Cray

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Everything posted by Cray

  1. Thanks guys, moving on up to Interloper now, I think it's time... wish me luck!
  2. Nearly forgot, Cray's shrine to the sun god (spot the mag lens)...
  3. It has been _500_ days since Cray awoke in this wild wasteland. Before that, he has no recollection. Were it not for his daily journal entries, he might not have much of a memory at all. He remembers seeing traces of a plane crash on the mountain, and a visit to a farmstead in the middle of an unpleasant valley stirred strange memories of a past life, but he cannot be sure. Cray sticks to what he does know. At first, he was too desperate and confused to make notes in his diary. The entries before day 60 consist of little more than locations. He knows that he arrived at Trapper's Cabin, as he calls it, on the first day. The next few weeks were a blur. A bad case of parasites drove him to begin writing. He had to keep track of the meds he was taking to avoid an overdose. From there, entries became more frequent. The first days were spent stumbling aimlessly from place to place, gathering what he could carry and make use of. He lived mainly off the rabbits behind the cabin, and steadily fashioned some clothing from furs. Came close to death in a blizzard one time, so near to home. Another time fell in the frigid water. But, bit by bit, he stockpiled supplies at the cabin. As the days passed by, he would become uneasy, restless. He felt forced to explore, if only to escape for a while. He made trips to the coast, across frozen marshlands, and into the foothills of distant mountains. Each time he returned with supplies, and just barely, his life. Time wore on. He began to relax a little. Progressed from just surviving to subsisting more comfortably. Still, he would get complacent, make mistakes, take risks. Each time, as though by some miracle, he made it home. "Home". This place, this cabin, was his home now. He had come to accept that there would be no rescue. The only people he met were frozen husks. He stopped seeing them as people. They were food for the crows. Something drove Cray to push on. He made a list of everything he had found, and updated it regularly. He began to go more than a little crazy. Maybe that was why they called him Cray. As in, cray-cray. Not all there. He would see numbers where there were none. Began to measure things. Count things. It was all he could do to keep from going completely mad. He wrote them down in his journal. Made crude maps. Learned to skin rabbits in the dark, with his bare hands. Became a masterchef. Trained himself to handle fire. Even learned how to hunt with bow and arrow like his ancestors long ago. Eventually he had travelled far and wide. Over 1,000 km if he had to guess. Many small adventures, always returning to the cabin with what he found, or leaving supplies behind to be collected on later trips. It was of no use. There was no way out of this place, he realised. Might as well get used to it. A whole year passed with no sign of summer. Still, he survived. But there was one place he daren't attempt to reach. The great mountain. He could see it, in the distance. It scared him. He was never one for heights. Wolves he could handle. Even learned not to fear the bears. But no matter how many times he did it, crossing the rail trestle or the edge of the hydrodam, it never got any easier. But something told him that he would one day have to travel to the summit. Like it held the key to how he got here. Still, he was afraid of the climb. Not yet, he thought. But... one day. ~ Cray's notes: Images: