What possesses one to spend time in a swamp? Why would someone want to wade through waist-deep water with only the moonlight as their guide? These are the questions that you might here whispered at local taverns whenever Torque LeSanglier drifted in after a night of skulking the nearby wilderness. Townsfolk began referring to him as Rougaru, a Cajun legend akin to a werewolf; it seems even the apocalypse can’t kill the superstitions of those who inhabit the swamps. The ones who were brave enough to confront him about his nighttime escapades were usually met with a blank stare or a low grunt, but on some occasions he would enthusiastically declare that there were “skunk-apes” or buried treasure that he had been hunting. Either way, his response usually aroused more suspicion than satisfaction. Fortunately for Torque, he was gifted with mechanical skills that were invaluable to the local community. It was known that if someone had a problem with engines or electronics, he was your man. It’s even rumored that he maintains a high-power radio at his abode deep within the bowels of the swamp. It was with this radio that he allegedly received a signal from a far-off settlement called Nyheim. No one believed the man, deeming his claims as just another nonsensical tale from a disturbed Maréchomme. Around this time, people began disappearing around the Great Swamps. It was mainly orphaned children and women of ill repute, but one day a prominent religious leader ventured into the endless bog in search for answers, only to never return. The town had finally had enough, and the people attacked what they deemed the obvious suspect: the Rougaru. Already having been ostracized and getting wind of the coming persecution, Torque took this as a sign to continue his investigation of the radio message. He remembered the man talking about resources, opportunity, and technology: “a new home.” The chance to flourish in a burgeoning settlement was too enticing, especially given his present circumstances. With this in mind, Torque headed east. He knew of at least one large city on the coast that has boats capable of reaching Europe, and he wanted as much distance between him and his old life as possible. The trek to Port Royal wasn’t easy, but Torque had no idea that the month-long walk was just the first, and easiest, step in his journey. There was only one man willing to take him on such a perilous ocean crossing, and his price certainly accounted for the danger. All told, Torque would have next to no possessions by the time he reached his destination. It was worth it though, with the ever-superstitious Cajun viewing his predicament as something akin to destiny. Provisions ready, and both men focused on the journey ahead, they boarded the vessel, called Palmetto Spirit. Torque only had one thought: he must reach Nyheim. The voyage lasted close to 10 weeks, stops including Bermuda, the Azores, and Ireland; the longest portion requiring the two men to spend 23 days straight at sea. Their destination was close. This was evident because the terrain had clearly acquired a Norwegian aspect. As the mountains constricted the small craft, the travelers noticed the settlement. The lights shone and there were the unmistakable hallmarks of civilization: lights, smoke, and fire. Though it was summer, the air was cold and heavy, and the smog suffocated the city. Nyheim squatted amongst the fjords, with the valley acting as a funnel for mist and smoke. He had done it. He had traded the superstition of the swamp for the mysticism of the north. He had escaped persecution and replaced it with opportunity. He had arrived in Nyheim.