niggers
>fuck those guys, fuck their children and fuck their mothers with a bayonet.
>I swear to fucking Father, Son and Holy Spirit that I will hunt down every single one of them
>I don't care if they end up to hell or ork heaven or whatever the fuck, they'll die
>If Mike heard this he'd call me edgy, but fuck that
>I'm not intent on killing them because I think it's cool, but because it's needed
>how many have died and suffered because of those cunts?
>I'll find where they're coming from and I'll fucking burn it
>give them a taste of their own medicine...
>fuck I'm gonna pass out
>oh that's just called sleep
>oh well

35.
>OH SHIT
>WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING
>WHERE AM I
>THERE'S A FURRY IN MY BED
>FUCK FUCK FUCK-
>-oh wait
>I'm in my hammock, that's just a coyote skin
>shit's fine, back to defcon 4
>Wake up, get some firewood, start boiling water...
>I got work to do if I want to live over here, let's get shit squared away
>looking around camp, found some tracks and deer shit (small balls, easy to recognize)
>I'm no shit expert, but when there's shit, there's animals
>following the trails, take out some string from my pack and set up noose traps
>will check later, but right now I'm after bigger prey
>I don't like using a gun in these woods, makes too much noise
>maybe if I'm lucky I'll be able to spear the fucker
>well maybe not
>am I far away enough from them to use my gun?
>maybe I should make a bow or something-
>holy shit I almost missed it
>brown nigger, big fucking antlers, showing off in the snow
>probably responsible for the death of my mom (I miss you momma)
>He'll pay back with his meat
>shoulder rifle
>fuck it, if they come after me so be it
>BANG
>birds fly away in a hurry, scarred by the thunder of my nugger
>walk up to deer
>time to get to work
>thinking about using the hide for something, maybe I can work with this
>I drag the carcass back to camp
>ain't easy with all this snow
>maybe I could niggerrig snowshoes with sticks and shit
>natives did it, why wouldn't I?
>speaking of natives, I wonder what happened to them after shit went down
>been a few years, and most of them knew how to hunt
>were really drunk though, but unless they know how to make their own moonshine, that should be fixed
>maybe I'll pay them a visit later
>if I live long enough
>campfire still has some glowing embers in it
>I stir it a bit and add dry branches I had hung on a tree, lights up nicely
>Before I know it the deer's carcass is mostly cleaned and prepared
>it's a lot of meat, but it ain't gonna go bad to fast though
>ball-shriveling cold out 'ere

36.
>roasted deer tastes pretty great
>would be nice if I had some sauce or spices, but this is good enough
>like my dad always said, "hunger is the best cook"
>not sure what I'll do with all the left over meat
>can't really carry it on my back, a bit too heavy
>maybe I could figure out some kind of inuit-style sleigh for my stuff?
>guess I got something to work on now
>cut some small trees with my old hatchet, just big enough to work with
>I spend the next hours working on carving skis out of dry wood
>Then I use some leftover rope I have in my pack to tie them to branches
>soon enough I have what looks like a crude sleigh
>I tie what's left of the carcass on it with more rope
>Maybe I should work on making some rope later before I run out
>most of what I know has been self-thaught amongst the milita's scouts
>I miss my comrades, but their knowledge will never leave me
>it doesn't take long before the sun is setting
>testing out the sleigh, it seems to work pretty well
>this part of the woods is less dense, so I can drag the sleigh around without issues
>I'm not really tired yet, so I start working on making rope
>luckily, woods up here aren't fully boreal, so I got more to work with
>after finding a nice, young basswood tree, I strip some bark off it with my hatchet
>the inner bark of these trees has been used for rope for generations
>I focus solely on making rope for a while, until the sun is down and my fingers hurt
>I lay back in my hammock, and under my coyote pelt
>pretty comfy, about to go off to dreamland, but then I remember
>fucking white niggers killed everyone, and are probably somewhere in the area
>I haven't seen any, but they probably heard my gunshot
>fuck fuck fuck they're probably coming right the fuck now
>clutching my Mosin, keeping my Shashka and hatchet close, I barely feel safer
>constantly waking up and looking up, thinking I've heard something
>I finally fall asleep after what feels like an eternity

6/20/2019
37.
>I open my eyes, and the quiet sounds of the forest welcome me
>even in winter, there are many birds up here
>There wasn't many animals in the last few days, but seems like they're back
>Looking through my stuff to check if everything's there
>I've noticed the cold doesn't affect me as much as before
>it used to be a threat to my very survival, but now it feels like an old friend
>Yesterday I was pretty worried about unwanted attention being drawn by the gunshot
>I haven't seen any signs of them in the area, so I should be fine
>plus I'm relatively far from where I shot the rifle, so it would take them a while to find me if they heard
>I decide to stay in this nice clearing for a while longer, getting more time for tanning hides properly
>after fleshing the hide, I place it flesh side up on the ground, boiling some snow for soaking it
>meanwhile, I remove the snow from the ground, and work a small depression into the ground
>thankfully, the last few days have been a small tad warmer, so digging isn't too hard
>placing the hide in the depression, I empty the boiling water on it
>if it were summer, I could've left it for a few days with warm water, but this will have to do
>I'll leave the water in until it get cold, then remove it before it freezes
>while that's happening, I get back to the carcass, cutting small pieces for breakfast
>the snow acts as a freezer, so it should be fine for a while
>I should probably protect the carcass from animals though
>Using some leftover rope, I tie the legs of the carcass together and hoist it up a tree, rope over a thick branch
>I tie the rope to another branch, securing the carcass up there
>while the water is still cooling down, I get back to making more rope
>removing the bark from some small trees, I get to the wet, fibrous layer underneath
>I don't plan on eating it this time, I'm here for rope
>removing the layer with a knife, and breaking it into strips, I get to work spinning and braiding

38.
>I end up with a respectable amount of rope
>I could use some to make the sleigh sturdier, or maybe for something else
>like a bow or something
>I used to practice shooting with bows before, but I've never made my own
>not sure what kind of wood to use, probably something that bends instead of breaking
>I've heard natives in this area used hickory, although it's a bit rarer over here
>after looking for a while, I recognize the bark of one
>it's pretty young, and straight, so I'll use the entire thing
>I am sorry little one
>You will live on as a refined powerful tool, though
>wait am I fucking talking to trees now?
>...I guess that's normal when you spend enough time with nothing else to talk to
>is this what being a native american feels like?
>Using my hatchet, I get to work with the base of the small tree
>I drag the tree behind me back to camp
>I remove the branches, then split the tree down the middle, using a hatchet as a chisel, and the backside of a second hatchet as a hammer
>I decide to keep both halves in case I fuck up the first one somehow, plus it never hurts to have a backup bow
>Working parallel to the fiber, what was first a thin half-log starts looking more and more like a bow
>narrowing the width of the handle, making string notches and thinning parts of the bow takes some time, but goes pretty well
>realising the rope I made isn't well-suited for a bow, I use some leftover fibers and weave them into a thighter, stronger cord
>my fingers are tired and cold, but after some time I have two decent bowstrings prepared
>I tie one of the strings around the tip of the first bow
>keeping the tied end of the bow to the ground with my boot, I bend the body of the weapon, tying the string to the top end too
>the string and knots seem strong enough, and take the tension without showing signs of unraveling
>While I'm finishing the second bow, the sun sets
>the days are short, but I'm already tired

39.
>I've stayed here for a while now, but I should finish treating my hides properly before leaving
>the coyote one wasn't done properly initially, but soaking it with the deer hide has helped, so it can be recovered
>the water is now pretty cold, thankfully the hides and snow were enough insulation to prevent it from freezing
>using rope and large straight branches, I build racks for stretching the hides
>after cutting slits in the edges of the hides, I tie them on the rack, keeping them stretched out
>there are no ripples, so I guess I've done it right.
>kinda looks like tight membranes you see on old drums, but with dense fur one one side
>even on the deer's hide, the fur seems a bit longer than usual
>maybe the animals have been adapting to the colder climate since the collapse
>I don't complain, they'll be nice and warm
>now it's time to get my hands dirty
>knife doesn't work that well for fleshing, so I try making one of those bone tools I saw in a documentary
>Native-Americans traditionally made them out of the animal's bone
>after finding the right bone for the job, I get to work making it into something useful
>working bone isn't as hard as I thought, and thankfully this one isn't too brittle
>the flesher is basically just a hollow bone with one end cut at an angle, forming a semi-circular one-edge blade
>the other end of the bone is left intact, and can be easily used as a handle
>I slide another pole between the deer hide and the rack, and cut the surface of the flesh-side of the hide with a knife
>pounding the flesh from the hide using the flesher, the creamy-white underneath is revealed
>it's a bit like removing the skin from a chicken, but from the inside
>a bit greasy and weird, but I've seen worse
>once I'm done with the deer hide, I move on to the coyote hide
>now that I'm sure I know what I'm doing, the process is a lot faster
>now it's time to get dirtier

40.
>thankfully what remains of the skinned carcass is still intact, so I can work with this
>grabbing the deer's head with one hand, I chop it from the body using an axe, at the base of the skull
>I carry the head back to the campfire, and get to work
>using a flat stone as a crude workbench, I cut the flesh of the deer at the back of his skull, and begin the process of getting its brains out
>I could've just smashed it's skull open, but I'd like to keep the skull intact for later
>you never know when that can be useful
>I've never touched this stuff directly before, but I've seen a lot of weird shit lately
>I'll get used to it
>I fill a pot halfway with water, heat it up, and put the brain in it
>the water should soften it up enough to break it into smaller pieces
>I dissolve some animal fat into the mixture as well, so it's not just brains in a pot
>after cooling the mixture down again, I rub it against the flesh sides of the hides
>after heating more water, I soak both of the hides again in it, using the cleared ground as a large bowl
>I leave it for around 15 minutes, and squeeze the hides to get the water out over a pot
>Frank insisted on me bringing two medium-sized pots back when we left
>I thought it was unnecessary weight at first, but now it's coming in handy
>I miss you dude, even if you were a bit of a retard at times
>I brain the hide again, and repeat the soaking process
>after waiting for a bit, passing the time by making some more rope and removing sticks from branches, I squeeze the water out of the hides again
>as these furs hold way too much water, I figure out a better way to get it out.
>if they dry up with water on them, They'll lose their flexibility, so I have to act fast
>I wrap the deer hide around a pole from the frame, and roll the ends around another sturdy branch
>using that branch as a lever, I twist the hide, getting more water out
>it's hard work, but I won't be freezing my ass off anymore with those furs on

41.
>after working the hides until they are dry, I let myself fall backwards into the snow
>I may not even need these furs after all, as I'm now my own heating system
>hides have to be worked until dry to prevent stiffness
>Remembering I forgot to smoke them, I get back up on my feet
>Thankfully I've brought in a lot of firewood in the last few days, and the weather has allowed it to stay dry.
>While I'm setting the hides to smoke, a distant howl straightens the hair on the back of my neck
>Wolves?
>I hear another howl again, now much closer, soon joined by many more
>Wolves don't scare me that much, but these howls are different
>They are somehow both low and high-pitched, like the rumble of an earthquake accompanied by the screams of children
>Slowly turning to look at the fire behind me I've left unattended, I notice something equally strange
>trees in the distance are moving, but there is no wind
>what in the fuck is happing
>I grab my mosin from the campfire and grip it tightly
>I feel like I'm hearing sounds coming from the woods, but as I constantly turn around to look, I only see the pitch black darkness enveloping the woods
>before long, I hear another deep rumbling from the forest, but this time, it is not a howl
>as the sound of heavy paws beating the snow into rock fills the cold air, I hide crouching behind the wide trunk of an old tree
>I silently wait from the edge of my camp, expecting shadows to soon wander into the fire's light
>if any of you fuck with my hides, I'm going to be angry
>I should've asked Steph earlier if he had any spare grenades
>Too late now, so I will make do
>Worst thing that can happen is that I finally join my friends in death
>As much as I'd like to see them again, I still have grudges to settle.
>Having strengthened my resolve, I steady my breathing and look at the woods for signs of movement
>Seeing something leap out of the shadows, I shoulder my mosin and point it at the intruder
>it's a fucking rabbit

42.
>I lower my rifle for a second, suppressing a chuckle
>seriously, is this some monty python shit going on? this is just a fucking rabbit
>before I can entertain the thought of killer bunnies further, something a tad more menacing comes out of the woods
>well, make that fucking plural
>I recoil back behind the cover of my tree, steadying my breath again to avoid detection
>there's about 4 or 5 of the things
>I didn't have much time to look at them, and I could make a few guesses about what they are
>Big fucking balls of fur, white fangs, and maybe some kind of large bump on their backs
>As I slide from my cover to get another look at them, I stumble
>several pairs of glowing eyes are now pointed at me
>one of the things, which looks like some sort of Wolf-Bear monstrosity, fucking growls at me
>and now that I've had a proper look, those aren't bumps
>they're riders
>well, fuck
>the fucker riding the one that growled seems to be their leader, and yells something, lowers his spear, and charges
>reacting quickly, I roll on the ground, partially covered by the tree
>the spear grazes my back as it charges past me, tearing fabric, but I remain unharmed
>Still on the ground, I perform a 180 degree turn, and fire at his mount before he fully turns around for another pass
>the blow sends the creature writhing in pain, and the rider is thrown to the ground violently
>the mount then falls heavily on its master, and the loud cracking of bones is heard
>there is no time to celebrate however, as the others are going at me too
>I work the bolt of my rifle from behind the tree, but it gets stuck closed
>I swear I cleaned it earlier, I don't have time for this
>After hurriedly fixing the bayonet on my rifle, I peek out of cover
>I can't take all these cunts at once
>time to improvise

43.
>there are 4 riders up now
>they are yelling at each other, seemingly shocked by the death of their leader, and they don't seem to have guns
>fuck what do I do
>I look down at the coil of rope hung on my belt, and something catches my eye
>the end of the rope got in some sort of knot, and has frozen solid somehow
>fuck it
>I plant my rifle bayonet in the ground, and take out my saber
>with my other hand, I unwrap the coil of rope in one swift motion
>I walk out to the side of the tree, my flank covered by it
>the riders continue their charge, approaching quickly
>"HEY, FAGGOT"
>wha-
>"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? RUNNING AWAY? FIGHT THEM!"
>...Steph?
>I fall to the ground a second before the rider's spear is ran through my throat, sword still in hand
>everything feels so... slow
>As I'm hitting the ground, I slash at the beast's abdomen, its own momentum ripping it apart
>hot blood melts through the now, and the warg dies as it charges over my side
>the falls and tries to get up before I can reach him, but it is too late
>I roll back on my feet, blood dripping from my injured leg
>My blade sinks itself into the rider's throat, and leaves it just as quickly
>"Two"
>I soon realize I am back at the campfire, and the last riders are charging me again
>without even thinking, my arms reach for the pot of boiling water, flinging it at the advancing enemy
>the searing pain throws the one closest to me off his mount, and distracts the other long enough for him to miss his chance
>the former's mount, now crazed by pain and free, runs for the woods
>"TAKE THAT YOU COMMIE BASTARDS"
>?

44.
>My makeshift whip cracks and strikes at the warg's hindleg, wrapping itself around it
>My arm yanks it back, making the still-running creature stumble and fall, shaking the ground
>the burned man, now back on his feet, has his sidearm in hand
>As I turn around to face him, his blade strikes at my shoulder, missing its intended target
>my uninjured arm, now free of the whip, grabs at his wrist in an instant
>before he can react, a knee strikes his stomach
>as his body crumples to the ground, his own blade is sunk into his neck
>the third rider finished off, I hear a strange but familiar laughter from the back of my mind
>"Three"
>The fourth rider, back on his feet, but his mount entangled further, marches firmly towards me, unfazed by the death of his comrades
>bravery does not save him, however, as a flying hatchet buries itself into his forehead
>I soon realize that I was the one who threw the hatchet, and the man falls, face in the snow
>"Four"
>Remembering there was a last rider, I raise my head, staring into the man's eyes
>he decides not to face us however, and turns to the woods
>but before left, his pale face, twisted in a strange expression, gazed back
>as he disappeared into the wilderness, we soon realized what the subtle grin on his lips meant:
>"another time."

45.
>breaking out of the strange adrenaline-induced trance I was in, the pain from my leg hits me like a train
>I'm used to it however, and I bandage up my wound, as calmly as possible
>as I finish up my bandage however, I hear what sounds like a whimper from the edge of the clearing
>...the warg?
>I limp up to it, and ready myself to finish the beast off
>but as I'm about to strike its head, its eyes make contact with mine -
>after a quick pause, I lower my weapon and place it on the ground
>Strangely, I had felt something deep within my mind tell me to spare it.
>Trusting my instincts, I assess the creature's wounds
>it has become strangely docile, and the issue is quickly identified
>one of the creature's front legs is swollen and slightly misshapen, obviously broken
>it probably happened when it fell from the whip strike
>thankfully, the wound is not bleeding, which makes the process easier
>not fully trusting the animal that was not long ago keen on ending my life, I leash it to a tree with the coil.
>the animal, still docile, lets itself be tended to.
>before long, his leg has been secured with a crude splint and wrapped tightly in cloth
>Feeling hungry, I take a leftover piece of venison from the pan I had previously cooked it on
>the warg raises its head, looking at me and the meat in my hand
>I guess he deserves something for being so nice to someone his master wanted to kill
>I chuck half the steak in front of it, and the meat is gone in an instant
>why the fuck is it so frendly? I’ll figure it out later, I’m tired.
>but for now, I guess I've made myself a new friend.

46.
>where the fuck am I again
>oh yeah right
>Getting up from my hammock, I almost trip on a massive ball of fur under it
>holy shit it's a dead warg
>the "dead" warg lifts up its head, making a deep, but strangely cute whining sound
>waitwaitwaitwaitwaitWHATTHEFUCK
>I just stares at me for a while
>after standing there for what felt like an eternity of silence, I seath Steph's old SS dagger
>I glance at the tree I had previously attached the injured warg to, it is now warg-free
>to confirm, I look back at the animal's front left leg
>it still got the splint on it
>"wait, how in the name of jesus fucking christ did you get here boy?"
>the warg just stares at me, then lowers his head on the ground, still looking
>well, I guess if it could break its restraints and get over to where I slept, despite a broken leg
>...It probably would've attacked me in my sleep if it wanted to.
>so that's good I guess
>I cook some meat for breakfast, giving some to the warg
>big fucker is really damn hungry
>he's damn huge, so I guess the deer won't last as long as planned
>I should probably start gathering more roots and maybe bark, because I'll need more food
>Warg can probably help with hunting though
>that's what animals like that do naturally, right?
>why the fuck is it that friendly anyway?
>doesn't really matter. If it can help, I'm keeping it.
>walking around the clearing, I start working on looting and burying the bodies from yesterday's fight
>burning bodies often smells like shit, and that applies to Orks very well.
>I decide to get rid of the wargs as well, as the meat of carnivores tends to be not that good for eating.
>And I'm not Chinese.
>While the friendly injured warg is sleeping, I drag away his fallen brothers
>I don't know how he'll react to it, but I'm not letting good fur go to waste
>it's dense, the leather thick but supple, wasting it would be a crime
>I bring them behind where I had set up drying and smoking racks, and get to work

47.
>after working on the bodies for a while, I decide to burn what's left away from the camp
>I'm not burying skinless bodies, that would be weird
>it doesn't smell as bad as I thought, but it's still pretty bad
>I'm in no need of more bones for tools, but I gather some of the teeth before burning them
>after treating the skins and soaking them, I leave back to check on my new friend
>the furs were pretty coarse and rough, but once cleaned, they are nice and soft
>maybe I could help the warg clean its fur, seems to have knots and stuff
>Ork cunts have never been that good at taking care of equipment, much less of animals
>he's thankfully still sleeping, so I leave to gather wood
>with only a hatchet to split wood, I decide to make some sort of crude hammer to improve its effectiveness
>having already made bows and frames, making a big ol' mallet is child's play
>waaaait
>I made bows? oh shit I had forgot
>guess that'll make hunting a bit easier, and conserving ammo too
>I still have a few boxes of 7.62x54R, but I'll run out if I'm not careful
>good thing then, guess I'll go hunting for rabbits or whatever later, try the bows out
>While entertaining the thought of eating something else than meat, I finish working on the mallet
>let's try this thing out
>after breaking and pushing some branches aside, I hack a few times at the base of the small pine tree
>wedging the hatchet in, I hit the flat end with the mallet, splitting the wood further
>it ain't the most efficient way, but I don't have a big boy axe yet, so it'll have to do
>after dragging the tree back, I get to work removing the rest of the branches, then cutting it into smaller logs
>the mallet and hatchet combo works pretty well when splitting wood, so it doesn't take long to get that done
>remembering I got a bud sleeping under my hammock, I look back
>I probably woke him up with all that noise, poor bugger
>I'll make up for it
>"let's find a river, boy"

48.
>I walk up to the mound of snow where my makeshift sleigh was
>digging it out, it seems to be in good condition, and should be able to fit a substantially sized floofer
>maybe I shouldn't call it that, those "doggies" are basically huge fucking killing machines
>would be like some guy calling a deadly poisonous frog a "little croaker", even if said frog can explode like a landmine
>I should probably give it a name, I'll think of something
>I drag the sleigh up to the hammock, next to the warg
>The lad lifts up his head, curious
>after I push the sleigh a bit closer, he sniffs it a little bit
>he slowly gets up, limping a bit, and lays down on the sleigh
>Damn, I didn't even have to try
>Is he the fucking Einstein of wargs, or are they all like that?
>They acted pretty dumb in combat though...
>Maybe they're only as smart as their masters allow them to, and greenskins aren't known for being very smart.
>lashing the sleigh's rope around myself, I start pulling to give it a try
>even though he's pretty heavy (a bit heavier than the deer), the sleigh allows the weight to slide pretty easily
>I proceed to drag it towards where I heard the river when hunting
>it's not that far from here, but the weight is starting to get heavy
>pretty good workout though, and the floofer doesn't seem to mind the little bumps on the trail
>this area is a bit clearer, so it's easier to maneuver between the trees
>soon enough, the sound of water splashing and flowing fills the forest, getting the warg's attention
>As I stop for a second to take a breath, Warg leaps from the sleigh, sprinting towards the river
>aren't you supposed to have a broken leg?
>Walking down the stream, I notice the splint I had made lying on the ground
>the cloth and rope is all torn up, he probably gnawed through it while on the sleigh
>sneaky bugger
>He's swimming happily in the freezing cold river now, and doesn't seem to mind his previously broken foreleg
>that's one hell of a weird dog

49.
>touch the water
>fuck that's cold
>if I kept my finger 0.5 seconds longer in there, it would've probably frozen solid
>how in the fuck is this dog cunt swimming in that shit?
>oh right that's not a dog, it's a fucking warg or some shit
>If I didn't see greenskins riding them, I'd have figured they'd just eat any fucker who tried getting on top of them
>like who the fuck sees that thing and think "yeah lemme get close to that wild murder machine and climb on it, that's safe"
>maybe they're more docile than I thought, me and this bugger became "friends" after I killed what were probably his family
>not gonna question it though, if that thing wanted to kill me, it would've already while I was sleeping
>now that I think of it, there's no way its leg was broken before it was on the sleigh, then healed when he jumped in the river
>if it healed that fast, it would've done so during the night
>so that means the fucker faked his limp just so I could pull him on a sleigh, the sneaky fucker
>I'm not even mad, if I'm that fucking easy to fool BY A FUCKING DOG OF ALL PEOPLE I don't blame 'em
>I should probably name it instead of calling it "Dog" or some shit
>actually that's not a bad idea
>"Hey Dog, are you finished?"
>big fucker's head pops out of the frozen river, then fucking leaps at me
>get thrown on the fucking ground, instinctively put my hand on the handle of my dagger
>Dog just looks at me with his tongue out
>Dog gets off me and stares at me while I get back up, with that goofy-ass open mouth smile dogs do
>fucker just wanted to play
>shakes and sends freezing water all over the fucking place
>hate that shit but guess I gotta get used to it
>a lot cleaner now too, instead of looking like a killing machine covered scraggly fur, it looks like a big fucking caucasian shepherd mixed with a husky
>could still kill me though, but at least now my killer would look adorable
>always wanted a dog when I was a wee cunt
>not exactly a lab but it'll do

UPDATE - 05/13/2020 - I'm back

50.
>The fire crackles as I chuck another pine branch into it.
>The forest around the camp is quiet, the soft but warm glow of the fire dancing on its outskirts.
>It's been a long time since the woods have felt serene like this.
>Maybe it's because of my new companion, who's laying on the ground, relaxed.
>You'd think Dog is asleep, but his ears are alert, turning to face any sounds that could mean danger.
>It's good to have someone, or something watching your back.
>Maybe it's because the forest finally feels like home after all this time.
>How long has it been? A week? A month? A year? Then how long has this winter lasted?
>Life is still a struggle, but it has grown familiar. The song of birds, the creaking of branches in the wind...
>Even the biting cold has become an old friend.
>...
>Or maybe the forest has truly become more serene, not just in perception.
>There hasn't been any signs of foul play, or signs of the enemy.
>Those riders that I took out were likely the last.
>I expected them to come back, but I've lost count of the days since then.
>Before that encounter, despite what I told myself to stay sane, the woods felt... odd.
>The birds mostly kept quiet. Wildlife was rarer than you'd expect, even being used to so few.
>It's hard to describe it, but every around just felt wrong, for lack of a better word.
>So, what now?
>Even with all this, they could still be back at any moment.
>If they did, Dog would surely wake me. But what if he didn't? What if he missed his kin?
>Or maybe I've become his new kin.
>I reasoned that it was a bad idea, but I somehow felt it was right. And I was cold.
>Somehow, wearing the skin of his dead pack leader, does not offend him.
>He even seems to have become more respectful, more obedient after I first wore it.
>Dog is a beast, not a man. Maybe that fact will never fully be understood, but it is to be remembered.
>Well, it is time for rest. If it is pondered any longer, the birds will begin to sing.