The Last Outpost

[SuthernCumfort]

The wars from below had errupted to the surface and time was standing still. People walked about guarded never knowing when someone or something was waiting to take their life. The cities were in ruin, the townships were failing. There was no real structure to anything, anymore. Those few that had maintained some type of way to live, were tired and on the verge of giving up.

The lands had become barren, the soil toxic. The sun deadly, even the rain was more likely to kill you than refresh you. The lakes and rivers were littered with dead animals, people, and other creatures. The only water that could be found surfaced around 3 miles underground from a delicate crystal spring.

That spring brought life to those that drank from it. But the qualities were short lived and drained what little energy one could muster to walk the three miles. The forests were burned tokens of the raging wars around. Those of us lucky enough to walk there and back lived just under the ground near a break in the road. We could easily hide at night, or live. Daytime had become a hazard for us. The water, seemed to zap our ability to function in the light.

What food we found, we had to kill for it. Yet, as the creatures seemed to come from all over, food was going fast. We set guard. No one made it past our outpost. We were the last outpost. We were determined to live.

 

[SuthernCumfort]

The buildings were built to withstand the fores above us as we lived below. We were the decision makers. We lived out of war, out of fighting yet right in the thick of the battle. Since the time of the ancient scrolls, and the parting of the seas, creatures from the depths of the world have raged here, killing.

They have fought us, killing us for fun, then for food. Now, for life. The few that fought against these creatures were hard. War beaten, hard people with no care of life for themselves or others. They lived because we lived. We lived because we protected the crystal spring.


We lived three miles away from this fountain of life, youth, vigor and strength. No matter where you were, it was three miles. The spring itself ran from a clear blue crystal. Deeply imbedded in rock, granite, stone, it ran clear and smoothly.

As self appointed defenders of the spring, we lived just beyond the fields of battle. Raging and killing, it had lasted over a hundred years. Now, being the only source of water, of life, or everything our human race stood for, we had to kill to protect.

But, water wasnt enough to sustain us. We needed food. The land had been raped and pillaged. The soil was deadly, the rain toxic, we couldnt even walk in the sunlight for fear of death. We had learned that not all the damnable abominations walking were deadly to us. Yet, we had to make due. We were the soul survivors. We lived within ourselves. The only way we could make it was to kill or be killed. So we killed. We lived at what some called worlds end. Those of us tempted by the spring used the powers that it gave for our betterment. We lived in an encampment just under the surface hidden.

Each of our people held part of the crystal water next to their hearts relishing in the power. The purity in this hell on earth. We fought each day to live and we lived each day to fight.

 

[BadForm]

Malik

OOC: You mentioned the spring giving us powers, but didn't go beyond that. For now I'll go with enhanced senses and a physique strong through keeping fit to kill for food and protection. If this is too low, let me know. Also, I wasn't sure what level of technology we have. It sounds primitive, as though all technology was lost in the chaos, but that isn't given as fact.

IC: I sat on one of the rocks, smelling the distant water. Nobody would get to that spring - it was for my people. Water was not enough, though, and food was becoming scarce. Soon we would have to start harvesting the strange creatures that came to kill us. I listened carefully as I heard footsteps above, the shuffling, shambling stride of a large beast. It would not come down here, it sounded too large and most of the creatures were afraid to directly attack our camp. Nontheless, it was a reminder of the constant threat.

I scraped my knife back and forth across a smooth stone, sharpening it. Soon we would need to hunt. My spear was already prepared, and lay to my left. It was good for fighting beasts, or for taking down prey, but it didn't give me the short range of the knife. That was my killing range - close and personal. When I grappled a beast with the knife I could use its smell and sounds to see its movements before they finished. It was that that let me survive.

I liked to hunt alone. I liked to be alone, or with the few I really trusted. With the recent growth in creature attacks though even I had acceptedto needto hunt with the hunting party. In their strength was greater safety... or at least, a chance for survival. Safe really didn't make sense any more. When the soil can kill you as readily as a marauding beast, Safe was a ridiculous concept.

 

[SuthernCumfort]

https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?p=23042007#post23042007


All comments and questions here. More history behind the outpost.