The return trip to the village was a silent one. The huntsmen were too tired to speak, much after the long night. They trudged along, each man lost in his own thoughts, the only sound the crunch of their footfalls on the dirt path.
The weight of the corpse seeming to increase with every step. Eoghan gritted his teeth, his muscles burning with the effort, but he refused to slow his pace.
As the village came into view, a collective sigh of relief went through them. They were almost back. They quickened their pace, their steps becoming more determined as they approached the familiar sights and sounds of home. After a long, arduous journey, they had made it.
"Finally," Eoghan man muttered, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the corpse.
As they entered the village, whispers and hushed murmurs filled the air. Word had spread of their arrival, and the villagers gathered to witness their return. The sight of Eoghan, bearing the corpse, sent a shiver of fear through the onlookers.
Everyone grew eerily quiet, watching in tense silence as the leader of the huntsmen walked towards the center of the village. He could feel the weight of their stares, could sense their fear and anxiety. But he stood tall, his expression steely and resolute. He had a duty to perform, and he would do it.
He laid the corpse down on the ground, his muscles screaming in protest. He staggered back, a look of grim determination on his face.
The head of the village, a 64 years man with grey hair approached cautiously. His face was a mask of grim determination, his eyes fixed on the corpse. The other villagers, who had gathered in a loose circle around Eoghan and the corpse, backed away, their gazes nervous and wary.
Finally, he spoke, his voice gravelly and thick with authority. "Show us what you've brought," he said, eyeing the corpse closely.
Eoghan took a deep breath, steeling himself for the elder's reaction. He stepped aside, revealing the corpse in its full hideousness. The body was twisted and grotesque, the flesh withered and rotted. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, a rancid, putrid smell that made even the toughest stomach churn.
The head of the village's face paled, but he quickly composed himself. He knelt down beside the corpse, his hands shaking slightly as he examined it.
The other villagers watched nervously, their faces turning green as they caught the full sight of the horror. The sight of the deformed corpse filled them with a sense of dread, a feeling of helplessness and fear.
A murmur of shock and disgust rippled through the crowd. Some of them clutching at their hearts as if to ward off the evil they felt emanating from the corpse.
"Dear gods," a woman muttered under her breath, her voice shaking. "What sort of nightmarish creature is this?"
A man also spoke, his expression grim. "It's as we feared," he said, his voice low. "This is the work of a demon. A malicious, evil entity that has taken up residence in our woods."
But the head of the village waved his hand for silence. He studied the corpse intently, his eyes roaming over the twisted limbs and misshapen torso.
"I've never seen anything like this," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's as if something dark and evil has taken hold of the body, twisted it beyond recognition."
He added, his expression conflicted. "I've always been a practical man," he said, his voice gruff. "I don't put much stock in superstitions or tales of the supernatural." He gestured at the corpse. "But I can't deny what I'm seeing. This...thing...is beyond anything we can explain."
He turned to the six other elders who stood nearby. They were the wise and respected men of the village, his trusted advisors. "What do you make of this?"
The elders stepped forward, their faces grave and thoughtful. They studied the corpse carefully, their eyes taking in the twisted limbs and rotting flesh. One of them, a tall, bearded man with a sharp mind, spoke up first.
"It's not natural," he said, shaking his head. "I've seen decay and death before, but never like this. Something dark and evil has corrupted this body, twisted it beyond recognition."
Another elder, a portly man with a shrewd eye, spoke up. "It's the work of a demon, I say," he announced, his voice firm. "Sorcery, or some other dark magic, is at work here. No mortal hand could do this."
The other elders, all wise and experienced men, nodded in agreement with the portly man's assessment. It was a shocking and frightening realization, one that sent a shudder through the elders and the villagers watching silently. But the fourth elder, a small, wiry man with a penetrating gaze, spoke up with more information.
"It's not just any demon," he said, his tone severe. "This level of corruption and violence...it can only be the work of a powerful and malevolent demon. A creature of true evil."
The other elders listened in grim silence, their faces paler now than before. The thought of a powerful demon loose in their lands was a terrifying one, a threat that could destroy everything they held dear.
"We must take action," said the first elder, his voice firm. "We must pray, and offer sacrifices, to appease this demon and protect our village."
The head of the village shook his head firmly. "No, we must not fall into that trap," he said, his voice firm. "If this truly is the work of a demon, offering sacrifices will only embolden them, give them more power. It's a dangerous game to play with such powerful beings."
"What choice do we have, then?" One of the elders demanded, his voice thick with fear. "We can't just sit back and do nothing! We have to try something!"
The head of the village gave a grim nod. "Yes," he said, his voice stern. "But our first priority should be to identify this woman. Someone must have known her. We need to ask around, see if anyone can recognize her. It's a difficult task, but a necessary one."
He gestured to the crowd of villagers, who had been watching in tense silence. "Anyone who knew this woman, step forward now. We need any information you can give us."
Several villagers came forward, their faces pale and their gazes fixed on the ground. They approached slowly, their steps hesitant as if they were scared of the very corpse they were coming to identify.
A young woman, her face pallid and tear-streaked, stepped forward. She was shaking so hard that she could barely speak, but she managed to croak out her words. "That's her," she stammered. "The weird witch who lived alone in the isolated house. That's her!"
The villagers gasped, turning to each other with wide eyes. Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd, and the tension in the air thickened. No one had been expecting this revelation.
"The witch" had been known throughout the village for her strange and isolated ways, her house tucked away in the forest where no one dared to go. But to think that she had been killed and her body twisted in such a manner was unthinkable.
The head of the village's expression hardened at the mention of a witch. "There are no witches in this village," he said firmly. "Witchcraft is forbidden here. We follow the old ways and trust in the gods to guide us." She was just a woman who lived alone and kept to herself."
Several other women spoke up, their voices trembling with fear. They told tales of how the woman, the one the villagers had been calling a witch, had given many of them strange potions and ointments. They spoke of how she had seemed to know things they didn't tell her, things that she should have only known with magical aid.
They spoke of how her house smelled of strange herbs and powders, how she had muttered odd spells and incantations in a strange language no one could understand. The crowd listened in tense silence, their fear and suspicion growing by the minute.
"She always seemed to know what we were thinking," one woman said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Even when we didn't say anything. It was as if she could read our minds."
Another chimed in, her eyes wide with terror. "She could predict the future, too. She would tell us things about our lives that seemed impossible to know, unless she had some kind of power."
"And the potions she gave us..." another woman said, her voice trailing off as if she was reluctant to reveal what she had experienced.
The woman shuddered, as if remembering something vile and unclean. "They made us do things," she said, her voice hollow. "Things that we never thought we were capable of. Things that were unholy and wrong."
The other women nodded, their faces pale and drawn. They all whispered the same things, tales of darkness and corruption. The head of the village was listening, his expression growing more grim with each revelation.
"This is a curse," another woman muttered, his voice thick with anger. "A foul and sinful curse. That woman, that witch, was a practitioner of dark magic. She brought evil into our midst."
Another villager, a woman with a fierce and determined expression, stepped forward. "She even made her enemies fall sick," she said, her voice hard. "She used her magic to curse another villager who had offended her. The next day, the other woman took ill and nearly died."
One by one, more female villagers spoke up, their faces hard and grim. One woman said that she had visited the witch, pleading for help to improve her situation, but the witch had refused. Another said that she had begged the witch to save her ill son, but the witch had turned her away.
Each villager had their own story to tell, and each one painted a picture of a mysterious and dangerous woman who was only good in doing evil.
They continued their tales, their voices filled with anger and despair. "She was only good in evil," a woman in her 30's said, "that's what she was. She'd gladly help anyone who wanted to ruin a marriage, or make someone ill, but she'd never lift a finger to help anyone just for the sake of good."
The women agreed, nodding in unison. "That's right," one said, her voice full of disgust. "She was only good in doing evil. She seemed to take pleasure in causing suffering and harm to others. She enjoyed dividing families, making people ill. She was twisted and malevolent."
The villagers gasped anew, their eyes wide with fear and awe. A woman with a baby jn her arms shook her head, her expression thunderous. "This is blasphemy," she said, his voice trembling with anger. "Such powers are granted only to the wicked and sinful. We must purge this evil from our midst!"
The head of the village's face grew even more stern as he heard the villagers speaking. "Enough," he snapped, his voice ringing out. "This is all nonsense and superstition. We cannot allow ourselves to fall prey to gossip and rumors." He turned to the crowd, his gaze sweeping over their pale faces. "We have a duty to the gods and the village to maintain order and peace. This witch talk must stop now."
"Have some dignity," he added, reprimanded them. "This woman is dead. She cannot defend herself against your accusations. It's dishonorable to speak ill of the dead, especially when you have no evidence to back up your claims. We are a civilized village, not a mob of gossiping fools."
He saw their faces still pale and it was clear they were not ready to drop their allegations.
"Alright, then," he said, his voice firm. "If you all are so convinced that this woman was a witch, then let's see who among you truly believes it."
Slowly, he surveyed the crowd, his gaze sharp and penetrating. "Who amongst men here believes this woman was a witch?" he asked, his voice echoing in the sudden silence.
The men looked at each other, their faces uncertain. None of them raised their hands.
The head of the village sneered, his expression disdainful. "As I thought," he said. "This is just the act of gossips and busybodies. Women with no remorse, willing to throw another woman under the bus for the love of gossip and destroying each other's reputation."
The villagers murmured amongst themselves, some looking ashamed at being called out. The women, however, looked away, their gazes shifting in guilt.
The head of the village continued, his voice stern. "From this day forward, I forbid anyone to speak ill of this woman, to call her a witch or anything else sinister. She is dead, and deserves respect and dignity, not baseless accusations."
His face softened slightly, although his expression remained stern. "Tomorrow, we will have a collective prayer to purify the village," he announced. "We must drive out any lingering evil and cleanse ourselves of any contamination. We must show the gods that we are still worthy of their protection." "This is not merely an act of respect for the dead, but an act of faith in the power of the gods to protect us from evil."
The villagers nodded, their faces sober and serious. They knew that something had corrupted their village, and they were willing to do whatever it took to restore purity and order.
The head of the village dismissed the villagers, giving orders to two men to securely take care of the corpse. Then he turned to Eoghan and said, "Follow me. We need to talk."
The blonde man nodded, falling into step behind the head of the village. He could sense the seriousness and urgency in the man's voice, and he prepared himself for a difficult conversation.