Haven of Hearthlings

[Projeear]

0.0.0 Forewords;

I've decided to write a little Fan story, thing, of how I imagine it very possible for Haven and Hearth to be in the future - give or take, to make adaptions from game mechanics to fantastical reality.

In my vision of Haven and Hearth, there are seas and ships, great trading and war vessels. Storms, snow and sunny days. A strong connection with the ancestors and a connection with the magic of the world. I'll not say much more on this matter, however, so as not to ruin the story.

I want to highlight several things about Haven and Hearth with this. The differential relationship between Nature and Industry, the overconsumption of the lands. The peaceful fruit-eating foragers compared to the Barbaric beast-munching hunters. The solitude of the lonely and the companionship of the village-residents. And, of course, the power of friendship.

I'd also like to address as to a plot-hole of sorts for me, that I seem to have come across a fix for - the fact you must go to great lengths to murder and to fight. That you must learn to cut wood and hunt animals. You'll find that, as in-game without the ability to hunt, you cannot harm rabbits, chickens, foxes and so forth - and I've attempted to bridge this one-with-nature connection into the tale below.

Please comment your thoughts, as they will be the only things able to bump the thread!

Enjoy.

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0.0.1 Prelude; Hearthlings

Hearthlings are curious beings, by onlookers and in nature. The slightest wonder can captivate their hearts and their attention for it has often been noted that they will sit and fiddle with a shiny or oddly shaped object, examining and memorizing every aspect of it.
One cannot simply categorize all Hearthlings into one stereotype, for they come as independent as the race of the flowers and the sky. Whilst some will live as one with nature and feed from the bounties of the Ancestors, others will just as soon tear these bounties from the land and burn them for their own devices. Many wish only peace, living alone or in small communities spotted around the known world, tending to crops and smoking pipe weed in the late sunset evenings. In fact it is not uncommon for two travellers to pass one another as they travel along common routes for trading caravans, either on the currents of a river or through a the forested paths that suffice as roads.

Yet, there are those who are not quite as content to live like so. Some will melt the earth and scorch the stones to construct deformations of the Ancestor’s earth, using them to shed blood to sate their own personal means and ends. A sad truth is it that it is not an uncommon site to come across a destroyed settlement, the walls crumbling and the houses stricken bare except for the bones of the deceased.
However, there is a hope. There are a few that will stand against these evils and defend the free and few. When called, they will follow the fleeing route of the enemy and track them down, striking them as they sleep and putting an end to their miserable deeds. These brave Hearthlings are known as Rangers.

Still, though, in exception for these beings that ruin the lives of others for their own means, there are many free people in the world who can often been seen gaily chasing insects, just so they can take a closer look, before freeing them. Or woodsmen who will pick berries from a bush, carefully so as not to harm the seemingly inanimate flowers.

It is in fact debatable as to how Hearthlings come about. It is generally accepted amongst scholars that they are the reincarnation of Ancestors, for there are no Hearthling Children, and all new Men and Women seem to come from the wild stricken naked as fully-grown adults, speaking the tongues naturally of past forefathers.
And likewise it is of considerable debate of the expiration age of Hearthlings, for they never grow old, and seem to die of war, murder or pass on from the wrath of nature before too long.


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Chapter 0.1.1; Somewhere in the Wilderness

The wind seemed far away as it whispered through the trees, the leaves excitedly conversing to one another, causing a singular indisputable noise. The warmth of the sun helped no less, seeming to excite them more so.
The grass felt soft and warm, the ground solid yet soft and springy. It is in these conditions and at this time and place that a Hearthling rolled over, causing him slight pain as the impressions of the grass were left on his bare back and him an impression on the ground.

Groggily, he sat up slowly and rubbed his forehead. “What?” he muttered, peering against the blazing light in the sky and his hand held aloft. As his eyes adjusted to the new light, he glanced confusingly at his surroundings. He seemed to be in a small clearing surrounded by trees.
He felt something tickle against his backside and in quickly moving aside, a green sprout shot out of the ground and fell short an inch.
‘How curious’ he thought, ‘What is it?’ The Hearthling leaned in for a closer look, his nose tickled by the thing. At this new viewpoint, he could see the grains in the stem and the tiny veins in the cotyledon. It was small, weak and newly born, easily shoved aside.

“I guess this means we are of about the same age,” he chuckled to the plant. A slight chill breeze brushed against his bare skin, sending a delightfully refreshing shudder down his spine. At that moment, a slight grumble struck his stomach.
“I’m hungry,” the Hearthling said to himself. “I need food.”
The lad looked to his companion once more. “I must be off,” said he, “I can’t sit about and do nothing, lest I waste to nothing. I’ll come by and see you again some day soon.”

The sprout shook a little, yet there was no wind. The Hearthling smiled at this and gave a wave back, hopped to his feet and set off from the clearing.
The leaves around him continued to chatter excitedly about all things new and beautiful, undertoned by the deeper groanings of the branches to one another, yet the greater trunks stood fast and spoke little, long ago having run out of things to say.

Birds clung tightly to the branches with their little feet, singingly loudly in a seeming contest that only these small creatures knew the rules of. Sometimes one would fly to another, and the previous would fly off. The chase was on, and the Hearthling watched in wonder as he wandered, subconsciously dismounting from his straight route in chase. He followed them for many minutes, his eyes constantly skyward and tracking the small beasts. Suddenly he came to a stop, as they disappeared through the throng of boughs.
“Wait!” He called, “come back!”
There came no reply. With a heavy heart, he continued on his way, nearly stumbling over a small creature. As he doublestepped to avoid stepping on the small thing, he caught his balance on the other side and turned about to meet the gaze of it. One tall floppy ear twitched, its nose wrinkling as it sniffed at the Hearthling.

“Oh,” it spoke. “You must be new here. One of the big folk, but you smell new.”
“Yes I am new,” the lad replied casually. “You know what I am, but I do not know what you are.”
The beast began to kicks at its own head repeatedly. The Hearthling, struck in horror, thought to stop the thing from hurting itself but stopped short as it stood fast once more.
“I have many names. The sly ones call me dinner, the hairy ones call me friend and I’m not quite sure what the leaves call me. They speak far too fast,” it seemed to chuckle, or sneeze. “And you big folk call me Rabbit.”
“Well, it is nice to meet you Rabbit,” smiled the Hearthling.
The two stood in silence for a moment, the rabbit hopping on its hind feet every couple of moments to listen warily.
As it rose, the Hearthling noticed a harsh scar across the Rabbit’s white left flank.
“Privet,” came a voice from behind him. He span around, to find a Hearthling smiling at him. In looking over his shoulder, he found to his dismay that Rabbit had gone.
“Kto vy?” inquired the stranger.
The Hearthling turned back to the newcomer. “I do not understand you,” he said. The stranger, who was not naked but clothed in pale stringent clothing, screwed up his face in disappointment. He thought for a moment, then put his hand to his chest and spoke, “Dmitry”. He then pointed to the Hearthling with a cocked eyebrow.
“Oh, my name?” He asked. He opened his mouth to reply, then caught himself sudden. He didn’t have a name.
After a moments thought, he replied “Derwin. Friend of Animals.” His seemingly new-made friend smiled and foreignly said “Dverwin.” His stomach then grumbled.
“You are hungry also?” Derwin asked, gripping his own stomach. Dmitry nodded, placing a hand on his own, then smiled and waved his hand, cooing Derwin to follow.
Derwin did so. He was again walking through the warm forest, the sun poking through the boughs to create singular rays of sunlight that were visible once in a while beyond the trunks of the trees.

Ahead, Derwin could see a flickering light that was not of the sky, but of the earth. As they approached, the fire was supported by a faggot of sticks and ringed by grey, mossy stones. Next to the campfire was a crude basket and a shelter made of branches and fallen boughs.
“This is where you live?” Derwin asked, looking around. Dmitry skipped ahead a few steps and reached into the basket, pulling out another set of clothing, similar to his own. It had stains of blood about it. Derwin caught it crookedly and gave it an unwanted look. Dmitry was smiling and coaxing him, simulating as if he were pulling on an invisible pair of pants.

Derwin set them aside on the ground and shook his head. “I cannot be expected to wear clothes dried with blood,” he began. He stopped in mid sentence. Dmitry had given him a knowing look with a short laugh, then turned away and dug through his basket.
Derwin gave the clothes another look, thinking that it may be wiser to wear them than not. He stubbornly thought against this, and looked back to Dmitry, who had a handful of berries. He offered these to Derwin.

The pair sat and dined on berries and very tiny creatures that day, then conversed awkwardly through gestures and plaintive faces till the sun’s rays became thin and long. An orange hue fell upon the forest and the songs of birds turned to a different tone.
Dmitry hopped to his feet and gestured for Derwin to follow. At the edge of his camp, Derwin tested and snapped thick branches from trees and stripped boughs without a thought. He threw these to Derwin, who held them aloft in horror. At this time, a bird settled on a nearby tree and began to sing.

And so it begins with the snapping of trees,
In the early days where animals speak with their words,
It is a shame that so often this we see’s,
So says this singing bird.

Be careful young Hearthling for slippery it be,
The path of destruction that your friend here takes,
Soon you’ll be chopping at the trees,
A promise this bird makes.

Hearthlings of the world turned to dust,
Follow this story every time to the end,
But to survive in the wild do as you must,
With hope with you I send.


The two friends stood and watched in wonder as the bird flew away. His wise words hung heavy on the pair, and so they began to search the ground instead for fallen, usable branches and boughs.
The search proved barely fruitful, and it took them much longer than if they had gathered from the trees around them. Dmitry then taught Derwin how to construct a stable shelter out of the resources they had gathered.

By now, the sun was setting and darkness crept in. Shadows merged with one another at great distance, and coldness set in. Derwin hugged himself to warm up as Dmitry finished the Lean-to for Derwin.
Dmitry, noticing Derwin’s colder stature, pointed to the pile of clothing still by the sparkling fire. Derwin went over and picked up the clothing. They were warm and inviting. He decided to wear them, just for the night.

The pair sat around the fire that night in silence for many hours, their heads turned upwards at the dots of light that were visible against the otherwise gloomy sky.
Dmitry got to his feet and yawned. “Spokoinoi nochi,” he said with a lazy under armed wave of his hand. He then headed to his bed.
“Spokoin noich,” replied Derwin, his mispronunciation causing Dmitry to smile and turn for a moment, then he settled down to sleep in his bed. Derwin continued to watch the sky for a little while longer till the fire settled to embers, then crawled off to bed.

[Projeear]

Chapter 0.1.2; Nor Thunder Nor Shine

The rain was heavy that morning. No sunrays greeted the morning hour, and the sound of splattering seemed to drown out even the birds. The leaves, in the stead of confident chattering, seemed to be screaming out in discontent as they were heavily struck.
A loud rumbling overhead caused Derwin to stir and to sit up straight. A curious sight it was, Derwin’s first rain. He crawled out of his Lean-to and looked up with a grin at the skin, squinting against the rain.

“How magnificent!” he laughed. He heard, just barely over the noise of the rain, laughter in response. Derwin looked into the direction of the laughter to find Dmitry dancing gaily in between the distance of his lean-to and a nearby brook, which was slightly flooding.
Under Dmitry’s lean-to, he noticed a slightly wet wicker basket. Derwin approached it curiously.
‘He must have dragged it under, as the rain began earlier, I suspect.’

Before Derwin knew what he was doing, he pulled the top off and peered inside. In the gloom, for even though it was midday the air was thinned with darkness, he could see a section that was inhabited by small creatures alike to those that they had eaten yesterday, and the other section had stems and bits left over fruit and berries. Derwin’s stomach rumbled and with that, he realised they were out of food – or very close to so.
Dmitry approached and said something that was lost to the wind, gripping his stomach. Derwin nodded in agreement. They needed food.

They both looked skyward in unison. The storm was not to pass any time soon. They looked to each other and Derwin gestured for his friend to take the lead. Dmitry smiled and then plodded off with Derwin in close pursuit.
Soaked to the skin through their thin, linen clothing, and their feet often slipping out of their wet wooden clogs, the duo walked for many miles in search for food. And indeed they often found edible mushrooms and ripe berries, stuffing them into their pockets and carrying them in bundles in their arms.

The landscape was dull and barren in its grey appearance, regardless the distance, even their hands seems ethereal at best. And no less was able to be said for the sky, lit up every once in a while with a terrifying shock of light and followed by a resonating boom.

With their arms full, and Dmitry gesturing it was likely past noon, they decided to head back. They began by simply backtracking, and did quite well with previous landmarks – as far as they could tell, but the territory became less and less recognisable, and the storm continued to thunder and echo above them. By sheet luck, they happened across a weather-beaten and overgrown, yet sturdy and wholesome, cabin.
They ran over to it, entered, and shut the door behind them. The noise of the storm outside was nearly muted in exception of it beating against the closed wooden windows.
In the darkness, they saw a firepit. Dmitry struck up a light and the room was soon enough warm, well-lit and cosy. The pair stripped down and put their clothes to dry by the fire, ate some of their forage spoils and then looked around.
Across the northern wall was a set of cupboards, stocked with unrecognisable fruits, dried meat, Coils of rope, pots of mixtures and a number of other oddities that neither of them could even guess as to their common use – or owner. They decided to leave them as they were and take leave as soon as the storm dipped.

There was one thing, though, that caught Derwin’s attention – a strange, small object. It was smooth yet jagged in appearance. Its many facets played with the light, and on flicking it with his nail it made a smooth, harmonious humming sound. Without a thought, he pocketed it and closed the cupboard, Dmitry not seeming to have seen.
The storm raged on as the pair, now clothed once more, huddled around the fire and shared more innocent jokes and gestures. Just then, the door flew open, its push enforced by the powerful winds outside.

The two friends turned their heads in surprise as a bear flew into the house, a shock of lightning dramatising the experience. However, as the being entered and his silhouette was put to light, it was naught but a man. Atop his head was that of a bear, its skin trailing behind him that served as a cape. Over his burly, hairy shoulder was slung a bundle of foxes tied by the feet on a length of rope he held in his hand.

His eyes narrowed dangerously at the intruders.

“What have we here? Thieves? Squatters? Why dare you enter my home?” His deep voice slowly said, every vowel crawling with anger and every consonant tipped with uncompressed suspicion.

“Not thieves, no! Nor squatters!” Derwin said, jumping to his feet, shadowed by Dmitry. The woodsmen slammed the door shut without a glance and threw the bloody, limp foxes to the floor. They landed with a sickening thud, their once-beautiful fur thick with blood and rain, their once graceful bodies and legs beaten and broken.
Derwin’s eyes scrolled down to the mans hands, his fur-encircled gloved knuckles splattered with blood and beaten flat with often practice.

With his eyes locked on them, he circled around the fire slowly, his hands gripping and ungripping threateningly. “Then answer my second question, and make it quick,” he growled. At any moment, Derwin expected the fellow to explode as was his beastly rage. It would seem that, as the man had spent so much time living in a lonesome and bloody existence, he too had become beastly, if anything.

“The storm,” Derwin stuttered, his mouth suddenly dry. “We entered for shelter.” The beastman’s gaze did not flicker, his long hair and rugged beard slick and flat with rain water or grease, or maybe both. All along, the two had been circling in reverse of the beastly fellow, inching towards the door.
His eyes widened, just a little, and shadily turned towards his cupboards.
One was ajar.
He threw the door wide open, and with a quick inspection, found something missing. He spun with a roar, spit bubbling and foaming at his mouth and fire in his eyes, on the two young lads – to find them missing, and the door ajar.
Outside, the pair had made a run for it, leaving their foodstuff behind. As the rain pelted against them and the wet mud about them, they heard over the deafening weather – which had in fact grown stronger as opposed to weaker as they had hoped – a bloodcurdling, beastly roar of barbaric rage.
Not daring to look back, they ran on.

With fear as their master, whipping at their hides, they made fast for any and every direction yet running as straight as they could in hopes to gain as much distance as possible from the beastly man they seemed to have angered so.

Dmitry tripped on an outlying root, bending his toes and foot in a fashion that should not be. Bravely he bit back a yelp and simply thudded into the wet mud. Derwin skidded to a stop and slipped away, his feet giving away underneath him and smashing him also to the ground. He hopped back to his feet and carried Dmitry off to the side and lay him down in the long grass, both breathing heavily.

Moments turned to minutes and nothing happened. The pitter-pattering of the rain continued around them and all seemed quite well. And then came the screaming of the wildman in the distance, quickly growing louder. If he had kept up this long, Derwin thought, he surely had followed what tracks they may have left behind.

Derwin looked down to his companions left foot which was swollen on the inner side. It was then that he noticed a fox sitting next to them, looking between the pair and down the way they had come, curiously.
“In a spot of trouble, are we?” He asked slyly.
“Please, master fox,” Derwin said, “will you not aid us?”
The fox seemed to tumble the idea around in his head for a while, yawning at one point. “Very well,” he said at length. “Follow me, you pair. And quickly, I wish not to join my kin in that beast’s den.”
The fox gave them another odd look, it seemed, and then wandered off into the grass. Derwin crawled after the fox, attempting to keep low, Dmitry close behind.

The screaming of the crazed hunter was heard at where they had split to the tall grass, after a moment’s crawling, soon followed by the tearing sound of the tall grass being pulled out of the ground as he searched for them.
“Here we are.” The duo had been led to what seemed more of a crack in the rock, about four feet off the ground. With a small leap, the Fox disappeared inside.
Dmitry and Derwin looked at each other dubiously. Then came a furious cry from behind, and they decided to squeeze through. Dmitry went first.
The crack was vertical and short, barely three feet high and half that in width at most. Dmitry had to crawl in sideways, lifting his legs in the air, and turn his head sideways to enter. His injured foot disappeared inside.

The vengeful cries of the beastly man were becoming dangerously louder. Derwin climbed up and slid in with a little more difficulty than the smaller Dmitry. Luckily, the crack wasn’t too depthful, and he found himself sliding into an abyss, plopping down to the ground. He lept back up and dared to peer outside through the crack – straight into the fiery eyes of their hunter. A burly arm was thrust through the crack, his cries louder and more frustrated than ever before. When this failed, he began to pound on the rock with his mighty fists. But the rock held steady, and all went quiet.
After a minute had passed, Derwin and Dmitry dared to breath once more. Derwin peered outside once more. All seemed clear.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said the fox. “He’s a smart one, for all his… uncouth foul-mouthed demeanour.”
“Who is he?” Derwin whispered, turning once more to the fox.

The fox seemed to smile, although Derwin could not see him in the gloom, he could well imagine so. “Not so much as to who he is, dear boy, but more alike to what. He has spent too long in the wilderness and has fell prey to his barbaric nature. Now he simply lives to eat and eats to live. Nothing more, nothing less.”
At that moment, Derwin felt something heavy in his soppy pocket – of course, the strange item he found! He dared to pull it out, and held it aloft to dim light from the crack.
“Ah, so that is why he hunts you. That is a treasure amongst your kind. You would do well to keep it hidden. Alas, I must be leaving now. Good day to you.”
A scratching was heard as the foxes claws scraped on the floor as he, probably, got up to leave.
“Wait!” Derwin gasped, “Is there no other way out?”

“Of course there is. How you and your fellow here, with no light to lead your inferior eyes, are going to find it though is beyond me.”
With that, the sound of the fox running away was heard before Derwin could get another syllable out.
“Dmitry?” Derwin asked into the Abyss. A groan came from his left, and the dim light showed his outstretched hand. Derwin reached out to grab it and sat down next to his injured fellow.

“We’ll wait for the storm to pass,” Derwin began, then stuttered short. What would they do? It was too dangerous to head out, in any condition, with the beastly man outside. In fact, it was too dangerous to stay. For all they knew, the hunter knew of this exit and was on his way through it now, to meet them.
However, weariness overcame the pair, and they quickly fell victim to the hypnotic spell that is the magic of the pitter-pattering of rain.

[Projeear]

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[HasseKebab]

xD
nice story Dude

[Projeear]

Thanks

Also, inb4CoolStoryBro.jpg/gif/png

[Projeear]

Finished Chapter 0.1.2; Nor Thunder Nor Shine.

Note: These are all undrafted, and unless for some reason I decide to patent and sell them in a book form (hurr), I do not intend to redraft and reword them. I may change bits and bobs that really annoy me whilst reading, but for the most part, they will stay mostly unchanged where likely able to be better rephrased.

[TheChin]

TL;DR

[ThePilfererOfHearths]

This is quite a riveting tale, chap.