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There were plenty of small villages across the central continent of Asyke, and many which had faced the horrors of war, either from the demon invasion or from the almost constant mini wars waged by the largest kingdoms.
It was rare, but some of these small villages were home to minor cults that worshiped the Dark One, for various reasons. Most of these cults were culled by adventurers sent by the church of course, but It could take anywhere from many months to several years for news about the existence of a cult to reach the church, much less for a party to be assigned and arrive there. Most towns didn’t have mages who could use messaging spells, and teleportation was unreliable at best.
In this particular town, a cult had been up-and-running for around 7 months by the time news had gotten to the capital, and 13 by the time word of an approaching party reached the cult leader. When it did, she had immediately decided to do what any self-respecting leader does.
Sacrifice all of her followers in a bid to summon an extremely powerful demon who she would make a deal with to be granted access to the demon realm, where she could hide out until she gathered enough strength to return and take over the Human capital.
The blood of her followers painted the floor of the chamber, and the summoning words that came from her mouth seemed to pull all light from the room, until only the flickering light from the candle that sat in the middle of the ritual circle remained. Black smoke poured from the fire, congealing into what she could only describe as an almost shapeless mound of smokey flesh perched on top of a skeletal torso with long, taloned limbs.
As she watched, the smoke folded again, this time forming into a face. A human face.
Her face.
The body of the demon followed, wrapping upon itself into a mockery of herself, almost perfect, but ever so slightly wrong.
The candle tipped over, and the demon’s jaw unhinged, something lashing from the darkness within its mouth, straight for her head. She didn’t feel it strike her. She only felt her body go weak, and then nothing.
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“Grand Creator protect us.”
The basement door had been torn apart from the inside.
The town was completely empty, every person missing. It was clear that some things had been stolen from the houses, but there was no sign of struggle. Then they arrived at the farmhouse.
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Aina could see the blood that covered almost every inch of the basement floor, only a circle as wide as a barrel left clean. Around the edges of the circle, salt had presumably once been poured to contain the summoned demon, though it was now scattered all across the room, and in the center of the circle, a small candle had been knocked over, the flame long since gone out.
The worst part wasn’t the corpses of the villagers piled in a corner of the room, nor the smell that sent shivers down the spine of all of the party members. In front of the circle was an unrecognizable mound of something awful. It wasn’t the pale color of the bodies, nor the dark red of the dried blood, merely a stoney grey.
They left the room quickly.
“Tracks seem to show that whatever it was that broke the door ran towards the nearest occupied town.”
The rogue shook as he told the rest of the party. He clearly didn’t want to see whatever the thing was in person.
Aina clutched her staff of healing tighter. This wasn’t the first demon that they had encountered, they had fought in the demon invasion, but they had only ever seen the horde-like demons that relied mostly on numbers. This was a single demon, one that was summoned presumably to make a deal, and was able to break the salt circle that should have contained it alongside the candle that would limit its power.
This was clearly more complex than the simple cult that they had been sent to deal with. Thankfully, using a messaging spell, the party mage was able to communicate with another nearby party to join together against a threat that they were clearly not prepared for.
It was only on the way to the nearby town where they would meet the other party that she realized what the mound of something awful was.
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The trader was. . . odd.
They claimed to be a traveling merchant from the east, who was making their way all across the continent, bringing with them treasures from far off. Certainly, their wares were strange, sometimes nonsensical, such as a number of hollow metal objects with twelve faces that came in varying sizes, and a small tablet of stone etched with unfamiliar words.
The strangest thing wasn’t their wares however, it was them. Their limbs were slightly too long, their smile slightly too wide. Their skin looked like it had been stretched thin over bone. The sound of their voice seemed to weigh down anyone who heard it, and their gaze felt like insects crawling over skin.
The townspeople might have considered throwing the trader out, but then they showed their final product. For the simple price of a favor, their wishes could be granted.
The elderly became young, the poor became rich, and the lonely found love. For such an odd trader, they brought with them such valuable wares.
They were sad when the trader left, but understood that they couldn’t stay in a single place. The traveling merchant walked away, their slightly too-long limbs carrying them at a leisurely pace down the worn path toward the next village.
Then the adventurers arrived a few days later.
And all thought left.
All that remained was a familiar urge that had poured over the continent almost a year ago. Once it belonged to another being, but now it was held by the townsfolk.
Somewhere, a small white rabbit perked up, long buried thoughts rising to the surface.
Smash them. Crush them. Break them. Show them no mercy, for you will receive none.
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