To pass the time, I thought up this morbid little tale.
Once upon a time, long, long ago. There was a village. In this village, there lived a few hundred or so people. This village was relatively peaceful and relied on hard work to get them through. One day, a man of generous proportions, relative to that time frame, washed up on the shores close to the village. They brought the man to the village priest, but it was too late. The man was dead. Before the priest called for two villagers to remove the body, he noticed a small, unassuming object in the man's hands. It was a wonder how he missed it. Curious, the priest reached out to grab the grey cubical thing, but as soon as he touched it, he yanked his hand back and screeched for the tribespeople to remove the body.
The men rush in, fearing the worst. Once in, they notice the shaman staring at the body with trepidation and scorn.
"Through it to the river! Don't keep anything it bears. A sinner brings calamity. Get rid of it. Now!" the priest shouted, fearful that a second longer and it would be too late. Unlucky for him, humans are greedy creatures, and his status as the Village Shaman was waning; although they did not outwardly defy him, gaining small benefits is a must. Once at the river, the men searched the body and quickly discovered the object that caused the shaman to be repulsed.
It was strange and perfectly shaped like a cube; never had they seen anything sculpted so perfectly. It could bring them a good profit, snatching it, they took anything else they found that could be potentially profitable and tossed the body into the river—leaving the once-living being one last comfort, clothes. Just as they were about to turn their backs on the deceased, the two men noticed the once-fresh body deteriorating quickly. Flesh that had yet to know it was dead turned pale then grey as it melted away and showed the festering meat under it, and that too soon exposed the bone that faded into dust, leaving only the clothes behind, and that too rotted quickly.
Fearful, the men ran back to the safety of their tribe, bringing back with them the danger they sought to flee.
Once within the vicinity of the village, the men quickly calmed down and tried to rationalize what they saw as much as their feeble minds could. Looking at the other, they made a silent vow to forget everything they saw and quickly sell off everything they gained from the body. The next trip to the kingdom was in two days, and the journey itself was but a day's travel. But sadly, tragedy struck, and it struck viciously.
By the morning, one of the men awoke to the body of his wife mutilated. She was in a different sleeping position; usually, she slept on her back, but this morning she was lying on her stomach. From the tips of her heels to the base of her neck-deep cuts in the shape of a cube marred her pale caramel skin. The man jumped up, terrified as he screamed for his wife. He immediately flipped her over and regretted it instantly. Her front side was worse. Unable to hold it any longer, he vomited and immediately ran to the village chief. Screaming and crying with vomit on him. Forgetting all bearings, he rushes into the chief's home in the wee hours of the morning, where darkness and light meet. Throwing himself to his knees, he started pleading with no sense of decency and making as little sense as possible.
The chief of the village is a hard man, but not unreasonable. He looked at the man in front of him, who appeared to have been driven insane. He calmly waited for the man to get his bearings as the villagers gathered to witness what they thought was a spectacle.
Eventually, the man was able to get out four words.
"My wife was murdered!"
Shocked gasps sounded out all around. Quickly the chief took control.
"Leave! I will deal with this and meet out appropriate punishment. Until then, no one is allowed to leave their homes. Seber, get the shaman, and then go home. Riech if this was an accident, then I will not allow for you to insult."
Unable to even speak to the man, Riech just shook his head.
After releasing a heavy sigh, the chief motioned Riech to follow him as they quickly made their way to the home. As they approached the house, they could feel the energy worsen. Some of the villagers that lived nearby even pleaded to be allowed to move further away for the time being. Once at the door of the evil feeling home, even the chief could not ignore the feeling of being highly repulsed.
As they were about to enter, they heard the shaman yelling for them. His disheveled appearance ran contrary to how he usually carried himself, but before he even reached the house, he jerked backward, the same look from the day prior appeared on his face, and that is when it clicked in the mind of Riech. Running forward, Riech pleaded with the priest to save his wife, but he was rejected. The Chief took this chance and moved away from the door and closer to the shaman.
"Riech claims that his wife was murdered. And it seems as if this is true."
The priest nodding his balding head, spoke up, completely ignoring Riech.
"This is partly true. It is better to say that Cedar and her unborn child were sacrificed to an evil god. I can no longer stay here by keeping the objects of the sinner; Riech and Noverik invited this being. It seems that Noverik has become possessed and now worships this false God. You can only leave if you wish to escape or try and invite a stronger God. And before you try to ask me to invoke The Quiet One, his shrine is already broken. He has forsaken this area. And you will soon worship it, by choice or by force. Leave now.
"As the shaman turned to walk away, Riech lunged at him, but upon touching him, he felt a pure force that rejected him.
Looking back, he sighed and lamented. The greed of two men damned an entire village. It would not have even sold for three loaves of bread.
Riech looked at the shaman and suddenly felt overwhelmed by a powerful need to kill him; unbeknownst to him, his already dark skin darkened even further and his short wispy hair thickened, and his aura went from grieving to murderous. Jumping up once more, he rushed to attack the shaman but was quickly subdued by the chief.
Sighing again, the chief dragged the unconscious body to the village square and tied him up. Ringing the bell, the villagers quickly gathered around. Ready to hear the verdict.
Taking a deep breath, the chief started explaining the situation to the villagers. The tragedy that had befallen them had appeared overnight and left them ill-prepared. They could only bite their tongues and stick it out. Who knows, maybe the shaman and Riech were overreacting.
The humans' ability to ignore danger on their doorstep is unparalleled, so even with an evil God lurking around, they could stand to live in the village a little longer. But the chief could not. That very night, he took his wife and daughter, and a few trustworthy villagers and left. It would be the best decision of his life. Two days later, in the night as the first rays of light prepared to meet with the dark, another life was claimed and this time, it was a young girl of sixteen, the perfect age for marriage. Her body was found near the shaman's old hut, she was already collecting maggots. This caused another small group of villagers to flee. This trend continued for seven days, with only the first victim being older than seventeen and experienced in the ways of men and women. There was a total of five, including the unborn infant. Since then, months passed, and the villagers grew comfortable. The tribe members eventually chose a new chief, and the harvest season came. It was better than ever before. The crops were large, lush, and healthy. Any rodents or beasts did not plague them. It was the best year they could remember.
Time continued to pass, and the winter was not particularly harsh; as the planting season came around, it soon became evident that this year there would be a drought. The harvest would be small, and many families would undoubtedly starve to death. One of these families was a large family of fifteen.
The father wasn't particularly kind, the mother did not care much, and most daughters were ripe for marriage. The youngest was thirteen, and the oldest was seventeen. The fear eventually got to the farmer and his wife. He went out to forage in hopes of being able to buy his way out of incoming famine. We shall call him Tas.
While scavaging, Tas came across the river that brought forth the body from which the cube was scavenged. The father heard someone calling him, it was the voice of many people yet only one. It unnerved the man, yet he followed it. Only a short time passed, but the fear he felt had caused sweat to drench his armpits and his back, and the voice became louder. They blocked his every thought and brought about a massive migraine. Blood flowed from his orifices, but still, he walked. The voice seemed to command his limbs, ignoring his will and dominating his mind.
He had reached a waterfall, but instead of the usual burbling sound, it was the sound of his torment. But at least, that voice no longer controlled him. Looking up the simple villager man saw the shaman's old hut. Upon laying his eyes on it the voice spoke louder, but this time, the man could understand it.
"SACRIFICE YOUNG FIVE"
It demanded a sacrifice. Tas recalled the five bodies that were killed the previous harvest. He quickly returned to the village, to his home. The sun had yet to set, and his wife was finishing supper. Panic was gripping his mind and heart as he paced back and forth.
As supper came and went the voice stayed. Like a haunting nightmare, one just woke up from, vague, persistent, and disturbing. But always in the background.
Tas was only able to briefly shake this feeling due to an argument he had with his wife about the dwindling food.
"The food stores are running low." The woman spoke with an apathetic tone. Tas responded in the same way,
"I know."
"We'll stave before the winter is over."
"I tried looking for something this morning."
"You didn't come