They say that the poor souls on the Hill of Suicides can only find eternal rest if their remains are reunited with their spirit.
They say that the one who takes pity and does so is blessed and taken notice of by the gods.
But what of those who are stranded on the Hill? They can't leave, cant find their bodies themselves.
Their only hope is a hero, someone with nothing better to do than to find old bones and give them to an entity who cannot talk or thank them.
Woe to the one who is lost on the Hill.
Forgotten in a corner.
There he is now, under the large boulder, do you see?
Burned in a fire, no remains to be found.
What is to become of him?
Nothing.
That's what.
This is his punishment. This is also his reward.
Is he cursed to remain on this Hill, trapped to wander forever in the same small area, no voice to plead for help, no body to feel the sun or grass, no friends to laugh with?
Or is he blessed to live in a familiar land, no voice to beg for the torment to end, for there is no torment. No body to feel the pain of a thousand daggered glares, or a thousand cold stones. No tormenters to laugh at his misfortune, making the endless hellhole unbearable.
It depends on what mood he's in.
He can hear your whispers, though. Be respectful. He chose this fate. Understand, and forgive. It was not his fault.
It was yours.
