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This post sort of flopped, but I've got a story for everyone (Note, this is a work of fiction) *Warning for language, and just in all disgusting descriptions*

I love...ed, living in the old cabin, tucked away in far corner of the region, off the main trail. Secluded from all structures, a quaint place. It was my home, it was. One day, in the woods not too far away I was chopping wood, being settled in for what seemed like hundreds of days the harsh and bitter winter had not let up. It had gotten worse, fearing every day that a new blizzard will role in, a new pack of wolves will call my home their home. It was depressing, no matter how much value I had in the building nothing could change the overwhelming loneliness. It didn't help that who I assumed owned the cabin was dead over the hill in front of the cabin. I was down to one book. I knew the town far north had no one there, I knew that foreboding marsh had no one, I knew no one lived off that highway, and I knew I was alone here. Or, so I though. One day, reading in the cabin late at night next to the fire, I got a knock at the door. It started me at first, another knock came quickly after. I get up from the old lazy boy in the corner of the cabin, and walk to the door. The second I even touched the doorknob, crash! A rock was thrown through the window, pissed I ran around the cabin, once, twice, three TIMES. I yelled out 'Hello?'. No one, no one was anywhere to be seen, not even a a footprint, besides mine. With the moon illuminating the clearing the cabin was set in, I got to work fixing the window. Once finished, I retreat back into the cabin, and get some sleep. Something didn't feel right, I felt a presence, and then, the smell. An absolutely awful smell of death, trash, and bear piss filled the cabin. Then, a creak, a very, very subtle creak, coming from the roof. What the hell was on the roof? I thought, completely forgetting the experience I had just hours ago. I grab the rifle that I had been saving for emergencies, for I only had 5 bullets left. I leave the cabin, and aim at the roof. The smell, the damn smell, it was so strong, so horrible, it smelled unworldly. Then, I saw it. I don't even think it was fair to call it an 'it'. It looked alien, a mix of a wolf, a deer, an owl, a... cow? It had long, lanky legs skinny to the point where you could see the bone protruding out of the skin, with hooves the side of my hands, it wore a cloak over is torso, with more bone sticking out, It has short arms, with feathers covering the majority of them. It's head, a human skull, with antlers protruding out of it. In pure and utter shock I couldn't even bother to scream because my first action was to shoot. Bam, I watch its head explode, bone hitting me in my eye, it lets out a shriek. It sounded like the baby T-Rex from Jurassic Park 2, in a weird way. It jumps down from the cabin with a disgusting crack. I then face it, it towers over me nearly 10 feet tall. With no hesitation I bolt. Running through the 6 feet deep snow was the hardest thing I have ever done, but looking behind me it looked like the thing was having a harder time than me. I reach the rail tracks, and bolt towards the most notable landmark in the region, the dam. I look in the sky, and see that the aurora is happening. It gives off a luminous green glow. A scream radiates from behind me, I don't even bother looking behind. I am sprinting harder than I have ever in my life, suddenly in my peripheral vision I see a wolf absolutely running for its life, It passes me, and then another one passes me, and then another. All of them running for their lives, running from the thing. I make it dam, exhausted, the thing is trailing 100 yards behind me. I get into the dam, and hide. I never hear the door open, I never see the thing, but I never move. I finally feel comfortable enough to fall asleep, and sleep is what I do. The next morning, weary, I return the the cabin and it looks like nothing ever happened, except for the window still being boarded up. I need to get get out of here, lately I have been hearing planes, and helicopters, but when I go outside to look, there's nothing there. I hear these sounds deep in the woods, and no matter how much I want to believe they are real, I know it's that thing, I know it's want me. I know it wants to kill me.


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The Official Lore Thread sounds like a good idea @theisaactrain 
provided the content stayed on topic and were to discuss items of lore as they pertain to the story of Great Bear Island.  I've got lots of questions regarding lore that aren't always answered by Story Mode narrative, so it would be nice to have a forum where players could get the low down on the history of the island, the communities, residents and such.

As to your story, entertaining!  I think you might get more interest if you were to post it in the Fans Creation thread, dedicated to by Hinterland to provide players a spot to share their creative works be it Art, Fiction or Music.  There are some really talented members in the community and honestly I think the venue is gaining in popularity as well as content by continued submissions from both members and visitors alike.   

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Thanks for the support on that story. I believe that I could of done better, but I mean who cares, right?

I think a topic that I would really want to talk about is the Ash Canyon mine. In the Anglers Hut there is a certain note written. The owner of the cabin had left a note, remarking the gold mine. Now here's the issue, I completely forget everything about Ash Canyon, and guess where my survivor is? Mystery Lake! Anyway, I am not going to have anything to remark until I get my butt back to Ash Canyon, but if anyone has anything to share, go ahead.

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"The Last Email of Sarah Easton"

An unauthorized fan fic set on Great Bear Island

By Luca Loquax.

All honor and credit to Raph and Devs.



   The following is a Royal Canadian Air Force record of an email that was sent to the 'info@' alias with the subject line, “survivors, need help”. Whoever sent this has considerable technical skills owing to the complexities associated with wirelessly transmitting an email with a compressed text attachment in such a way that it bounced off of a satellite and hit the domain.

   The contents of the email are as follows:


   “To RCAF or any receiving station:

   I hope someone is still there receiving incoming traffic. My name is Sara Easton, I was the Radio Canada International operator assigned to the Signal Hill station on Great Bear Island. Since the events  of and around the geomagnetic storm that crippled our electronic infrastructure, I have been doing my best to contact the mainland to no avail. All of our hopes are with this message finding its way. If our modern electronics being rendered useless was not enough, the litany of earthquakes have rendered Great Bear a fractured shell of its former self.

   The fleeing hope of ever getting back to 'normal' quickly degenerated into mere survival for survival sake. The following onset of the worst winter in all recorded history forced us all into the community center where the ensuing cold, malnutrition and sickness killed half the town in the next month alone. We actually had an honest to goodness doctor stagger in one night from Goddess-knows-where, just ahead of one of these damned blizzards. She did what she could to help us and even carried back a survivor from a crashed airliner. We were about to make her our leader when she disappeared as suddenly as she arrived. Thanks doc, wherever you are.

   It was clear that we were running out of everything but snow and fresh air so we hatched a plan to make a break for Perseverance Mills. Barb, bless her soul, got a farm tractor running and hitched it to a pair of hey wagons with improvised cover. We scavenged all the fuel, tools and supplies we could load and our rag-tag 'desperation express' and set out in the best weather we could hope for. Barb was at the wheel doing all she could to keep that tractor running. Father Thomas and I were on shotgun duty with the rifles Dan taught us how to use; a priest and a vegan-pacifist packing iron, who'd have thought it possible. Ammo is so scarce that practice was out of the question. We made good time at first and we even saw Bonnie wave us 'goodbye' as we passed her farm. It was clear that she had no intention of joining us. Fare ye well Signal Hill Station, I scarcely knew ye. Pleasant Valley: Population – 1.

   Our caravan exited the tunnel and the weather was holding, mostly. Even in the rear wagon I could hear Barb's coughing over the sound of the tractor's engine. That precious engine. We all would have traded the last ten years of our lives for a school bus with a functioning heater but it never would have made it over the broken road surface in many places. On our last litres of fuel the tractor had pulled us to within four Ks of the Perseverance Mills town line when we hit the end of the road thanks to the last earthquake. End of the line.

   With the clouds turning pink from the approaching sunset, the wind began to pick up and stray flakes began to blow past us. On foot we go, no choice. The first kilometer was not too bad as our mob staggered along. The second was worse and took twice as long and the third was when we lost the light and that cursed storm arrived in force. None of us had eaten in three days. All of us were sick or still recovering, hypothermic and dehydrated. We clung to the sick and weak as long as we could but Goddess forgive us, we left them there. What were we supposed to do, die with them? We could barely make way ourselves. Dan, Father Thomas, Barb and I made a dead-recon for the wisp of smoke we thought we saw over the next hill and pressed forward. By maybe blind luck, we stayed on the road and made it into town. Dan caught a glimpse of light in a basement window and we made our way to the school building. At the very last flicker of our endurance we were met by the townsfolk who had settled in school's lower level. I don't remember what happened next. Thompson Crossing: survivors – 4.

   Atwood is essentially chief of the last survivors of Great Bear. In the following days he introduced us to folks who had been able to make their way here by mostly singles and pairs from other parts of the island. Milton, Coastie Townies, a lighthouse operator and mix of workers, residents and tourists who did not know that the last ferry off of the island was, in fact the very last ferry off the island. At least the families with small children had already made it to the mainland.

   Everyone here works all day every day. Atwood sent a party to retrieve the tools and supplies we left in the wagons. When Father Thomas asked about burying our dead he said there is no way to dig graves and no time or energy to spare building cairns. There are frozen corpses everywhere. Father Thomas held a mass for the the living and gave last rites to the dead. Almost all our time and effort is spent on either food or firewood. Daily our little tribe busies itself, weather permitting, hunting, fishing and demolishing buildings and their contents for fuel.

   My job is carcass harvesting and cooking, hell for a vegan but I am around food and the wood stove so I count my blessings. Anything is better than going out THERE every day into that frozen hell that used to be our home. I have not left the basement in... weeks, maybe? Months? The days all run together. Atwood's HAM set is an old vacuum tube set that is immune to EMF and I have been able to get it up and running. Barb, Dan and I managed to cobble together car batteries and an actual inverter which is how I got this message out via my laptop. It turns out that microwave ovens really do protect electronics. Atwood was not happy about the time and energy spent to get me up and running here but Father Thomas convinced him that our one and only hope for long-term survival is calling for help to get off this thrice-damned island.

   For that we have placed all our hopes in whoever receives this message but thus far the whole world seems to have fallen silent. We are down to our last one of everything with no hope of any kind of resupply. Who would have thought the apocalypse would be characterized by dead silence? We power the HAM set when the aurora is up so if anyone can answer my CQ we beg you to respond even if you can not help. We have caught bits of unintelligible chatter now and then but have yet to get anything better than a 2/1.

   It gets worse. What everyone has noticed but nobody will talk about is how the weather is getting worse, the cold is getting colder and days are getting shorter. There should have been SOME sign of spring by now but this long dark is just getting deeper.

   To any receiving station please respond, I don't know how much longer we can hold out.

   I get my best reception on the upper side bands at night.


   Sarah Easton and the last survivors of Great Bear Island.”

Edited by Luca Loquax
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