Story time with sigma
Dan said I should continue "sigma Jones" which I believe refers to that time I spent ages looking for cornflowers but I'm not going that. Im not going back on the wotw server. No. Not yet. So I'm rebooting an older series of my just writing different stories set in the wotw mod universe. So here if the launching for these stories. They will probably have different themes, some horror, some suspense, some drama and others tragedies. But now for something to start this series, over the next few articles I will explore a new type of challenge in wotw, not the martians but how people react to martians, all my demons will be faced on the island I now discover in the short launching point for this series:
shouts on the island
I came too after the rushing water started up my sleeve. It was a sharp slippery stream of cold that ran up my arm and into my back on two fronts, pushing into the centre of chilly spine. I got up and hit my head on the wood roof of... where was I? I looked down at my red uniform, now dirtied and torn. It was familiar but I didn't recognise it. Yet I had little time to think as I was starting to be forced out by the rushing water that now took control of the dip in the roof. It had snuck in through a hole in the ceiling that now let itself be an exposition point to any dangerous creatures that wished to attack. I looked around one last time for something that might help escape or anything useful for surviving when it hit me, I did recognise where I was. The chests and the bed had been flung about, the floor was flat but the roof was curved upwards, the sides were strong and purposely durable yet their was a trap door on the floor that led into what looked to be a flooded ship deck, because I was on a ship. A ship capsized under the ocean and currently filling with water.
In my dazed and drowsy hurry I broke open a chest and hastily picked up its contents, as the water quickly sieged the left of the bowls of the ship I took the bed and checked my inventory. Nothing to help me escape. I was trapped, water gushing in and no one way out. I decided I would have to make a break for it and kicked open the trap door beneath me like a primal mule. It was at that moment a drowned burst through the whole in the now ceiling of the ship and I fell through the trap door into the freezing murky depths on the hostile environment that surrounded me, manoeuvring through the water and above the wreckage. Desperate, tired and scared I burned all my energy into swimming, my arms pulled the water down to me and my legs kicked up as I desperately tried to pull myself up and out of the deadly sea. As my drenched head broke out of the water and I smelt the salty air I struggled to keep myself a float. A close escape for my journal.
I looked around, my eyes clawing down my face to shut forever and let myself sleep but I forced myself to keep open and focus on the freeing water. As I looked around I could make out the smallest glimpse of an island, it was a painting of green rows on a sand base. I did not believe I had it in me to swim all the way there so I made a plan. First I made a crafting table, then I swam back down into the depths of the sea after catching my breath- I had made it once I could again. I entered through the same hole the drowned did, got into my air space the drowned now gone and placed the table. Most the airspace was filled now, I just had an elevated corner to craft in, with as much haste as I could muster I made a boat, before waiting to catch my breath. 1, 2, 3 I counted as the water seeped around my ankles. On the mark of 10 I jumped into the water and swam down through the trap down and once again up. I felt more confident this time but that wasn't too say I was all to pleased with my predicament.
I took my time sitting in that old oak boat. Just resting, trying to pull my thoughts together into a narrative. 1) I was deployed. No no. 1) I was conscripted. 2) I was deployed. I remember rumours. It had been confirmed that we were to be sent to fight the martians on the east front. They had developed new machines we knew, executioners they called them. We also heard of rumours of the boys at HQ finding out about new aliens called More-taxens or something. Either way we were nick named the lambs, it was an unpretty metaphor for our fates. 3) there was bang, people went flying over the ship edge and picked up by big metal things. I hid under something and passed out. 4) I woke up. That was my story as I could tell. But what about that of the others? Had they survived? Were they on the island I now started to row too? Or was a different fate that which lay there, only my time could tell me. And it was that that made me scared. But I would be brace. I had to be. Surviving is reserved for people who seek to survive, and with that I set forth to the jungle island where I would spend far too long, and on it I would loose far to much.