In The Hunter's Guild hall the air was thick with unease, punctuated by the crackling of the fire and the anxious whispers of the assembled hunters.
"These are dark times," declared Elias the hunter leader, his voice grim. "The forest is stirring, and something wicked this way comes."
Brock, his face grim, slammed his fist on the oak table, sending mugs of ale tumbling. "It's that boy, Gordon! He's meddling with forces he doesn't understand. I told you, those woods are dangerous, unpredictable!"
"But Brock," countered Markus, his voice hesitant, "Gordon saved Silas. He faced the hag and… well, he survived."
"Survived?" Brock scoffed. "He barely escaped! And what of the consequences? The levitating pigs, the singing vegetables, the… the exploding well!"
A murmur of agreement rippled through the hunters. The strange occurrences in the village had become a source of constant anxiety. Crops were failing, livestock were behaving erratically, and the villagers were on the verge of panic.
"We need to do something," declared a grizzled old hunter named Finnigan. "This cannot continue."
"But what can we do?" asked Markus, his voice filled with apprehension. "Accuse Gordon? Exile him?"
"Perhaps," Brock mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps a 'hunting accident' is in order. A… 'mishap' while tracking a particularly ferocious boar, perhaps?"
A shiver ran down Markus's spine. He knew Brock was serious. The old hunter, driven by a mixture of fear and a desire to prove his own superiority, was capable of anything.
"We can't let him become a danger to the village," Brock continued, his voice low and menacing. "We need to protect our people, even if it means… eliminating the threat."
Markus felt a cold dread creeping into his bones. He knew he had to stop Brock, but how? He couldn't betray his friend, but he couldn't allow Brock to carry out his plan.
"Stop it right now." Elias said sternly to Brock. "Gordon is still young and he is one of us, i will not hear this again!"
That night, under the cover of darkness, Markus slipped away from the village and made his way to Gordon's house. He found Gordon awake, staring out the window, his face etched with worry.
"Gordon," Markus said, his voice low, "You need to leave. Tonight."
Gordon looked at his friend, surprised. "What are you talking about, Markus? Where would I go?"
Markus hesitated, then blurted out, "Brock… he's planning something. He wants to… eliminate you."
Gordon stared at him, disbelief clouding his eyes. "Brock? Why? I thought we were comrade, sure we had some dispute but why would he go this far? and Elias, what did he said?"
Markus hesitated, then blurted out, "He's jealous, Gordon. And Scared of the changes, scared of the unknown. He thinks you're a threat and although Elias didn't agree with Brock but his grip on an old hunter like brock is lose."
Gordon felt a wave of anger wash over him. "But I'm trying to help! I'm trying to protect the village!"
Markus nodded grimly. "I know. But fear can make people do irrational things."
They knew they had to act quickly. They couldn't let Brock carry out his plan. But how could they expose him without putting the entire village at risk?
After much deliberation, they decided to stage a "play." They would "accidentally" allow Brock to overhear a conversation where they discussed a supposed "secret meeting" of the "Forest Spirits," a meeting where they would supposedly unleash a plague upon the village.
The plan was risky, but it was their only hope.
They lured Brock to the edge of the woods, where they "accidentally" overheard a conversation between two "spirits" (disguised as themselves, their voices slightly altered).
"The time has come," one voice whispered. "The village will soon be ours."
"But what of the boy?" the other voice hissed. "He is a threat. He must be eliminated."
Brock, lurking in the shadows, listened intently. His face contorted with rage. He had been right all along. Gordon was a danger.
That night, Brock stormed into the village square, brandishing his axe. "The boy is a traitor!" he roared. "He's working with the spirits! They plan to destroy us all!"
The villagers, already on edge, were thrown into a panic. They had heard the whispers, the rumors of strange occurrences. Now, Brock's accusations seemed to confirm their worst fears.
Gordon and Markus, watching from the shadows, exchanged a worried glance. The plan had worked, now what next?
The stage was set for a confrontation. The villagers, divided and fearful, were ready to turn on their own. And in the midst of the chaos, the real danger – the hag, and the ancient magic that stirred within the forest – remained a constant threat.
Gordon, however, was not about to let Brock's lies go unchallenged. He stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Brock is wrong," he declared. "I am no traitor. I am trying to help."
The villagers, their attention riveted on Gordon, were skeptical.
Gordon, his heart pounding, knew he had to find a way to defuse the situation. He looked at Markus, a silent plea passing between them. Markus, understanding the unspoken message, stepped forward.
"Brock is lying," Markus declared, his voice strong and unwavering. "He's trying to sow discord among us, to turn us against each other. I was there. I heard the entire conversation. It was… a misunderstanding."
Markus then proceeded to recount the events of the evening, emphasizing the "play" they had staged, the "spirits" being nothing more than themselves, their voices altered to sound more… otherworldly.
The villagers, initially skeptical, began to see the inconsistencies in Brock's story. His wild accusations, his overly dramatic pronouncements, began to seem less credible.
But Brock, cornered and enraged, refused to back down. "Enough!" he roared, his voice echoing through the square. "Words are cheap! If you truly believe I'm wrong, then let us settle this like true hunters!"
He pulled out his hunting knife, its blade gleaming menacingly in the firelight. "A trial by combat!" he declared. "Let the fate decide who speaks the truth!"
The villagers gasped. A trial by combat was a dangerous proposition, a last resort in the most dire of circumstances. But Brock, fueled by anger and desperation, was adamant.
Gordon hesitated. He was no warrior, no match for Brock's strength and experience. But he couldn't allow Brock to escape justice, to continue to sow discord among them.
"Very well," Gordon said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "I accept your challenge."
Brock grinned, a cruel satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Good. But on one condition," he declared, "no magic. This is a test of skill, not some… unnatural trickery."
Gordon felt a surge of anger. He had faced the hag, a creature of pure magic, and survived. Now, Brock, a mere hunter, was trying to limit him, to deny him the very essence of what made him different.
"Fine," Gordon agreed, his voice tight with frustration. "No magic."
The villagers, eager to see the outcome of this unexpected duel, cleared a space in the center of the square. Brock, armed with his trusty axe, circled Gordon, a predator sizing up its prey.
Gordon, armed with a simple dagger and facing a skilled hunter, felt a wave of apprehension wash over him. He had faced the hag, a creature of ancient magic, and emerged victorious. But this was different. This was a fight against a human opponent, a test of his physical strength and his ability to survive.
Gordon fought with a ferocity he didn't know he possessed. He dodged, weaved, and countered with a surprising agility. But Brock was relentless, his axe flashing in the afternoon sun.
After several desperate dodge, Brock landed a blow, a glancing strike that sent Gordon tumbling to the ground. He lay sprawled on the dirt, the wind knocked out of him. Brock, panting heavily, raised his axe for the final blow.
But as Brock brought the axe down, a wave of nausea washed over him. The air around Gordon seemed to shimmer, the very ground beneath his feet vibrating. Brock stumbled, his grip on the axe loosening.
Gordon, his eyes widening in shock, realized what was happening. He was using his powers, subconsciously, to defend himself. He was channeling the wind, creating a small whirlwind around him, disrupting Brock's balance and throwing him off guard.
Brock, enraged, roared in frustration. "You used magic! You cheated!"
Gordon, gasping for breath, struggled to his feet. "I… I didn't mean to," he stammered, "It just… happened."
The villagers, watching in stunned silence, were unsure what to make of it. Gordon was just a boy while Brock is a very experienced hunter. Without his special power there was no way Gordon would be able to win againt Brock.
Brock, furious and humiliated, refused to accept defeat. He lunged at Gordon again, this time with even more ferocity.
Gordon, realizing that he had no choice, unleashed a gust of wind, sending Brock stumbling backwards. The wind whipped around them, swirling and dancing, creating a momentary barrier between them.
Brock, caught in the unexpected gust, was thrown off balance. He stumbled back, his eyes wide with disbelief. He had never encountered anything like it before.
The villagers watched in awe as Gordon, the boy they had once ridiculed, stood defiant, surrounded by a swirling vortex of wind. They had heard that the boy got some weird power or some curse but seeing it themselves like this was different.
Brock, fueled by anger and humiliation, refused to accept defeat. He lunged at Gordon again, not with his axe this time, but with a barrage of insults.
"Coward!" he roared. "Hiding behind tricks and illusions! You're not a hunter, boy. You're a… a… freak of nature!"
He continued his tirade, his voice laced with venom. He called Gordon names, belittled his abilities, and tried to provoke him into losing his temper. He knew that if he could get Gordon to lash out again, to unleash another uncontrolled burst of wind, he could convince the villagers that Gordon was indeed a danger, a wild beast that needed to be contained.
Gordon, his face pale, fought to control his anger. He knew that if he gave in, if he let Brock provoke him into another outburst, he would only be playing into his enemy's hands.
He took a deep breath, focusing on the wind, on the subtle currents that flowed through the trees and on those screams of a thousand soul. He calmed himself, his anger slowly subsiding, replaced by a determination.
"You're wrong, Brock," Gordon said, his voice steady. "I'm not a monster. I'm trying to protect this village, just like you."
But Brock, blinded by rage and fear, refused to listen. He continued his tirade, his voice becoming more and more desperate, more and more dangerous. He knew he was losing control, but he couldn't stop himself. He had to bring Gordon down, to prove that he was the true hunter, the true protector of the village.
The situation was reaching a boiling point. The villagers, caught in the crossfire, were growing increasingly uneasy.
Then, Brock, in a final, desperate attempt to break Gordon, crossed a line. He sneered, "Your father, do you know why he died? That because your mother is a whore and he killed himself because she broke his heart!"
Gordon's eyes narrowed. His face, pale a moment ago, now flushed with a furious red. He had endured Brock's insults, his accusations, his attempts to provoke him. But to insult his mother… that was a step too far.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound that was not entirely human. The air around him began to swirl, leaves and twigs whipping around him in a miniature whirlwind.
Brock, taken aback by this sudden display of power, stumbled back. He stared at Gordon in astonishment, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Gordon, fueled by a rage he had never known before, unleashed a torrent of wind. It whipped around Brock, knocking him off his feet. The wind howled, a mournful, angry sound that echoed through the village square.
The villagers watched in stunned silence as Gordon, his eyes burning with a furious intensity, unleashed the full force of his power. He was no longer the boy they knew, the bumbling, accident-prone hunter. He was something else entirely, a force of nature unleashed.
But just as Gordon was about to deliver the final blow, a chilling voice echoed through the square.
"Nice fighting."
The wind died down as abruptly as it had begun. All eyes turned towards the source of the voice. Standing at the edge of the woods, silhouetted against the setting sun, was the hag.
She looked more powerful than ever, her form elongated and distorted, her eyes glowing with an eerie green light.
"You have killed one of mine, boy," she hissed, her voice a chilling whisper. "You will go nowhere until you pay."
Gordon, his rage subsiding, turned to face the hag.
The hag, her gaze shifting to Brock, let out a low chuckle. "Such petty squabbles," she scoffed. "While you fools bicker amongst yourselves, I am bored."
With a flick of her wrist, the hag raised her hand, and a wave of chilling darkness swept across the village. The air grew thick and heavy, the sunlight obscured by an unnatural gloom. The villagers, terrified, huddled together, their faces pale with fear.
Brock, despite his earlier bravado, cowered behind the other villagers, his eyes wide with terror.
Gordon, realizing the true danger, knew he had to act. He turned to Markus, his eyes pleading. "We need to work together," he whispered. "We need to stop her."
Markus, understanding the gravity of the situation, nodded. He knew they were facing a threat far greater than their petty rivalry.
The hag, her eyes gleaming with malevolent amusement, watched the unfolding drama. She was about to unleash her fury upon them all.