He's in Baedal. Shrieky doesn't question this, in the way that you just don't question things sometimes. This is just what Baedal is like now, or maybe what it's always been like, there's a sense of dread hanging over everything here, but none of it seems unusual. None seems unexpected to him.
He isn't wearing shoes, and the floor here is all broken glass and crumbling stone. Even the parts that shouldn't hurt him do, and he feels a very thinly repressed layer of anger at having to exist in any way shape or form. It's always terrible. Everything, everywhere, is completely and irredeemably painful and hated, and he is entirely certain of this.
He picks his way through the rubble, of one of the buildings, trying to figure out what neighborhood he's in. It's hard to tell now, but if he can find someone then he can ask for directions at least.
He can hear the distant buzzing of insects, like a swarm of flies just outside of the range of his vision. It sends a prickle of discomfort down the back of his neck, but he pushes the feeling aside.
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He isn't wearing shoes, and the floor here is all broken glass and crumbling stone. Even the parts that shouldn't hurt him do, and he feels a very thinly repressed layer of anger at having to exist in any way shape or form. It's always terrible. Everything, everywhere, is completely and irredeemably painful and hated, and he is entirely certain of this.
He picks his way through the rubble, of one of the buildings, trying to figure out what neighborhood he's in. It's hard to tell now, but if he can find someone then he can ask for directions at least.
He can hear the distant buzzing of insects, like a swarm of flies just outside of the range of his vision. It sends a prickle of discomfort down the back of his neck, but he pushes the feeling aside.