0 views
Tales Of A Wanderer In A Dead Land 2/2
After a few days they stumbled onto a town, run down but still stubbornly beautiful in its colossal wreck.
"This place is incredible." Pylia stopped unexpectedly and marveled at the buildings, broken and crumbling. Missing windows and tapestries, books and paper being stripped of the houses and stone walls now partially eaten by the surrounding natural.
"It was a town," the Traveler said quietly, putting out a hand to stop Pylia and checked the surroundings for danger.
"This place used to be where people lived, they traded for goods from across the—"
Pylia blow a raspberry drowning out what the Traveler was saying, they stopped talking rolling their eyes.
"You didn't know what a signpost looked like before this." The Traveler muttered putting down their arm and began tentatively searching around the ruins.
It was small, mostly made of mossy stone with trees and shrubs bursting from the road. Gray bricked homes decaying some walls fallen long ago the inside being visible, showing their crudely decorated interiors. However, with all the stone and grey, all colour of the town stolen from traders, scavengers and thieves. It was thriving, it was alive. Or, at least, the most alive something could be when its already died long ago.
Skeletons were found sometimes, never by Pylia, they were never intacked, they were either stolen or scattered, the Traveler had seen many things—but a complete skeleton—including the skull, was a rare mystery with an even rarer answer.
They continued to wander around, searching every nook and cranny of this broken town. If it had a name, it was long forgotten by time.
They went inside buildings scavenging and stealing what they could, they were, after all travelers it's what they do. Following a lackluster search of burnable kindle going deeper and deeper into the town, the Traveler took note of how the houses became bigger, more expensive, stairs leading upwards to double doors, the rooftops as abundant as leaves on a tree, the houses were so big, pushed and squeezed against one another, suffocating the streets and alleyways looking like a kingdom of poorly stacked cards. Pylia stepped out of one of the alleyways they had been walking down, and her jaw went slack.
After the compressed bumpy cobblestone roads, it lead to an almost secret market, still with the tattered remains of cloth, faded away with time and nature—but still so useful. Their trip had not been a waste after all. The market stalls were still semi-Intact, earthenware sprouted with fauna still alive and growing, even long since after the calamity.
Pylia ran up and down the circle shaped, grabbing anything of interest. The Traveler stayed where they were, half hidden by the shadows pressed against a corner of the wall. They were being watch.
It's no reason why this place was abundance with life, it was under guard. The Traveler looked up at the rooftops seeing the green statues, they had horns and wings. From a distance it looked like they were made of jade—however that was impossible.
The Traveler had been seeing them more and more since they went in, they never moved, only occasionally creaked loudly from the wind hitting the statues wings.
They were protectors of the town, or something akin to it. However they seem to have been decommissioned since everyone in this town was gone. Still, the mocking idea of being watched from afar wasn't lost on the Traveler, these statues were sleeping, waiting for their time.
The Traveler shook their head ignored by their own antics, those green statues were dead.
Pylia went behind one of the stalls rummaging thought what remained of the stock. The Traveler looked for any businesses that could support something more then a temporary stall—those tended to have more.
They gingerly opened a faded red door, it had a sign on the window the Traveler knew this was a shop—yet not knowing what language the sign was in or what it truly meant. They walked around, a musky rot filled the air and the Traveler realize their mistake, it was a bakery, or at least what was left of one.
They suppressed the urge to gag as their eyes watered from the sickly sweet smell of delicious food long gone rancid, it was old, the small barely noticeable, the Traveler knew they couldn't find anything here rotted, only the lingering tang in the air—they put a hand to their nose and mouth. The bakery was probably the most intact building here, its lime yellow walls persistently held together with its squeaky wooden floorboreds, tables and chairs lay discarded most turned over on the floor. Delicately carved from soft wood pushed and forgotten—rotting away.
The Traveler scavenged, taking whatever they could—mostly clay jars of different assortment and sizes. Each one had some sort of food in it, tightly packed and unspoiled. Soon after they went above. Stairs leading upwards into a cramped corridor, the Traveler walked slowly grappling the wall for support if the floor gave out. It didn't. They entered a small bedroom.
Every person has scavenged, it's how they all survive, yet it still felt like a crime.
There's something so personal about a bedroom, the Traveler walked slowly inside the threshold. The walls were a faded green, the small bed in the corner of the room was either eaten or rotted away with time....
"This place is incredible." Pylia stopped unexpectedly and marveled at the buildings, broken and crumbling. Missing windows and tapestries, books and paper being stripped of the houses and stone walls now partially eaten by the surrounding natural.
"It was a town," the Traveler said quietly, putting out a hand to stop Pylia and checked the surroundings for danger.
"This place used to be where people lived, they traded for goods from across the—"
Pylia blow a raspberry drowning out what the Traveler was saying, they stopped talking rolling their eyes.
"You didn't know what a signpost looked like before this." The Traveler muttered putting down their arm and began tentatively searching around the ruins.
It was small, mostly made of mossy stone with trees and shrubs bursting from the road. Gray bricked homes decaying some walls fallen long ago the inside being visible, showing their crudely decorated interiors. However, with all the stone and grey, all colour of the town stolen from traders, scavengers and thieves. It was thriving, it was alive. Or, at least, the most alive something could be when its already died long ago.
Skeletons were found sometimes, never by Pylia, they were never intacked, they were either stolen or scattered, the Traveler had seen many things—but a complete skeleton—including the skull, was a rare mystery with an even rarer answer.
They continued to wander around, searching every nook and cranny of this broken town. If it had a name, it was long forgotten by time.
They went inside buildings scavenging and stealing what they could, they were, after all travelers it's what they do. Following a lackluster search of burnable kindle going deeper and deeper into the town, the Traveler took note of how the houses became bigger, more expensive, stairs leading upwards to double doors, the rooftops as abundant as leaves on a tree, the houses were so big, pushed and squeezed against one another, suffocating the streets and alleyways looking like a kingdom of poorly stacked cards. Pylia stepped out of one of the alleyways they had been walking down, and her jaw went slack.
After the compressed bumpy cobblestone roads, it lead to an almost secret market, still with the tattered remains of cloth, faded away with time and nature—but still so useful. Their trip had not been a waste after all. The market stalls were still semi-Intact, earthenware sprouted with fauna still alive and growing, even long since after the calamity.
Pylia ran up and down the circle shaped, grabbing anything of interest. The Traveler stayed where they were, half hidden by the shadows pressed against a corner of the wall. They were being watch.
It's no reason why this place was abundance with life, it was under guard. The Traveler looked up at the rooftops seeing the green statues, they had horns and wings. From a distance it looked like they were made of jade—however that was impossible.
The Traveler had been seeing them more and more since they went in, they never moved, only occasionally creaked loudly from the wind hitting the statues wings.
They were protectors of the town, or something akin to it. However they seem to have been decommissioned since everyone in this town was gone. Still, the mocking idea of being watched from afar wasn't lost on the Traveler, these statues were sleeping, waiting for their time.
The Traveler shook their head ignored by their own antics, those green statues were dead.
Pylia went behind one of the stalls rummaging thought what remained of the stock. The Traveler looked for any businesses that could support something more then a temporary stall—those tended to have more.
They gingerly opened a faded red door, it had a sign on the window the Traveler knew this was a shop—yet not knowing what language the sign was in or what it truly meant. They walked around, a musky rot filled the air and the Traveler realize their mistake, it was a bakery, or at least what was left of one.
They suppressed the urge to gag as their eyes watered from the sickly sweet smell of delicious food long gone rancid, it was old, the small barely noticeable, the Traveler knew they couldn't find anything here rotted, only the lingering tang in the air—they put a hand to their nose and mouth. The bakery was probably the most intact building here, its lime yellow walls persistently held together with its squeaky wooden floorboreds, tables and chairs lay discarded most turned over on the floor. Delicately carved from soft wood pushed and forgotten—rotting away.
The Traveler scavenged, taking whatever they could—mostly clay jars of different assortment and sizes. Each one had some sort of food in it, tightly packed and unspoiled. Soon after they went above. Stairs leading upwards into a cramped corridor, the Traveler walked slowly grappling the wall for support if the floor gave out. It didn't. They entered a small bedroom.
Every person has scavenged, it's how they all survive, yet it still felt like a crime.
There's something so personal about a bedroom, the Traveler walked slowly inside the threshold. The walls were a faded green, the small bed in the corner of the room was either eaten or rotted away with time....
