Their seemingly endless trek continued, with the only sounds being the howling winds and the crunching ice underfoot. Well, Albert was just glad to have someone watching his back. Neither of them had set foot outside of Winterhome since the journey to get there, but with the manpower shortages…

Charles had been a miner before the uprising, while Davis had been a line cook. It would have been easier if either of his companions had experience, but, sadly, that was not to be. He owed the Captain that much for freeing the city, even if it was ultimately a doomed venture. The city needed as many working hands as it could get if it was to recover and endure.įor now, if his purpose was to traverse the Frostlands, he would do so. The fires from the uprising hadn’t discriminated between the innocent and the guilty, and the final death toll had been abhorrent. Maybe he was chosen for the role simply because he was still alive. His subsequent career as a clerk had hardly required him to make trips more strenuous than walks to the pub. Most of his outdoorsman experiences had been as a lad, going on a few camping trips with his brother in the nearby woods. After that, there was simply the long trek back to Winterhome, dragging the scant supplies they had found thus far home.Īlbert wasn’t entirely certain why he had been picked for the scouting teams. With luck, the cave would provide enough protection for them to sleep. They had already been travelling for several hours that day, hoping to reach shelter before setting up their next camp. After that, we’ll rest,” Albert said, trying to ignore the numbness creeping into his limbs. “We’ll keep going until we reach that cave. “Are you sure we should keep going, Albert? The wind’s starting to pick up,” Charles called out, his voice muffled by the woolen scarf wrapped around his mouth. It was hell on Earth, and they still had another mile to walk before they reached their destination. Shrill winds hounded them at every step, robbing them of breath and forcing them to bundle up in the thickest clothes they could find. Snowdrifts shifted and moved daily, shaping the landscape like the sands of the now-mythical Sahara, forcing scout teams to either trudge through several feet of snow or attempt to find purchase on the underlying ice to advance. The frigid wastes around Winterhome were devoid of nearly any distinguishing features, save for a few jagged, icy crags sticking out of the ground.

Frostpunk trainer for hope