Herkimer

Once, Herkimer was an explorer out on the frozen waste. He never truly wanted to be on this expedition but through various missteps, broken promises, and unpaid debts, there he was. He stood alone, the final survivor. He never quite knew how to feel about it. His crewmates weren't particularily kind to him in life, he was the odd one out. Herkimer was the man who spent his evenings aboard The Karat writing his little stories in his little notebooks under lamplight while his peers played poker and wrote their grand songs of adventure around the table. He was a writer, not a singer, nor could he remember the rules of poker. Not that he tried all that much. He just knew it wasn't his thing.He liked to believe that's what saved his life during the storm. He just so happened to be in the right place at the right time. Maybe the beast that took the rest of th crew saw his soul and spared him. That's what Herkimer liked to believe. The only ones he truly mourned were the dogs. They didn't choose to be here. Neither did he. Why weren't they spared. Was he truly spared? The supplies he could salvage from the wreck were minimal, and close to depletion. If the beast had taken him then he'd never need to face that dread. On the other hand, every time he looked to the sky, the auroras that painted it's endless reaches convinced the man that gods spoke to him. After all, Herkimer was one of a kind, he was never one of his peers. There must be a reward for that, right? Maybe it was to meet the gods, to see the mountains lined in gold as the morning sun broke. Maybe his reward would be to pass in a way unlike any man before him ever had, for the heavens to recognize him as worth their gaze.