If Torsten had known more of the facts, he likely would have at least deduced that an Electromagnetic Pulse had occurred. He had trained in the Finnish Army for years for that eventuality. It was always surmised that the Russians would one day cross the Finnish frontier in an attempt to outflank NATO forces to the north through Norway. It was also surmised that they wouldn't get far in Finland, like they had done in the Winter War. They’d resort to EMP and tactical nuclear weapons to get their point across. Torsten would have been one of the few to cross the Russian border to stop these nuclear arms from being taken to the front.
Instead, he was in Oregon talking to a pretty woman on his doorstep. As far as he knew, another computer hacker had twisted the megabits, or whatever they were called, in some far-flung code. His parents would have known what it was, if they were still alive. He listened to the woman, giving an understanding nod. “Of course. These roads are usually this dark at night. Hard to find your way. You came through on Washington Route-503, correct? If you continue down it, I promise that you’ll reach Portland.”
He was at least smart around the woman. He kept a pleasant smile on his face and made sure that his hands were always where she could see them. He stayed in the light and kept his mitts off the rifle that was leaning against the doorway. Not that it seemed like he would need it, but the man appeared to be a gentle giant. It was true, at least. Torsten had seen war, violence and death – he most certainly did not want to see it again.
He motioned with his hand towards the south. Little did he know that anarchy was beginning to take over in Portland. Little by little, the static was reaching its apex. Those without power had slowly begun to realize that their flashlights and their lighters were not working. Panic was beginning to sink in. Mouths would turn dry and stomachs would churn with anticipation. Not so much in the mountains, where it was still a beautiful night. “They’re having a power outage, I think,” he waved his hand again. “Would you like me to walk you back to your car? Bear are plentiful this time of year. They’re starting to fatten up for the coming winter, so they’re out at all hours.”
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If Torsten had known more of the facts, he likely would have at least deduced that an Electromagnetic Pulse had occurred. He had trained in the Finnish Army for years for that eventuality. It was always surmised that the Russians would one day cross the Finnish frontier in an attempt to outflank NATO forces to the north through Norway. It was also surmised that they wouldn't get far in Finland, like they had done in the Winter War. They’d resort to EMP and tactical nuclear weapons to get their point across. Torsten would have been one of the few to cross the Russian border to stop these nuclear arms from being taken to the front.
Instead, he was in Oregon talking to a pretty woman on his doorstep. As far as he knew, another computer hacker had twisted the megabits, or whatever they were called, in some far-flung code. His parents would have known what it was, if they were still alive. He listened to the woman, giving an understanding nod. “Of course. These roads are usually this dark at night. Hard to find your way. You came through on Washington Route-503, correct? If you continue down it, I promise that you’ll reach Portland.”
He was at least smart around the woman. He kept a pleasant smile on his face and made sure that his hands were always where she could see them. He stayed in the light and kept his mitts off the rifle that was leaning against the doorway. Not that it seemed like he would need it, but the man appeared to be a gentle giant. It was true, at least. Torsten had seen war, violence and death – he most certainly did not want to see it again.
He motioned with his hand towards the south. Little did he know that anarchy was beginning to take over in Portland. Little by little, the static was reaching its apex. Those without power had slowly begun to realize that their flashlights and their lighters were not working. Panic was beginning to sink in. Mouths would turn dry and stomachs would churn with anticipation. Not so much in the mountains, where it was still a beautiful night. “They’re having a power outage, I think,” he waved his hand again. “Would you like me to walk you back to your car? Bear are plentiful this time of year. They’re starting to fatten up for the coming winter, so they’re out at all hours.”
Instead, he was in Oregon talking to a pretty woman on his doorstep. As far as he knew, another computer hacker had twisted the megabits, or whatever they were called, in some far-flung code. His parents would have known what it was, if they were still alive. He listened to the woman, giving an understanding nod. “Of course. These roads are usually this dark at night. Hard to find your way. You came through on Washington Route-503, correct? If you continue down it, I promise that you’ll reach Portland.”
He was at least smart around the woman. He kept a pleasant smile on his face and made sure that his hands were always where she could see them. He stayed in the light and kept his mitts off the rifle that was leaning against the doorway. Not that it seemed like he would need it, but the man appeared to be a gentle giant. It was true, at least. Torsten had seen war, violence and death – he most certainly did not want to see it again.
He motioned with his hand towards the south. Little did he know that anarchy was beginning to take over in Portland. Little by little, the static was reaching its apex. Those without power had slowly begun to realize that their flashlights and their lighters were not working. Panic was beginning to sink in. Mouths would turn dry and stomachs would churn with anticipation. Not so much in the mountains, where it was still a beautiful night. “They’re having a power outage, I think,” he waved his hand again. “Would you like me to walk you back to your car? Bear are plentiful this time of year. They’re starting to fatten up for the coming winter, so they’re out at all hours.”
It spread across the Earth like an increasing static. First GPS and cellphone signals were lost. Radios were unable to generate FM or AM bands. Military units, fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan, soon found that they were unable to talk to each other. The static in the air grew stronger with each passing moment, until entire power stations went offline. Vehicles with expensive electronic ignitions ground to a halt, unable to start or move. Within minutes the static grew stronger yet, until all electronics refused to cooperate. Cellphones fried and turned off for the last time. A laptop in Portland caught fire on a woman’s bed and started a fire.
Still the static was not done. It grew stronger and stronger, unseen and unheard by humanity. Even older cars, relying primarily on mechanical means of propulsion, began to fail. Oil pumps in Texas ceased turning. Police officers in Portland, issuing an arrest for a drug dealer in the blackout, opened fire on the man when he turned on them with a knife. Their weapons refused to operate. Two police officers were the first to be a statistic for the setting back of the technological watch.
Yet, high up in the Cascade Mountains, it was difficult to know what Hell was being unleashed on the city below. Torsten, walking around to the front of his cabin, was more interested in the ‘lost’ woman who was banging on his door. She stood in front of a cabin that, indeed, had been built decades ago by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. It was originally used to give Park Rangers respite when storms grew too strong on their patrols. It was now his home. He hadn't been inside when she called him, having been trying to figure out what was going down below them. He raised a free hand in greeting. ” Hei! Voinko auttaa sinua?”
The Finn grinned for a moment, shaking his hand, “So sorry. It is a habit. Can I help you?” He tried to correct himself. The poor thing looked frightened out of her mind. He looked down the dirt road that led to his house. Had she walked from the road to his cabin? What was she doing out this way? He walked up on to the porch, setting his archaic rifle down next to the door frame. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”
Still the static was not done. It grew stronger and stronger, unseen and unheard by humanity. Even older cars, relying primarily on mechanical means of propulsion, began to fail. Oil pumps in Texas ceased turning. Police officers in Portland, issuing an arrest for a drug dealer in the blackout, opened fire on the man when he turned on them with a knife. Their weapons refused to operate. Two police officers were the first to be a statistic for the setting back of the technological watch.
Yet, high up in the Cascade Mountains, it was difficult to know what Hell was being unleashed on the city below. Torsten, walking around to the front of his cabin, was more interested in the ‘lost’ woman who was banging on his door. She stood in front of a cabin that, indeed, had been built decades ago by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. It was originally used to give Park Rangers respite when storms grew too strong on their patrols. It was now his home. He hadn't been inside when she called him, having been trying to figure out what was going down below them. He raised a free hand in greeting. ” Hei! Voinko auttaa sinua?”
The Finn grinned for a moment, shaking his hand, “So sorry. It is a habit. Can I help you?” He tried to correct himself. The poor thing looked frightened out of her mind. He looked down the dirt road that led to his house. Had she walked from the road to his cabin? What was she doing out this way? He walked up on to the porch, setting his archaic rifle down next to the door frame. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”
It was always difficult to see Portland from the Cascades. The heavy canopy of pines and oaks circling the ranges, coupled with the fog banks that rolled in from the sea, usually made it a hazard for all but the most reckless of hiker who wanted to take photos of the modern city of light and amusement. It was over seventy miles to the city center, but if one were to bravely grapple his or her way up one of the towering pines, one could eventually see the city center with a good enough set of glass.
A particular man was doing just that. He did it every time there was a power outage. Not so much over fear of the unknown, but of general interest in seeing when the power might come back on. If the entire grid that Portland and the surrounding rural areas relied upon was out, it would take weeks for cherry picker trucks to come by his remote road to turn the power back on. There was always more interest in making sure that Portland was running. They had to keep the unloading ships at the harbor and the hipsters busy somehow.
What this man saw was troubling to him. He had seen Portland basked in darkness time and time again, but never to this extent. True, the city could be dark, but it could never be absent light. Power or no power, cars always made rings around the city as people made their way to and from work. Hospitals would still be burning diesel in generators to keep their facilities running. The bearded fellow peered through an old collapsing telescope high up in one of the pine trees. Nothing. The little hamsters in his head were starting to turn their wheels at an increased speed, though he brushed it off. The reasonable man in him looked down at the telescope, turning it around in his hands.
“Vanhaa lasia. Siinä kaikki,” he reassured himself. The glass was old, so it very well might not pick up the light of the cars anymore. He would need to buy a new one when he could.
It took him some time to clamber down from the tree. It was slow going in the dark, though the absence of city light only intensified the light from the skies. It was past eight o’clock in the evening, and the Milky Way and full moon were impressive above him. It would have been a photographer’s wet dream. Boots finding grip on branches underneath him, he figured he might as well buy a camera, too. It wasn't like he was suffering from a lack of funds. The State of Oregon and the Government of Finland had seen to that.
He made his way to ground level, taking a moment to look around him. Grizzly bear had grown more common in the area the past few years. It was his job to count their numbers, at least the ones that had not already been electronically tagged by the state. The Finn had a knack of telling the others apart. The state compensated him handsomely for the lonesome job, but he did not mind. He enjoyed sitting in a quiet field, watching grizzly cubs play with their mother. It was peaceful.
That was not to say that he was another Timothy Treadwell, relying upon the good nature of some of the largest land predators in the world. He leaned down, picking a rifle up off the ground. It was always good to have some option when a bear came charging, other than bear spray. His was perhaps a bit orthodoxical, but it was a rifle he trusted. Unlike modern rifles of plastic and space-aged metals, this one was made of brass and iron. It was hand-made in Kentucky, with flowing lines and perfect woodwork. Based off of a 1770s-era Jaeger Rifle, it was a rifled musket. Short for rifles of the age, with two independent triggers for the single barrel – one to lighten the pull of the second, for more accurate shots. The .54 caliber ball it fired was more than enough to make the largest of grizzlies think twice.
He hiked his way back to his cabin. He had left a hurricane lamp on outside the front using a tinderbox. The shielded lamp burned bright, giving him a beacon to find his way back through the underbrush. He stopped every few feet to listen around him, before continuing onward. He walked into the halo of light, looking like some sort of lumberjack. The Finn was large, with a barrel chest and full beard. A black and white flannel shirt hung taught to his chest, with the sleeves rolled to expose thick flesh. These were not the muscles of a man who spent hours in a gym perfecting them. They were the ones earned through manual labor and good food.
He wished the radio worked. He wanted to know what was going on.
A particular man was doing just that. He did it every time there was a power outage. Not so much over fear of the unknown, but of general interest in seeing when the power might come back on. If the entire grid that Portland and the surrounding rural areas relied upon was out, it would take weeks for cherry picker trucks to come by his remote road to turn the power back on. There was always more interest in making sure that Portland was running. They had to keep the unloading ships at the harbor and the hipsters busy somehow.
What this man saw was troubling to him. He had seen Portland basked in darkness time and time again, but never to this extent. True, the city could be dark, but it could never be absent light. Power or no power, cars always made rings around the city as people made their way to and from work. Hospitals would still be burning diesel in generators to keep their facilities running. The bearded fellow peered through an old collapsing telescope high up in one of the pine trees. Nothing. The little hamsters in his head were starting to turn their wheels at an increased speed, though he brushed it off. The reasonable man in him looked down at the telescope, turning it around in his hands.
“Vanhaa lasia. Siinä kaikki,” he reassured himself. The glass was old, so it very well might not pick up the light of the cars anymore. He would need to buy a new one when he could.
It took him some time to clamber down from the tree. It was slow going in the dark, though the absence of city light only intensified the light from the skies. It was past eight o’clock in the evening, and the Milky Way and full moon were impressive above him. It would have been a photographer’s wet dream. Boots finding grip on branches underneath him, he figured he might as well buy a camera, too. It wasn't like he was suffering from a lack of funds. The State of Oregon and the Government of Finland had seen to that.
He made his way to ground level, taking a moment to look around him. Grizzly bear had grown more common in the area the past few years. It was his job to count their numbers, at least the ones that had not already been electronically tagged by the state. The Finn had a knack of telling the others apart. The state compensated him handsomely for the lonesome job, but he did not mind. He enjoyed sitting in a quiet field, watching grizzly cubs play with their mother. It was peaceful.
That was not to say that he was another Timothy Treadwell, relying upon the good nature of some of the largest land predators in the world. He leaned down, picking a rifle up off the ground. It was always good to have some option when a bear came charging, other than bear spray. His was perhaps a bit orthodoxical, but it was a rifle he trusted. Unlike modern rifles of plastic and space-aged metals, this one was made of brass and iron. It was hand-made in Kentucky, with flowing lines and perfect woodwork. Based off of a 1770s-era Jaeger Rifle, it was a rifled musket. Short for rifles of the age, with two independent triggers for the single barrel – one to lighten the pull of the second, for more accurate shots. The .54 caliber ball it fired was more than enough to make the largest of grizzlies think twice.
He hiked his way back to his cabin. He had left a hurricane lamp on outside the front using a tinderbox. The shielded lamp burned bright, giving him a beacon to find his way back through the underbrush. He stopped every few feet to listen around him, before continuing onward. He walked into the halo of light, looking like some sort of lumberjack. The Finn was large, with a barrel chest and full beard. A black and white flannel shirt hung taught to his chest, with the sleeves rolled to expose thick flesh. These were not the muscles of a man who spent hours in a gym perfecting them. They were the ones earned through manual labor and good food.
He wished the radio worked. He wanted to know what was going on.
Torsten Stålhandske
Torsten is the type of gentleman that most young lads try to impersonate. Big, strong, interesting background -- with an impressive beard. The Finnish transplant in the United States has certainly given his younger generation to look up to. The Finn was born in the mid-1980s to loving parents, both of them physicists that worked at the Loviisa nuclear power plant in Finland. They were perhaps a bit dismayed at their child as he grew. He seemed less interested about studying the maths and sciences they so loved and more interested in exploring the wilderness around their home or stuffing his face in a history book. This led to him being rejected by university programs when he graduated grade school. Instead of heading off to college like his parents, he was pushed into the Finnish Army via conscription.
Many men in Finland looked at conscription as a necessary evil, but still an evil. The Army finally allowed Torsten to flourish. He was successful as a conscripted soldier, gladly renewing his enlistment upon the end of his turn to enter the Army formally as a professional soldier. He rose through the ranks swiftly, being sent to the Utti Jaeger Regiment shortly in this third year. He became a Erikoisjääkärit, the American equivalent of the Green Berets. He served through the late 1990s and 2000s in various low-level conflicts across the globe as peacekeeper and general protector of Finnish interests across the globe. His parents, unfortunately, died in a car accident during this time.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Torsten was injured in a parajumping incident, leaving him out of service for a year. He was eventually medically discharged from the military, with considerable savings and disability payments from the Finnish government. Rather than lying about, he applied for a position in the state of Oregon, in the United States, to monitor populations of grizzly in the Cascade Mountains. He now lives in a small cabin close to Mt. St Helens, where he spends his off time reading and relaxing. He lives a life independent of the buzzing city of Portland south of him, preferring to stay out of city business.
Torsten is the type of gentleman that most young lads try to impersonate. Big, strong, interesting background -- with an impressive beard. The Finnish transplant in the United States has certainly given his younger generation to look up to. The Finn was born in the mid-1980s to loving parents, both of them physicists that worked at the Loviisa nuclear power plant in Finland. They were perhaps a bit dismayed at their child as he grew. He seemed less interested about studying the maths and sciences they so loved and more interested in exploring the wilderness around their home or stuffing his face in a history book. This led to him being rejected by university programs when he graduated grade school. Instead of heading off to college like his parents, he was pushed into the Finnish Army via conscription.
Many men in Finland looked at conscription as a necessary evil, but still an evil. The Army finally allowed Torsten to flourish. He was successful as a conscripted soldier, gladly renewing his enlistment upon the end of his turn to enter the Army formally as a professional soldier. He rose through the ranks swiftly, being sent to the Utti Jaeger Regiment shortly in this third year. He became a Erikoisjääkärit, the American equivalent of the Green Berets. He served through the late 1990s and 2000s in various low-level conflicts across the globe as peacekeeper and general protector of Finnish interests across the globe. His parents, unfortunately, died in a car accident during this time.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Torsten was injured in a parajumping incident, leaving him out of service for a year. He was eventually medically discharged from the military, with considerable savings and disability payments from the Finnish government. Rather than lying about, he applied for a position in the state of Oregon, in the United States, to monitor populations of grizzly in the Cascade Mountains. He now lives in a small cabin close to Mt. St Helens, where he spends his off time reading and relaxing. He lives a life independent of the buzzing city of Portland south of him, preferring to stay out of city business.
EDIT: Woah doggies, let's throw the brakes on this thing. I've got plenty of potential partners for this shindig at this point in time. Still interested in roleplaying with me? Feel free to shoot me a PM with your idea or greeting. I'd loved to hear from you; just understand I will likely not be interested in doing the below.
Cheers!
For posterity:
I'm sure nobody here is unaccustomed to post-apocalyptic roleplay. You know, duking it out with desert nomads ala Mad Max. Laying waste to Super Mutants with Laser Gatling Guns or fighting off hordes of zombies with broomsticks and sledgehammers. The stereotypical stuff, right?
I'm looking for something post-apocalyptic in nature. However, I'm shying away from the grandiose expectations of Mad Max 'tank of juice' tropes, silly mutants and boring zombies. I'm looking for survival as stated in the prefix. Two people meeting, learning how to survive and thriving in a world that has turned upside down from an event. What is this world? What was the event? Since you've asked:
The roleplay would take place six hours after the beginning of World War III. Russia and the United States initiated a nuclear exchange among themselves. Yet, no nukes fell. There were no mushroom clouds or cratered holes in the ground. Instead, the Earth became oddly silent as machines began to die. Everything from the aeroplane to the electric razor stopped working at precisely 1836EST.
More frighteningly for the survivors, almost every form of 'modern' mechanical technology has ceased functioning as well. Police officers, attempting to combat the early signs of looting and violence, have quickly learned their stockpiles of firearms and tear gas are no longer working. Without easy means of defense, whole cities are being brought to the torch by mass hysteria and fear. Husbands trying to light their grills to cook spoiling food have noticed that their lighters do not light and their Zippos do not Zipp.
I'm looking for a woman to join my character in a world like this. Interested? Send me a PM. You can also reply to the post, but I'll just wind up PMing you afterwards. Please, share your ideas with me on how this idea could be made even better.
Cheers!
For posterity:
I'm sure nobody here is unaccustomed to post-apocalyptic roleplay. You know, duking it out with desert nomads ala Mad Max. Laying waste to Super Mutants with Laser Gatling Guns or fighting off hordes of zombies with broomsticks and sledgehammers. The stereotypical stuff, right?
I'm looking for something post-apocalyptic in nature. However, I'm shying away from the grandiose expectations of Mad Max 'tank of juice' tropes, silly mutants and boring zombies. I'm looking for survival as stated in the prefix. Two people meeting, learning how to survive and thriving in a world that has turned upside down from an event. What is this world? What was the event? Since you've asked:
The roleplay would take place six hours after the beginning of World War III. Russia and the United States initiated a nuclear exchange among themselves. Yet, no nukes fell. There were no mushroom clouds or cratered holes in the ground. Instead, the Earth became oddly silent as machines began to die. Everything from the aeroplane to the electric razor stopped working at precisely 1836EST.
More frighteningly for the survivors, almost every form of 'modern' mechanical technology has ceased functioning as well. Police officers, attempting to combat the early signs of looting and violence, have quickly learned their stockpiles of firearms and tear gas are no longer working. Without easy means of defense, whole cities are being brought to the torch by mass hysteria and fear. Husbands trying to light their grills to cook spoiling food have noticed that their lighters do not light and their Zippos do not Zipp.
I'm looking for a woman to join my character in a world like this. Interested? Send me a PM. You can also reply to the post, but I'll just wind up PMing you afterwards. Please, share your ideas with me on how this idea could be made even better.
I'm sure nobody here is unaccustomed to post-apocalyptic roleplay. You know, duking it out with desert nomads ala Mad Max. Laying waste to Super Mutants with Laser Gatling Guns or fighting off hordes of zombies with broomsticks and sledgehammers. The stereotypical stuff, right?
I'm looking for something post-apocalyptic in nature. However, I'm shying away from the grandiose expectations of Mad Max 'tank of juice' tropes, silly mutants and boring zombies. I'm looking for survival as stated in the prefix. Two people meeting, learning how to survive and thriving in a world that has turned upside down from an event. What is this world? What was the event? Since you've asked:
The roleplay would take place six hours after the beginning of World War III. Russia and the United States initiated a nuclear exchange among themselves. Yet, no nukes fell. There were no mushroom clouds or cratered holes in the ground. Instead, the Earth became oddly silent as machines began to die. Everything from the aeroplane to the electric razor stopped working at precisely 1836EST.
More frighteningly for the survivors, almost every form of 'modern' mechanical technology has ceased functioning as well. Police officers, attempting to combat the early signs of looting and violence, have quickly learned their stockpiles of firearms and tear gas are no longer working. Without easy means of defense, whole cities are being brought to the torch by mass hysteria and fear. Husbands trying to light their grills to cook spoiling food have noticed that their lighters do not light and their Zippos do not Zipp.
I'm looking for a woman to join my character in a world like this. Interested? Send me a PM. You can also reply to the post, but I'll just wind up PMing you afterwards. Please, share your ideas with me on how this idea could be made even better.
I'm looking for something post-apocalyptic in nature. However, I'm shying away from the grandiose expectations of Mad Max 'tank of juice' tropes, silly mutants and boring zombies. I'm looking for survival as stated in the prefix. Two people meeting, learning how to survive and thriving in a world that has turned upside down from an event. What is this world? What was the event? Since you've asked:
The roleplay would take place six hours after the beginning of World War III. Russia and the United States initiated a nuclear exchange among themselves. Yet, no nukes fell. There were no mushroom clouds or cratered holes in the ground. Instead, the Earth became oddly silent as machines began to die. Everything from the aeroplane to the electric razor stopped working at precisely 1836EST.
More frighteningly for the survivors, almost every form of 'modern' mechanical technology has ceased functioning as well. Police officers, attempting to combat the early signs of looting and violence, have quickly learned their stockpiles of firearms and tear gas are no longer working. Without easy means of defense, whole cities are being brought to the torch by mass hysteria and fear. Husbands trying to light their grills to cook spoiling food have noticed that their lighters do not light and their Zippos do not Zipp.
I'm looking for a woman to join my character in a world like this. Interested? Send me a PM. You can also reply to the post, but I'll just wind up PMing you afterwards. Please, share your ideas with me on how this idea could be made even better.
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