Gordon's hopes for a serene forest patrol were quickly dashed. The reality was far from idyllic. The dense foliage, while providing a welcome change from the village streets, also harbored a relentless swarm of insects. Mosquitoes buzzed around his head, their high-pitched whine a constant irritation. Gnats swarmed his face, and biting flies nipped at his exposed skin.
"Ugh," he muttered, swatting at a particularly persistent mosquito. "This is worse than patrolling the village." He scratched at a growing welt on his arm, his frustration mounting. The forest, he realized, was not a peaceful escape, but a battleground against an army of tiny, bloodthirsty foes.
To add insult to injury, Gordon realized he'd have to buy some anti-bug ointment. "Of course," he grumbled, swatting another mosquito, "just my luck." He pictured the small bottle of ointment, the price tag that was probably inflated due to the village's current troubles. "It should be free," he muttered. "This is a work hazard! The guild should be providing this." He continued his patrol, the buzzing and biting a constant reminder of the unfairness of it all.
Gordon's fingers twitched, a familiar urge rising within him. He could easily summon a gust of wind, a miniature whirlwind, to disperse the swarming insects. The thought was tempting, a momentary reprieve from the relentless biting.
But then, he remembered the screams and he hesitated, his hand falling back to his side. He didn't want to deal with it now, not for a few annoying bugs.
"No," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. "I'll endure it." He clenched his jaw, determined to withstand the onslaught. The price of silence was worth a few bug bites.
As Gordon trudged through the forest, swatting at the persistent insects, he spotted Edi approaching from the opposite direction.
"Hey, Gordon," Edi greeted him, his expression concerned. "Why are you scratching so much?"
"Bug bites," Gordon grumbled, scratching at a particularly itchy welt on his arm.
Edi shook his head, a hint of exasperation in his eyes. "Why don't you use bug repellent?"
"Didn't have the money to buy any," Gordon replied, his tone laced with a hint of stubbornness. He had the money, technically, but he still felt it was an unfair expense. He was on guild duty, for crying out loud. The guild should provide the repellent.
Edi raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn't press the issue. He knew Gordon could be stubborn when he wanted to be.
Edi shook his head again, a sigh escaping his lips. He knew Gordon could be a bit absentminded at times, and he didn't hold it against him. As a senior hunter, he felt it was his duty to guide and mentor the younger members.
He reached into a small pouch made of animal skin and opened it, revealing a container of bug repellent. He held it out to Gordon. "Here," he said.
"This is different from the one at the guild," Gordon observed, examining the homemade concoction.
"That's because that's the fancy stuff, usually for guests," Edi explained. "We hunters make our own bug repellent."
"Wow, you're so smart," Gordon exclaimed, genuinely impressed.
"It's not about being smart," Edi chuckled. "We have education sessions every Friday afternoon where we learn how to make useful things for our duties, including this bug repellent."
"Really?" Gordon asked, his eyes widening with excitement.
"Yes," Edi said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And I told you about it when you were on trial."
A wave of awkwardness washed over Gordon as Edi reminded him of the orientation session. He gave Edi a sheepish smile, a silent apology for his forgetfulness. Fortunately, Edi wasn't angry, he simply shrugged it off and shared his homemade bug repellent.
Gordon applied the ointment liberally, and almost immediately, the buzzing and biting subsided. He sighed in relief, a sense of peace settling over him. He thanked Edi profusely, and they parted ways, each continuing their respective patrols.
Gordon walked through the forest with a sense of leisure, finally free from the relentless insect assault. The peace was a welcome change, allowing him to focus on his surroundings and his duties, rather than constantly swatting at bugs.
As Gordon strolled through the now-peaceful forest, his mind drifted back to his confrontation with the high priest. He remembered the intense surge of power, the way his body had been suffused with light, a radiant defense against the dark sorcerer. He wondered if he could replicate that feat, if he could control the light within him.
He closed his eyes, focusing his energy, trying to summon the same brilliant luminescence. He tried to imagine the light, to feel its presence within him, but nothing happened. He opened his eyes, a flicker of frustration passing over his face.
He tried again, and again, but the light remained elusive. He couldn't understand it. He had generated the light instinctively during the fight, but now, with conscious effort, he couldn't summon it at all. How did I do it back then? he wondered. What triggered it? He was missing something, a crucial piece of the puzzle.
A thought flickered through Gordon's mind: he needed to read more, to delve deeper into the mysteries of magic and the soul. He had a feeling that the answers he sought lay hidden within the pages of books. But the idea of spending hours poring over dusty tomes filled him with a sense of weariness.
Maybe the high priest's soul will give me the necessary knowledge, he reasoned, trying to justify his laziness. He knew that consuming souls was a dark path, a path that could lead to damnation. But it was done, the deed was complete. Worrying about it wouldn't change anything.
He still shuddered at the memory of consuming the high priest's soul, the grotesque act that had forever branded his soul and mind. He had to accept it, to come to terms with the reality of his situation. He was no longer the same Gordon he once was. He was something different, something... more or maybe less. And he had to learn to live with it, to navigate this new, unsettling reality.
Yet, despite the unsettling aspects of his newfound abilities, Gordon couldn't deny that he loved his power. It allowed him to do incredible things, to protect his village, to face dangers that would have overwhelmed him before. The sheer potential of his abilities filled him with a sense of awe.
However, the constant barrage of screams that accompanied his power was a significant drawback. He couldn't fully embrace his power while those screams lingered, a constant, agonizing soundtrack to his existence.
He knew he had to find a way to silence them. He had to find a way to control the voices, to separate himself from the suffering they represented. He had to find a way to wield his power without being haunted by the screams.
Gordon pondered the problem, his mind racing. How? he wondered. How do I silence the screams?
Then, a potential solution sparked in his mind. Could he do it like he had done in Thomas's house? Could he call upon his power in its entirety, then, before the screams could fully manifest, unleash it in a powerful burst? A quick, decisive strike, followed by a release. Then, repeat the process, a series of rapid bursts of power.
He imagined it, a controlled surge, a swift release, a brief moment of silence before the next surge. It was a risky strategy, a delicate balancing act, but it had potential. He could potentially minimize the screams by controlling the flow of his power, by releasing it before the cacophony could reach its peak.
Hmm... it has potential, he thought, a flicker of hope igniting within him. It was worth a try, at least. He would have to experiment, to practice, to fine-tune his control.
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Bertha sat at her desk, a stack of papers in front of her, and a bewildered Fred standing awkwardly beside her. She had decided to test the literacy of her goat herders, hoping to find a suitable candidate for her new field agent position. Fred, a kind but simple man, was currently struggling to read a basic passage from one of her reports.
"Okay, Fred," Bertha said, trying to maintain a professional tone, "just read the next sentence aloud."
Fred squinted at the paper, his lips moving silently as he tried to decipher the words. "The... the... sh-sh-shadow... wood... cult... is... uh..." He trailed off, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Cult," Bertha prompted, trying to keep her patience. "It's pronounced 'cult.'"
"Cult," Fred repeated, nodding slowly. "The cult... is... uh... dan... ger... ous?"
"Dangerous," Bertha confirmed, trying to ignore the awkward silence that followed. "Now, the next sentence."
Fred's eyes widened slightly. "Next... sen... tence?" He looked at Bertha, a mixture of confusion and mild panic on his face. "But... but why? I'm just here to milk the goats."
"This is a test, Fred," Bertha explained, trying to sound encouraging. "It's important for this... new position."
"New position?" Fred asked, his confusion deepening. "But... but I like milking the goats. They're very... calming."
Bertha sighed inwardly. This was going to be more difficult than she thought. "Just try your best, Fred," she said, forcing a smile. "Just read the next sentence."
Fred, clearly flustered, returned his attention to the paper, his reading growing increasingly slow and halting. The interaction was a strange mix of awkwardness and mild frustration, with Bertha trying to maintain a professional facade and Fred struggling to understand why his reading skills had anything to do with his goat-milking abilities.