This series took place on an apocalypse survival server called Aftermath, follow the link to learn more and join it if you desire it. Fair warning though, it isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s much more difficult than your average chaos server. I’ll lay out my thoughts on it at a later date though. This story is role-play based on my actual experiences on the server. This happened late last year though so the events are a bit dated. This is a story following my character The Wandering Fisherman. He is a survivor of the wasteland who lost it all when the world ended. He then decided to avoid the grief of losing what he loves he decided to forgo any further possessions that wasn’t needed to live in this new world. Welcome to No Destination, my tales within Aftermath!

I looked into my bag and realize the error I have made in my hasty retreat from another fallen home. I have gathered armor, weapons, blocks, and tools but I lacked the food to survive. Unfortunately I was out on a mining expedition when I heard the news of the base that was gone. My eyesight grows hazy from a familiar feeling deep within me. So there I was, hiding in my hole with hunger clawing at my thoughts as I ration this apple as much as I can before I pass out for the night.

I think I was able to get at least twenty minutes of sleep before my stomach threw fits and my paranoia took over. Admittedly caves are a great place to hide but nobody can hear you die down here either. I decide to mine to keep my thoughts away from my situation and stumbled upon some precious minerals. By the time morning came around I had found two more diamond deposits. I smiled at the thought of finding rock candy but knew that I had to leave. I had more important resources to locate up top.

My radio was not in the greatest condition but I received a message about a library that had been established. Being alone would be safer but only until the point I lose my sanity. My ramblings would be for nothing if I didn’t share them with anyone as well. I loot some buildings hoping for maybe a can of beans somewhere and I’m on my way. I get some porkchops in me and take a moment to make sure I can think clearly. We set sail in the murky swamp! I feel safer when not only on the move but also in a boat. It could be the isolation but it also limits the attacking strength of your opponent. The waves crash and the dead groan while I paddle along the horizon.

You would think that after everyone had died there would be less graves. . . I can’t just leave them out here to feed the buzzards. I search the body for supplies and maybe a name is written somewhere. I know I have a note in my bag for anyone who finds my body. Luckily the night was quiet as I covered him with a light layer of dirt. I say no words because there is none that need to be said. I have done more than I should have for a stranger. Cautiously, I move on through the night with my own morality plaguing my mind.

This poor soul is preserved by the cold and buried by the snow. Nature has done most of the work for me so I look for some identification. Who remembers the dead? What’s beyond this doomed world? I throw these thoughts away as fast as they appear. It matters not to my survival and there is nothing else I can do beside that.

The smell of death was strong here so I looked behind the brush hoping for someone’s supplies they no longer need. I found the source of it and not much else. I’d rather not bury this but I have to do something at least. I place it gingerly on a pile of leaves and quickly turn away moving at a brisk pace. My thoughts come back once more as I attempt to wipe my hands clean. Stopping on the path I look down at my hands and realize they are not clean and they never will be again. Too many lives have been ended by these hands. The fact that they are undead makes it only slightly easier on the conscience. Clean, nothing but a memory now. . . I continue towards the library.

END OF CHAPTER ONE PART ONE.

CONTINUE?