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Sep
WXerA near definitely non-canon short story I wrote as my own swan song for this RP and its original incarnation, considering I'm going to have to drop from this roleplay before the 12th of November due to personal obligations. Set in this RP's universe two months before the start date, and heavily inspired by the S.T.A.L.K.E.R video game series (and Roadside Picnic, the book that inspired the games).
The crackling of the fire and soft notes emanating from the guitar were the only sounds that could be heard in the camp. The men didn't speak much, no sense getting to know people who would either die or leave after the job was done after all, and only spoke up when something needed to be done. There were three of them in all, hired by a man named Piotr to find a "Redsun". A Redsun was a strange stone pulsing with otherwordly power, and the average Redsun sold for about 1,000 rubles on the black market; it was then resold through those channels to any government wanting to buy them for upwards of 100,000 rubles. The four men were at the bottom of this lucrative pipeline, simple aberration hunters trying to get by in a world such as this.
The city of Novosibirsk was unprepared when the Veil was torn open. Though America was hit the worst, portals still opened up throughout all of the world, unthinkable beasts and incomprehensible magic flooding out of them. Novosibirsk wasn't as lucky as Moscow or St. Petersburg, who were nowhere near any portals (but not as unlucky as Chita, which had a portal open in the most crowded area of the city), instead having to deal with a portal opening in a forest to the west; not as bad as other places, but the constant stream of demons was a hassle to deal with. Eventually, defenses were put in place, a large wall around the city keeping it closed off from anything looking to feast upon them. The surrounding wilderness was overtaken by monsters and demons, dangerous Wildlands where one wrong step means death.
The biggest change, however, was the discovery of aberrations: strange objects brimming with power untold. Called as such for their unnatural qualities by those who know of their existence, they affect any person who makes physical contact with them, and each have their own purpose. Some can make you immune to diseases, others might allow you bend the elements with the snap of a finger. Others are less than beneficial: a scant few kill their users as soon as they let go of it, others give them a strange type of cancer incurable by any sort of medical or magical intervention. There's a rumor that one completely disintegrates one of the user's loved ones and removes any trace that they even existed, including the memories of those who knew them, spoke to them even once, or even saw them in the street in passing and never again. The only one who knows they existed at all is the one who touched the aberration.
There's a large demand in Europe for aberrations, even the seemingly useless ones that made you smell of pine needles. Some study them, others weaponize their power, while a few idle rich simply want one as their next centerpiece. Whatever the purpose for buying them, the result is always the same: men and women of all ages risk their lives to find them, either out of want for cash, thrill-seeking desires for adventure, a death wish, or simply because they felt the call of the Wildlands. It didn't matter how or why you went looking for aberrations, as the experience changes everyone. Before long, they feel more at home in the hostility of the Wildlands than they do in the comforts of their city.
There's an old saying among aberration hunters: Как только человек входит в Дикие Земли, Дикие Земли входят в него. И хотя вы можете вывести человека из Дикие Земли, вы не можете отнять у него Дикие Земли. "As soon as a man enters the Wildlands, the Wildlands enter him. And while you can take a man out of the Wildlands, you can't take the Wildlands away from him." Those who try to retire come back before long. The number of aberration hunters who started at 20 and lived to see 21 is small; the number of aberration hunters who retired and never came back is near nil. A hunter stays in the Wildlands until the sweet embrace of death takes him.
The sound of a knife piercing a tin can made Artem Sokolov stop strumming his guitar for a moment. Danila Kransoff had finally gotten his can of baked beans open, and began to dig into it with a cracked plastic spoon held together by scotch tape and faith. As he scarfed it down, Mishka Belinsky chuckled, "Hungry there, Danila?"
Danila nodded. "Haven't ate since we left Novosibirsk."
"We stopped for a quick lunch not long after we left. Why didn't you eat then?" Artem asked.
"Didn't think I'd be hungry," Danila replied. "Only brought canned foods anyhow. Would be a waste to eat more than one a day, or however long we're out here."
"Blin, why didn't you say so? I brought some granola bars, just ask for one next time we stop to eat," Mishka offered.
Artem set his guitar down on the ground, figuring it would be a moment before he could play again. It was rare for there to be any sort of conversation between them these days. As the conversation trailed off, he figured he should keep it going. "How old were you two when you first started aberration hunting?"
"It's only been three months for me. I'm twenty-seven," Danila said.
"Two months for me. Twenty-nine here. And I hope you know that us aberration hunters go by months, not years," Mishka replied with a snort of laughter.
"This is my first time. Twenty-two," Artem replied, causing Danila to give a solemn nod and Mishka to chuckle again. Artem crinkled his nose. "What's so funny there Mishka?"
"You're in for a treat, kid. Prepare to have more than a few stories to tell... If you get back home, of course," Mishka laughed again.
"A man's first aberration hunt is nothing to laugh about, Mishka," Danila warned, deadly serious even as he shoveled more beans into his mouth. "It's an experience that changes the person you once were. I've seen hardened men become sobbing shells of who they once were, and soft-faced boys become unfeeling killers. The Wildlands... They change a man."
Danila looked around, eyes sparkling with a mixture of horror and love for what he was seeing. In the trees, a small creature squawked, spreading grungy wings and taking off into the horizon. Danila shook his head and sighed. "I was sixteen when this all happened. I used to walk through these same woods in my free time. Even now, after all that's happened... The creatures that call this place home now... Before, the most I had to worry about was a bear coming through. Now? Demons that can rip me in two before I can blink."
"That doesn't matter to me. If I died here, right now, I would be glad that it's here and not some crowded city where I'd be chucked into an incinerator after death. I've never held as much respect for a place as I have these Wildlands. Even after all that's happened, it holds a beauty to me." He finished his speech by throwing the can of beans over his shoulder and wiping his mouth with a sleeve. "I can never leave my home. And now, my home is the Wildlands."
The conversation drifted away slowly after that, Artem and Mishka sitting in silence and considering Danila's words. He spoke of the Wildlands with an almost religious sort of zeal, the sort of worship saved for gods and other idols. In this new world, after all that had happened, it was hard to find faith in whatever gods were out there. Indeed, most men had moved on to believing in their environment rather than any sort of higher being. For men such as Danila, that was the Wildlands.
Artem picked up his guitar after a moment, plucking tentatively at the strings for a moment before beginning to strum. As the music played, the other two men huddled up near the fire, warming themselves up as the moon watched over them. They were all here for their own reasons. Artem Sokolov for the thrill and adventure it gives him. Mishka Belinsky for the cash it nets him. Danila Kransoff for the grand meaning he hopes the Wildlands will grant him.
The creatures within the Wildlands had all either settled into their homes for the night, sleeping softly until the morning comes, or hunting whatever runts they could find still awake while the night was good. In a way, nothing has changed; hunters massacre prey for their packs, while the prey hide away from the hunters. The only difference is that where there were once normal animals, now these things can barely be classified as living creatures. To us they are terrifying, apparitions of a world we should not know. Then again, one must consider that to them we must be the same way. They are far from home, in a foreign and hostile place they've never been, but are making the most of it. That is all they can do, after all.
Artem strums his guitar.
Mishka begins sharpening a hunting knife.
Danila speaks a silent prayer to the Wildlands.
Artem pauses to recall the notes that come next. After a moment, his strumming begins anew, and the cycle continues. Strum, stop, strum, stop, strum, stop. It goes on until Mishka says goodnight and lays on a blanket under the stars, then Danila joins him in slumber soon after while resting against a log. Artem continues strumming for one final moment, then sets the guitar down and lays down as well. The fire crackles, then dies out.
In the morning, they wake at dawn, eat breakfast, then continue on into the Wildlands. They won't find that Redsun just sitting around.
If you've reached the end of this, thank you for reading. I've been with this RP for two years now, since its original incarnation, and I'm sad I have to go. But life must go on, such as it does in the Wildlands. So until we meet again: see you, space cowboy.
EDIT: Oh hey, I started the 22nd page. Hell yeah. And also sort of bumped a dying thread. Not so hell yeah.
November 8th, 2020; 8:44 PM
Wildlands outside of Novosibirsk, Russia
Wildlands outside of Novosibirsk, Russia
The crackling of the fire and soft notes emanating from the guitar were the only sounds that could be heard in the camp. The men didn't speak much, no sense getting to know people who would either die or leave after the job was done after all, and only spoke up when something needed to be done. There were three of them in all, hired by a man named Piotr to find a "Redsun". A Redsun was a strange stone pulsing with otherwordly power, and the average Redsun sold for about 1,000 rubles on the black market; it was then resold through those channels to any government wanting to buy them for upwards of 100,000 rubles. The four men were at the bottom of this lucrative pipeline, simple aberration hunters trying to get by in a world such as this.
The city of Novosibirsk was unprepared when the Veil was torn open. Though America was hit the worst, portals still opened up throughout all of the world, unthinkable beasts and incomprehensible magic flooding out of them. Novosibirsk wasn't as lucky as Moscow or St. Petersburg, who were nowhere near any portals (but not as unlucky as Chita, which had a portal open in the most crowded area of the city), instead having to deal with a portal opening in a forest to the west; not as bad as other places, but the constant stream of demons was a hassle to deal with. Eventually, defenses were put in place, a large wall around the city keeping it closed off from anything looking to feast upon them. The surrounding wilderness was overtaken by monsters and demons, dangerous Wildlands where one wrong step means death.
The biggest change, however, was the discovery of aberrations: strange objects brimming with power untold. Called as such for their unnatural qualities by those who know of their existence, they affect any person who makes physical contact with them, and each have their own purpose. Some can make you immune to diseases, others might allow you bend the elements with the snap of a finger. Others are less than beneficial: a scant few kill their users as soon as they let go of it, others give them a strange type of cancer incurable by any sort of medical or magical intervention. There's a rumor that one completely disintegrates one of the user's loved ones and removes any trace that they even existed, including the memories of those who knew them, spoke to them even once, or even saw them in the street in passing and never again. The only one who knows they existed at all is the one who touched the aberration.
There's a large demand in Europe for aberrations, even the seemingly useless ones that made you smell of pine needles. Some study them, others weaponize their power, while a few idle rich simply want one as their next centerpiece. Whatever the purpose for buying them, the result is always the same: men and women of all ages risk their lives to find them, either out of want for cash, thrill-seeking desires for adventure, a death wish, or simply because they felt the call of the Wildlands. It didn't matter how or why you went looking for aberrations, as the experience changes everyone. Before long, they feel more at home in the hostility of the Wildlands than they do in the comforts of their city.
There's an old saying among aberration hunters: Как только человек входит в Дикие Земли, Дикие Земли входят в него. И хотя вы можете вывести человека из Дикие Земли, вы не можете отнять у него Дикие Земли. "As soon as a man enters the Wildlands, the Wildlands enter him. And while you can take a man out of the Wildlands, you can't take the Wildlands away from him." Those who try to retire come back before long. The number of aberration hunters who started at 20 and lived to see 21 is small; the number of aberration hunters who retired and never came back is near nil. A hunter stays in the Wildlands until the sweet embrace of death takes him.
The sound of a knife piercing a tin can made Artem Sokolov stop strumming his guitar for a moment. Danila Kransoff had finally gotten his can of baked beans open, and began to dig into it with a cracked plastic spoon held together by scotch tape and faith. As he scarfed it down, Mishka Belinsky chuckled, "Hungry there, Danila?"
Danila nodded. "Haven't ate since we left Novosibirsk."
"We stopped for a quick lunch not long after we left. Why didn't you eat then?" Artem asked.
"Didn't think I'd be hungry," Danila replied. "Only brought canned foods anyhow. Would be a waste to eat more than one a day, or however long we're out here."
"Blin, why didn't you say so? I brought some granola bars, just ask for one next time we stop to eat," Mishka offered.
Artem set his guitar down on the ground, figuring it would be a moment before he could play again. It was rare for there to be any sort of conversation between them these days. As the conversation trailed off, he figured he should keep it going. "How old were you two when you first started aberration hunting?"
"It's only been three months for me. I'm twenty-seven," Danila said.
"Two months for me. Twenty-nine here. And I hope you know that us aberration hunters go by months, not years," Mishka replied with a snort of laughter.
"This is my first time. Twenty-two," Artem replied, causing Danila to give a solemn nod and Mishka to chuckle again. Artem crinkled his nose. "What's so funny there Mishka?"
"You're in for a treat, kid. Prepare to have more than a few stories to tell... If you get back home, of course," Mishka laughed again.
"A man's first aberration hunt is nothing to laugh about, Mishka," Danila warned, deadly serious even as he shoveled more beans into his mouth. "It's an experience that changes the person you once were. I've seen hardened men become sobbing shells of who they once were, and soft-faced boys become unfeeling killers. The Wildlands... They change a man."
Danila looked around, eyes sparkling with a mixture of horror and love for what he was seeing. In the trees, a small creature squawked, spreading grungy wings and taking off into the horizon. Danila shook his head and sighed. "I was sixteen when this all happened. I used to walk through these same woods in my free time. Even now, after all that's happened... The creatures that call this place home now... Before, the most I had to worry about was a bear coming through. Now? Demons that can rip me in two before I can blink."
"That doesn't matter to me. If I died here, right now, I would be glad that it's here and not some crowded city where I'd be chucked into an incinerator after death. I've never held as much respect for a place as I have these Wildlands. Even after all that's happened, it holds a beauty to me." He finished his speech by throwing the can of beans over his shoulder and wiping his mouth with a sleeve. "I can never leave my home. And now, my home is the Wildlands."
The conversation drifted away slowly after that, Artem and Mishka sitting in silence and considering Danila's words. He spoke of the Wildlands with an almost religious sort of zeal, the sort of worship saved for gods and other idols. In this new world, after all that had happened, it was hard to find faith in whatever gods were out there. Indeed, most men had moved on to believing in their environment rather than any sort of higher being. For men such as Danila, that was the Wildlands.
Artem picked up his guitar after a moment, plucking tentatively at the strings for a moment before beginning to strum. As the music played, the other two men huddled up near the fire, warming themselves up as the moon watched over them. They were all here for their own reasons. Artem Sokolov for the thrill and adventure it gives him. Mishka Belinsky for the cash it nets him. Danila Kransoff for the grand meaning he hopes the Wildlands will grant him.
The creatures within the Wildlands had all either settled into their homes for the night, sleeping softly until the morning comes, or hunting whatever runts they could find still awake while the night was good. In a way, nothing has changed; hunters massacre prey for their packs, while the prey hide away from the hunters. The only difference is that where there were once normal animals, now these things can barely be classified as living creatures. To us they are terrifying, apparitions of a world we should not know. Then again, one must consider that to them we must be the same way. They are far from home, in a foreign and hostile place they've never been, but are making the most of it. That is all they can do, after all.
Artem strums his guitar.
Mishka begins sharpening a hunting knife.
Danila speaks a silent prayer to the Wildlands.
Artem pauses to recall the notes that come next. After a moment, his strumming begins anew, and the cycle continues. Strum, stop, strum, stop, strum, stop. It goes on until Mishka says goodnight and lays on a blanket under the stars, then Danila joins him in slumber soon after while resting against a log. Artem continues strumming for one final moment, then sets the guitar down and lays down as well. The fire crackles, then dies out.
In the morning, they wake at dawn, eat breakfast, then continue on into the Wildlands. They won't find that Redsun just sitting around.
If you've reached the end of this, thank you for reading. I've been with this RP for two years now, since its original incarnation, and I'm sad I have to go. But life must go on, such as it does in the Wildlands. So until we meet again: see you, space cowboy.
EDIT: Oh hey, I started the 22nd page. Hell yeah. And also sort of bumped a dying thread. Not so hell yeah.
