Robin led them inside her home, transforming her living space into a makeshift infirmary. She was determined to uncover the truth behind the mysterious illness, to understand the nature of the affliction that was plaguing her village.
But despite Robin's diligent observation and thorough examinations, the two villagers succumbed to the mysterious illness two days later. They died in the same agonizing manner as the others, their skin marked with the unsettling black spots, their final breaths filled with venomous curses against Oakhaven.
Robin was left bewildered and frustrated. She had meticulously examined their bodies, searching for any sign of poisoning or disease, but found nothing. The lack of physical evidence only deepened the mystery. A chilling suspicion began to form in her mind: perhaps the cause was magical in nature.
However, her attempts to detect magical traces proved fruitless. She employed every method she knew, from traditional enchantments to specialized herbs and crystals, but found no indication of magical influence. This left her more confused than ever. If it wasn't poison, and it wasn't magic, then what was it?
Elias and the village chief, their faces grim, attempted to quell the growing panic that gripped Oakhaven. They addressed the villagers, their voices firm and reassuring, trying to project an air of calm and control. They emphasized the importance of remaining vigilant, of following Robin's advice, and of trusting in the hunters' ability to uncover the truth. They tried to convince the villagers that everything was going to be fine.
However, their words rang hollow in the face of the mounting death toll. Each new victim, each chilling curse, chipped away at the villagers' sense of security. Anxiety and fear spread like a plague, infecting every corner of Oakhaven. Whispers turned into shouts, and trust eroded into suspicion. The villagers, once a close-knit community, began to eye each other with distrust, wondering who would be next, and what dark force was preying on their lives.
The village held its breath, a collective sigh of relief escaping their lips as the deaths abruptly ceased. After three harrowing waves of victims, the mysterious affliction seemed to vanish as suddenly as it had appeared. For weeks, Oakhaven remained untouched, and a fragile sense of normalcy began to return.
Elias, the village chief, and Robin cautiously allowed themselves a flicker of hope. Perhaps, they thought, the nightmare was over. Perhaps whatever dark force had plagued them had moved on. The villagers, though still wary, began to venture out more freely, their laughter tentatively returning to the streets.
However, their newfound peace was shattered three weeks later. Just as they were beginning to believe they were safe, the affliction returned with renewed ferocity. Several villagers succumbed to the same agonizing symptoms, their bodies marked with black spots, their final words filled with venomous curses. The terror that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted once more, and the village plunged back into fear and despair.
The marketplace, usually bustling with activity, was eerily quiet. A small group of villagers huddled together, their voices hushed and tense.
Villager 1 (a woman with a shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders): "It's back... just like before. I saw old Martha this morning, those black spots on her hands... just like the others."
Villager 2 (a man with a weathered face and trembling hands): "Three weeks... we thought we were safe. We were fools to think it was over."
Villager 3 (a young woman, her eyes wide with fear): "What is it? What's happening to us? Is it a curse? Did someone anger the spirits?"
Villager 1: "Robin doesn't know. Elias doesn't know. No one knows! They keep telling us it'll be alright, but look around! People are dying!"
Villager 2: "They said they were investigating. They said they'd find the cause. But they've found nothing! They're useless!"
Villager 3: "Maybe we should leave. Leave Oakhaven. Run away while we still can."
Villager 1: "Where would we go? This plague, this curse... it could follow us anywhere."
Villager 2: "And what about our homes? Our farms? Everything we own is here. We can't just abandon it."
Villager 3: "But what choice do we have? We're dying here! We're all going to die!"
Villager 1 (her voice rising in frustration): "Someone has to do something! We can't just sit here and wait for death! We need answers! We need help!"
Villager 2: "Help from who? The hunters can't do anything. Elias is lost in his grief. Who's left?"
Villager 3 (whispering): "Maybe... maybe it is a curse. Maybe we're all doomed."
The group fell silent, their faces etched with despair. The fear was palpable, a heavy weight that pressed down on them, suffocating their hope.
Gordon's usual patrol duties were abruptly replaced with a grim and unsettling task: burning the infected bodies. The sheer number of deaths had overwhelmed the village's usual burial practices, and a disturbing discovery had been made. The corpses of the victims, even when buried deep, emitted a noxious, putrid stench that permeated the soil, a constant reminder of the horror that had befallen Oakhaven.
The villagers, desperate to contain the spread of the unseen affliction and rid themselves of the lingering stench, turned to cremation. Gordon, with his strong build and stoic demeanor, was assigned the unenviable task of tending the pyres.
The scene was macabre. The air was thick with the acrid smoke of burning wood and the sickeningly sweet smell of burning flesh. The corpses, marked with the telltale black spots, were laid upon the pyres, and Gordon, his face grim, ignited the flames. The task was physically demanding and emotionally draining, each burning body a stark reminder of the village's helplessness. The stench clung to him, saturating his clothes and hair, a constant, nauseating reminder of his duty.
The sight of the corpses, their skin marred by the black spots, their faces contorted in expressions of lingering agony, filled Gordon with a profound sense of disgust and sorrow. He watched as the flames consumed the bodies, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes and nostrils, and a deep anger simmered within him.
He couldn't comprehend the sheer cruelty of whatever force was responsible for this suffering. How could anyone inflict such pain, such terror, upon innocent people? The senselessness of it all, the utter lack of reason, fueled his frustration. He felt a burning desire to find the source of this evil, to confront it, and to put an end to the suffering that had engulfed his village.
A strange, unsettling feeling washed over Gordon as he gazed upon the charred remains. A flicker of recognition, a sense of déjà vu, tugged at his memory. He knew he had seen something like this before, the blackened skin, the contorted limbs, the aura of unnatural decay. But that was impossible.
Gordon had lived his entire life in Oakhaven. He had never ventured beyond the village borders, and there had never been an incident like this within its walls. The village, while occasionally troubled by minor monster attacks, had always been a place of relative peace and tranquility.
Yet, the image of the corpses, their grotesque features, was disturbingly familiar. He tried to grasp the fleeting memory, to pinpoint where he had seen such a sight, but it remained elusive, a phantom image lurking just beyond the reach of his conscious mind. The unsettling feeling lingered, a nagging sense that something was deeply wrong, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
As Gordon continued to watch the flames consume the bodies, the elusive memory finally surfaced. The grotesque black spots, the unnatural decay, the lingering sense of dread – it wasn't a disease, and it wasn't poison. It was a curse. A specific curse.
The name, "Ichor Curse," surfaced in Gordon's mind, not as a learned fact, but as a visceral, instinctive knowing. It wasn't a memory drawn from dusty books or whispered tales from Mr. Suhat. It was a sensation, a chilling certainty that settled deep within his bones.
He didn't recall reading about it, or hearing it spoken. It was as if the knowledge had been implanted directly into his mind, a sudden, intrusive understanding that sent a shiver down his spine. The feeling was deeply unsettling, a violation of his own sense of self. How could he know something he had never learned?
The sheer creepiness of the experience sent a jolt of fear through him. It wasn't just the curse itself, but the way he knew it, the unnerving sense that something else, something unseen, was whispering dark secrets into his consciousness.
Gordon muttered curses under his breath, a string of frustrated and bewildered expletives escaping his lips. "Why me?" he groaned, his voice laced with exasperation. "Why do these strange things always happen to me?"
He felt like a magnet for the bizarre and the dangerous. From the sudden appearance of his mysterious powers to the unsettling knowledge of the Ichor Curse, his life had taken a dramatic and unwanted turn. He just wanted to be a hunter, to protect his village and had beautiful wife. Now, he was caught in a web of dark magic and unsettling mysteries, and he had no idea how to escape.
Gordon's weariness was a heavy weight, pressing down on him with each passing moment. He longed for the simple comfort of his bed, for the oblivion of sleep. The endless mysteries and the grim task before him had drained him both physically and emotionally. But the pyres burned slowly, stubbornly, and the thirteen corpses demanded his attention.
The flames danced and flickered, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to mock his exhaustion. The acrid smoke stung his eyes, and the stench of burning flesh clung to his nostrils, a constant, nauseating reminder of the village's suffering. He shifted his weight, his muscles aching, and sighed. The night was long, and the task was far from over.
But after half an hour he can't take it anymore.
Gordon gritted his teeth, his patience finally snapping. He was done with waiting, done with the slow, agonizing process. He was exhausted, and the stench was unbearable. He needed to be done.
He closed his eyes, focusing his energy, and then unleashed his power. A swirling vortex of wind erupted around the burning pyres, a medium-speed whirlwind that whipped the flames into a frenzy. The wind wasn't meant to extinguish the fire; it was meant to intensify it.
He carefully modulated the wind, creating a contained vortex that fanned the flames, forcing them to burn hotter and faster. The increased airflow superheated the pyres, turning the burning corpses into rapidly charring husks. The air crackled with intense heat, and the flames roared, consuming the remains with terrifying efficiency.
As Gordon focused his energy, the swirling vortex of wind intensifying the flames, his two fellow hunters stood nearby, their jaws slack, their eyes wide with disbelief. They gaped at the spectacle unfolding before them, their expressions a mixture of awe and bewilderment.
They had seen Gordon's strength before, his ability to move with surprising speed and power. But this display of control over the wind, this manipulation of the elements, was something entirely different. They had never witnessed such a feat, and they were at a loss for words.
One of them, a burly man named Thomas, nudged the other, a lean, nervous hunter named Elias (not to be confused with the guild leader). "Did you see that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible above the roar of the flames. "He's... he's controlling the wind!"
Elias, his eyes still fixed on the swirling vortex, could only nod mutely. He was too stunned to speak, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was witnessing. They'd known Gordon was strong, but this was something else entirely.
Amd thanks to Gordon's focused control of the wind, the cremation process was completed in a mere two and a half hours, a fraction of the time it would have taken otherwise. The pyres were reduced to smoldering piles of ash, the gruesome task finally finished.
Thomas and Elias, Gordon's fellow hunters, looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and lingering astonishment. "Thank you, Gordon," Thomas said, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "We're all exhausted. I don't think I could have stood another hour of this."
Elias nodded in agreement, his eyes still wide. "Yeah, thanks," he mumbled. "That... that was incredible. I've never seen anything like it."
The shared weariness was palpable. They were all tired, drained by the grim task and the oppressive atmosphere of fear that hung over the village. The prospect of returning to their homes, of finally resting, was a welcome relief.
Gordon, Thomas, and Elias, all weary and covered in soot, agreed to postpone the disposal of the ashes until the following day. "We'll deal with it first thing in the morning," Thomas declared, his voice thick with exhaustion. Elias nodded in agreement, too tired to offer any alternative.
However, as Gordon walked home, a subtle shift occurred in his thoughts. While he outwardly agreed to the joint task, a plan was forming in his mind. He reasoned that he had already done more than his fair share. He had single-handedly accelerated the cremation process, saving them countless hours of grueling labor. In his mind, this act of service more than compensated for his share of the cleanup. He decided that come morning, he would subtly delegate the responsibility to Thomas and Elias, allowing them to handle the unpleasant task of collecting the ashes. After all, he had earned a reprieve.