Thundering Rain - 0.2
The storm raged full bore. Sheets of wind driven rain, and the thick cloud cover, blocked any possible chance of moon light penetrating enough to see more than a meter in front of your face. The thick blanket of darkness was only penetrated by the frequent spasms of lightning all around. Out of one lingering flash of lightning, and the guttural roll of thunder that immediately followed, a man was revealed within the storm. He wore a deeply hooded, shin length, duster. He climbed the knoll with a deliberate stride, like he had nowhere else to be. Over his right shoulder was slung a lever action rifle with a mounted scope, the muzzle pointing towards the ground. As the brief illumination faded, the man disappeared back into the anonymity of the night and storm.
The occasional flash of lightning and roll of thunder marked the figure’s progress up towards a small century old church. It stood defiantly against the storm, just as it had since the late twentieth century. As the man neared the portico of the venerable building, he paused. Reached up with his right hand, he pulled down his hood and tilted his head slightly toward the angry sky. This revealed what looked to be a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, with a dark ruddy complexion and prominent, high cheek bones. His thick black hair was pulled back into a single braided ponytail that was tucked into the back of his jacket. With his hair pulled back in this way, it revealed a set of pointed ears, swept up and back, extending gracefully adjacent to his hair. He remained still like that and just allowed the water to wash over his face, and drip down his neck, soaking the shirt underneath. He remained silhouetted against the storm and sky for several long moments before he took a deep breath of the moisture filled air, and then slowly exhaled. He took a brief look around, and then entered the hallowed building.
As he shut the heavy oak doors behind him, he was greeted by the fire he had left smoldering in the center of the cleared out sanctuary’s tiled floor. Approaching its inviting warmth, he picked up three small logs from a neat pile, and gently laid them within the embers. The radiant heat from the leftovers, and the tile floor below, quickly ignited the new source of fuel. With the flames now renewed, the elf stood and opened his jacket to allow the heat to reach a dark blue heavy duty shirt beneath. Once the heat penetrated through to his skin, he turned, removed the long coat, and draped it over a nearby wooden bench, and remained with his back to the fire to warm that up too. As he stood there, he reached back and squeezed some of the water out of his shoulder blade length ponytail. Just as steam began to rise from his back, he turned back and set about preparing his dinner.
He was cautious as he knelt next to the fire, keeping his right thigh away from the flames. This was because of the heavy pistol strapped to it over the heavy duty military utilities. He rounded out his look with a pair of well-worn military boots. They looked like they might once have been a solid black.
Once he stirred in the fresh meat, he remained squatting on the balls of his feet. Suddenly he felt tired and began staring aimlessly into the flames. Within the flames, the wispy image of a bear appeared. It was roaming the grasslands not far north. It quickly came upon an overturned car on a divided highway. There was steam coming up from the now exposed engine compartment, as a heavy rain poured down on the scene. It stopped, over-watching the scene, and then raised its head to the sky before letting out a bellowing growl. Then, just as suddenly, Rain’s attention was back to the here and now and he quickly realized just how warm the fire was. He stood, and stepped back away from the fire.
As he paced behind a row of old pews, he shook his head. “What was that all about?” he asked himself. “I wonder if that was old route I-90?”
A soft rumble of thunder rolled through the building.
He went back to stirring the pot of improvised stew. “I don’t recognize the car,” another soft rumble of thunder. “Not so sure I should go rushing out into a storm with a… bear on the prowl though.” This time, the crack of lightning preceded the roll of thunder.
He got up, and wandered over to where he kept his Winchester 2066, and his field pack. “Still… maybe I should head up….” ***CRACK*** this time the blaring flash of light and the peal of thunder rumbled the foundation of the old Christian shrine simultaneously. Silently, Rain acknowledged what he was supposed to do. He threw on his damp hooded duster, and then secured his pack. He glanced at the lever action rifle, then reached down to remove the scope, and left the weapon behind.
Once outside, the man threw a heavy tarp off of an early model Yamaha Growler, configured for military use, and hopped on. Once the engine roared to life, he dropped it into gear, and set off for the old interstate just ten kilometers to the north.
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