Post by iblis121 on Aug 28, 2010 8:01:34 GMT
Hyman
Perhaps if someone squinted, they would be able to see the vague outline of a figure on the horizon of the wastelands. A single person approaching Haven slowly, on foot no less. It had taken such a long time to finally make it to London from Oxford: a nearly eighty mile walk through the blazing, treacherous Wasteland. Hyman had been surviving on his on in Oxford for quite some time, but when things began to take their toll on him, he'd prepared for the journey as best he'd could in such a situation. He brought a meager amount of rations that he managed to scrounge up in the ruins of Oxford, as well as something to defend himself with. Though heavy, the top half of a broken stop-sign post seemed to work just fine, providing to be an excellent two handed bludgeon, as well as a slashing weapon if he could put his whole body into the swing.
He'd been smart in his method of traveling, starting at what was left of the Bletchley Railway Station in Oxford and following the train tracks to the remains of the Euston Railway Station in London. He could only travel but so far each day, as the dangers of the wastelands were always present. In the day, there was the threat of the wildlife doing what they were all trying to do: survive. At night, there were the threats of Outsider gangs, always looking for fresh meat. He remembered well what he'd been told long ago. He refused to be some sick bastard's meal, punching bag, or toy. At all times, there were the threats of the undead, always on the hunt for their next meal. In this hell, one could never be too careful, and there rarely were times when he was at ease.
When he finally arrived in London, Hyman was overjoyed. Though his journey was not yet over, he knew exactly where he had to go. He had to find Big Ben, where there was supposed to a sanctuary at it's base, according to a rumor he'd heard long ago by a passer by. Not even a day's worth of walking and he should arrive, he thought, and within a few hours time, he could see it off in the distance.
A wide grin had spread across Hyman's intensely suntanned face and he laughed softly to himself. Despite the immense pain in his shaking, fatigued legs, the dull ache of his hungry stomach and the disgusting taste of dust and dirt in his dry, dry mouth, he still uttered a weak, content laugh. "We're almost there..almost there..." He looked down at his right hand, listening to the light scraping of the metal bludgeon on the ground, than slowly lifted it, resting it on his shoulder and stumbling slightly. He managed to catch himself, though, and growled lowly, raising his empty left hand and staring into it as he trudged forward "Don't you give up on me. We're almost there."
Perhaps if someone squinted, they would be able to see the vague outline of a figure on the horizon of the wastelands. A single person approaching Haven slowly, on foot no less. It had taken such a long time to finally make it to London from Oxford: a nearly eighty mile walk through the blazing, treacherous Wasteland. Hyman had been surviving on his on in Oxford for quite some time, but when things began to take their toll on him, he'd prepared for the journey as best he'd could in such a situation. He brought a meager amount of rations that he managed to scrounge up in the ruins of Oxford, as well as something to defend himself with. Though heavy, the top half of a broken stop-sign post seemed to work just fine, providing to be an excellent two handed bludgeon, as well as a slashing weapon if he could put his whole body into the swing.
He'd been smart in his method of traveling, starting at what was left of the Bletchley Railway Station in Oxford and following the train tracks to the remains of the Euston Railway Station in London. He could only travel but so far each day, as the dangers of the wastelands were always present. In the day, there was the threat of the wildlife doing what they were all trying to do: survive. At night, there were the threats of Outsider gangs, always looking for fresh meat. He remembered well what he'd been told long ago. He refused to be some sick bastard's meal, punching bag, or toy. At all times, there were the threats of the undead, always on the hunt for their next meal. In this hell, one could never be too careful, and there rarely were times when he was at ease.
When he finally arrived in London, Hyman was overjoyed. Though his journey was not yet over, he knew exactly where he had to go. He had to find Big Ben, where there was supposed to a sanctuary at it's base, according to a rumor he'd heard long ago by a passer by. Not even a day's worth of walking and he should arrive, he thought, and within a few hours time, he could see it off in the distance.
A wide grin had spread across Hyman's intensely suntanned face and he laughed softly to himself. Despite the immense pain in his shaking, fatigued legs, the dull ache of his hungry stomach and the disgusting taste of dust and dirt in his dry, dry mouth, he still uttered a weak, content laugh. "We're almost there..almost there..." He looked down at his right hand, listening to the light scraping of the metal bludgeon on the ground, than slowly lifted it, resting it on his shoulder and stumbling slightly. He managed to catch himself, though, and growled lowly, raising his empty left hand and staring into it as he trudged forward "Don't you give up on me. We're almost there."
