Heros, Monsters and Knights in rusted armor

The Men from the Mist (dear Maryanne)

in 2145, the reformed united states government set sights on rebuilding the country, and so passed the new homestead act, much like its predecessor, to allow folk with some gumption to build a new life for themselves while also recolonizing the united states now that it has become "safe" to wander.

this story was adapted from a bundle of bloody letters found in an abandoned hovel, a correspondence obviously going on for quite some time. this story follows the last few letters, telling of a group of people shrouded in mystery with fell rumors following the nights they visit.

March 26, 2198

Dear Maryanne,

I hope this letter finds you well, or rather I hope it finds you at all. three times I reckon I have sent you letters and not once have I gotten a response. I don't mean to be a nag, but there seems to be quite the disconnect when it comes to our correspondence. I cannot blame you however my darling, as getting letters across the wastes in one piece is a task all on its own if not for the crazed sun baked bandits strewn across the pass between Texas and Oklahoma. those lunatics aren't even after valuables anymore! it seems they've gotten a taste for human blood now, because the murder is nonstop. the papers and radio say the Texas rangers are going to send a contingent out to show them what for, but of course they have to tie in an advert to join up and help the cause because their recruits are stretched thin as it is. Hell, I might join up myself and hollow out a few of their skills if only to hear from you once more.

things haven't been so terrible out here on the stead. you know im building it for us, but the us part sure does seem to be missing. you wouldn't think it but the nights out here are colder than clay, but soon enough ill be able to bring you and little Brock here and we will have quite the plot of land to grow and raise whatever we need. Im telling you, Maryanne. the new homestead act is going to be a godsend for us. its the perfect opportunity for us! I know you don't feel so sure quite yet but we are going to make this land our own for brock, and maybe even brocks, children should he have any...there are plenty of other families out here, and they are even building a school!

the process of building and preparing the land is hot work indeed, however. ive got 4 men beside me helping me build courtesy of the American Rebuilding society, but the work is slow because just like our letters, the supplies and rations are crawling at a slow pace as well until the bandits can be dealt with, but when we do get them they are always a godsend. however, the rations do tend to be scant but luckily there is plenty of wildlife out here since the people moved out long ago, so we at least never go hungry. hell, one of the government boys, Patrick they call him, made is quite the excellent venison stew from deer, wild carrots, potatoes from the ration shipment, and bone stock he made from the deer as well. He showed me the recipe as well, maybe I can show you as well when I see you again.

there is only one thing of concern here, however. from time to time, maybe every four weeks or so, a thick mist rolls in and we cant see more than a few feet in front of us. nothing has come of it so far as me and the government boys keep our rifles at the ready, but I could swear I see figures moving around in the mist. we haven't shot and killed anything to speak of from it, but we do find that when the fog clears, our tools and supplies seem to be tossed about a bit. so far, nothing has been taken, which is good.

I cannot wait to hold you and little brock in my arms once more, but all I ask of you is a little patience while I get everything ready for us, I long to be in your arms once again.

with love,

Your beloved husband Carlos.

P.S.

The fishing out here is great, I cant wait to take brock on his first fishing trip.

April 13th, 2198

Dearest Carlos,

it warms my heart so much to be hearing from you once again. I have missed you ever so dearly these past months, and I reckon brock has too. he's so much like you, you know. He has that same spirit of adventure and curiosity that you do, and it makes my heart hurt ever so slightly to see the same fire in his eyes that you've got. He looks so much like you Carlos, and he's cutting his first tooth! Your mother has told me to put whiskey on his gums to ease it, but I reckon I wont. wouldn't want to have an alcoholic infant, would we!

what you say about bandits, and whatever lurks in the mist concerns me greatly my love. I am worried you could be hurt or worse, and I couldn't imagine ever raising this child without his father. I understand that what you are doing is quite important to you, but I think we will do fine here in Thibodaux. I know it wasn't always the biggest town, but its booming now! we've got a general store, a school, and even apartments here! we don't need to go elsewhere, its safe here. Come home to me, Carlos. there is no shame in coming back after trying and working as hard as you have, and I am quite proud of you. But I miss you, brock misses you, and I'm sure my parents miss you as well, although you know its often difficult to read them. The rebuilding act hardened them, The built this town from the ground up with just three other families and saw it grow into a boomtown. They saw a lot of people die, Carlos. it hardened their hearts. they buried more children than they raised and it would pain me to see you, or even I, grow into the same.

The money the government sends us to help while you are gone is quite helpful, but it isn't the same as having you here and id far rather have you here home safe instead of some silly coins in my pocket.

please come home Carlos

your lonely and longing wife,

Maryanne.

May 1st, 2198

My sweet Maryanne,

Still, the letters and supplies are slow coming, but every letter I get from you is a godsend with how things have been going out here. one of the government boys was killed or taken. we don't know how, all we know is that when the fog rolled in someone or something began to bang at the walls of the shack we built. the boy in question, they called him Clem, began to grumble angrily. The fool grabbed his gun, shoved open the door, and began firing off shots in all directions, yelling like a man crazed. it was then that something...or several somethings, im not sure what..all I know is that they were vaguely human shaped, leapt upon him and seized him all at once dragging him, kicking and screaming into the fog. None of us slept that night, and all of us kept our guns trained on the door once we got the chance to get up and bar it tight. I admit, I am sacred, Maryanne. I need you now more than ever and it is quite frustrating that I cant get any letters to or from you. the consideration of coming home is tempting me greatly, especially if there are going to be things like this happening...I cannot risk your or our childs safety even if it would be a place all our own. I just need to wait for the shipment with the pay for the government boys to come in, then I think we will pack up and head home.

I cant wait to once again be in your arms again.

With love,

carlos

no further correspondence from Maryanne was recovered in the bloodstained packet, as it seems the shipment did not come in time for them to be sent. The caravan arrived to a dilapidated shack with the corpses of 4 individuals, all clearly beaten and cut with what were likely primitive weapons. Bite wounds wounds were also found on the victims, jagged and crooked, but most likely human.

to this day, many folk have tried to settle here despite the odds, and what few did survive came back as gibbering lunatics, ranting about walking dead folk with bottles, knives and clubs, hissing at the light then retreating into the fog.