🧾 Archive: Pre-Field Notes

“So what’s your plan?” Erik asked Rebecca, as they sat waiting for the mob of thrall to surround them. “First step is to not die.” Rebecca said. “Honestly… and I always try to be honest,” Erik promised. “I’m good with dying. I’ve lived long enough. You wanna stab me and run, do it.” “Liar!” Rebecca shouted. It was a whisper but emotional, triggered by memories.

Erik screamed out toward the thrall. He listened as the towering stems and pig weed broke under the incoming horde. The tentacled Groundling reached out, brushed his ankle. Erik turned, snapped a thick stalk from the ground.

Erik stood behind Sean Garrison. Sean— a large, broad-shouldered man whose very presence commanded attention. He wasn’t just a survivor; he was one-half of the infamous Garrison brothers, the outlaws of Black Lake. For years, Erik watched from the streets as Sean and his brother terrorized the region. Often slipping past the Black Shirts and avoiding persecution, like it was a game. They moved with reckless confidence, fearless and untouchable.