The “real world” has grown exponentially more depressing and my desire to hide away from it all is hard to deny.
But, as someone occasionally accused of being a responsible adult, I can’t just heed the call of the blanket fort without considering the consequences.
Thankfully, the Muse has finally decided she’s seen enough of the copper coffee pots.
She has taken me back (or is it forward?) to the days after the end of the world: a decade after a few superpowers chose play the very dangerous and deadly game of Whose Bomb Is Bigger, Anyway? and ended up destroying civilization.
Some saw the way things were headed and prepared: shelters were built and stocked and, when the bombs began to fly, evacuations began. Some were barely large enough to keep a single family safe but others were designed to house the populations of entire cities.
Others preferred to stay above ground: to fortify what they could, help each other as much as they were able, and let fate lead them into the future.
Still others blindly trusted in divinity and bureaucracy: content to wait for government assistance and/or the hands of the Gods to scoop them up out of harm’s way.
Survival has done a lot of things to the races that lived here and has, in some cases, made matters worse.
Did I mention the fact that the so-called fantasy races never died out? That some of the largest and most secure bunkers belonged to elvish royals and some of the greatest ground-level safe-zones were built by humans and dwarves working together? What about the…
I’ll let you find out for yourself 🙂