Hiraeth [The Hardcore Quest]

II: Sticks & Stones & Broken Bones

Had I known what would become of me that afternoon, I wouldn't have woken up to begin with.

But I did, and I was tired. I wanted to rest my head for five more minutes. Or hours. Or days. It didn't matter. I could only imagine I'd still be as restless and exhausted as I was now anyways. And so I packed up, killed the dying fire, and set off to the town marked on the map. By the time the sun had risen, I'd already clashed twice with a spider and a skeleton, but that was the most of it. The bane of my existence was the overgrowth — unseen snakes and critters living among the thicket. I'd never experienced anything like it before. It seemed as though the farther I got from the damned town of "Hardlanding" as Duni called it, the less suffering I saw. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but so far I only found it to be annoying.

I feasted on breadcrumbs for breakfast. Three hours later, I reached the town.

It was tucked away on the side of a mountain. My lungs ached and my sides burned from the climbing, but I eventually made it. It was quiet, and I could only assume the place had been abandoned for an eternity based on the algae-ridden well water and the family of raccoons living in one of the empty houses. Sometimes, some places, I spotted remnants of people. A past life, one could say. There were markings on the side of a library door that marked the height of many people, each with their own color to their name. I spotted the remains of a tea part of stuffed animals inside a house — the guests abandoned by the host and awaiting a plate of biscuits that would never come. I saw a dent in a house wall, and, a few paces later, a wagon with a broken corner.

As I walked through the quiet town, I wondered to myself what would become of me. Would I one day become nothing more than a distant memory of those I've met? Would the life I've lived and small impacts I've made ever be noticed in the long run? Or would I simply fade from existence, the world untouched from how I left it, and one day, someone like me would walk through the mistakes I've made, marveling at what was left behind?

A voice slowly drifted to my ears, and I halted. It had completely escaped me that the people I was searching for actually existed. Hearing the voice, followed by another, it all became real. Those voices — they belonged to people. People I was supposed to kill. My heartbeat began growing in my ears until it was all I could hear. Somehow, I inched forward until I was walking again, slowly but surely making my way to the voices.

"...said. Sorry, we have to go. It's been fun talking to you, though!" a voice suddenly rang into earshot; no longer was it muffled. For some reason, hearing the actual words these people were saying was worse. Not necessarily the words themselves, but merely the fact that they existed. As I picked up on the ending of a conversation, I was almost tempted to turn and leave. Oops, sorry, wrong town. Catch you later. And I almost did.

Almost.

"What? You— You can't just leave! Help me! There's no one else here! I—"

"Yeah, yeah. Well, who's fault is that anyways?" This was followed by a sob, the sound easily attached to the previous voice.

"Please!"

"Sorry... you heard him... Just... I don't know, walk in... that direction? I'm sure you'll find some town that isn't abandoned. Wait, why were you here, again?" This voice was new. I paused at the steps of a house, taking a seat as I listened in on the conversation somewhere beyond this building.

"I— I just said— Were you not listening?" cried the watery voice. Humming internally, I decided to name this one Crybaby.

"Not really, no. Sorry, mate," chirped the first voice. "See ya." Harsh. I named this voice Bully.