The Journey Begin

Ethan hadn't slept much after the events of the previous night. His mind was filled with questions, and the disturbing encounter with the mad villager left a deep unease in his chest.

After gathering his thoughts, Ethan knew he had to speak with the elder. He needed answers.

As he made his way through the village, the familiar sounds of morning filled the air, roosters crowing, villagers going about their day. But there was still a lingering tension in the village, an unspoken fear after the attack by the pillagers and the sinister actions of the mad villager.

Ethan reached the elder's home, a modest structure near the center of the village. The door was slightly ajar, and Ethan knocked softly before entering.

The elder, an older man with a long white beard, sat at a small wooden table. He looked up as Ethan entered, his eyes tired but kind.

"Ah, Ethan," the elder said, his voice gravelly with age. "I had a feeling you'd come this morning."

Ethan sat across from him. "Something happened last night."

The elder nodded slowly. "I heard whispers… villagers speaking of dark things."

Ethan took a deep breath and began explaining everything, the mad villager, the army of undead, and the disturbing revelation that someone had given the villager the power to control the mobs.

When Ethan finished, the elder's expression was grave. "This is troubling news," the elder said. "I had hoped the worst was behind us after the pillagers were defeated, but it seems there are darker forces at play."

"Do you know anything about this?" Ethan asked, leaning forward. "Who could have given him this power?"

The elder shook his head. "I wish I had the answers you seek, but this is beyond anything I've seen in my time. The ability to control the undead, to wield such dark magic… it's unheard of in our world."

Ethan frowned. "There has to be someone who knows more."

The elder was silent for a moment, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Then, as if remembering something, his eyes brightened slightly. "There is one who might know. She's not to be trusted, but she may have knowledge of the dark arts."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"The witch," the elder said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "She lives in the swamp, far from here. She's powerful, dangerous, but if anyone knows about dark magic, it would be her."

Ethan felt a surge of hope. "How do I find her?"

The elder stood slowly and moved to a dusty shelf, pulling down an old scroll. He unrolled it on the table, revealing a map. It was worn, with faded markings, but Ethan could clearly make out a path leading from the village to a distant swamp.

"This map will guide you to her," the elder said, pointing to the swamp biome on the map. "It's a long journey, and you must be cautious. The swamp is a treacherous place."

Ethan studied the map, committing the path to memory. "Thank you."

The elder placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "Be careful, Ethan. I fear this journey may lead you deeper into darkness than you realize."

Ethan spent the next few hours preparing for his journey. He packed his essentials, his sword, some food, and the supplies he would need for the long trek. The thought of facing a witch was unsettling, but he knew it was the only way to get the answers he needed.

As he packed, a few villagers approached him. They had heard about his journey, and though they were fearful, they wanted to help.

One of the villagers, a farmer, handed Ethan a sack of bread. "You'll need food for the road. This should keep you going for a while."

Another villager, a blacksmith, offered Ethan a shield. "I made this after hearing about your battle with the pillagers. It's strong, should protect you from whatever you face out there."

Ethan smiled, grateful for the support. "Thank you. I'll make sure to put it to good use."

As word spread through the village, more villagers came to wish him well. Some offered small tokens, like healing potions or arrows, while others simply offered their prayers for his safety.

By midday, Ethan was ready to leave. The village gathered at the entrance, watching as he prepared to set off on his journey. The elder approached him one last time, placing a hand on his arm.

"Remember," the elder said quietly, "the witch is dangerous. Do not trust her blindly, but listen carefully. She may hold the key to understanding what's happening."

Ethan nodded. "I'll be careful."

The elder pressed a small vial into Ethan's hand. "This is a potion of healing. Take it with you, just in case."

Ethan slipped the vial into his pack. "Thank you."

With one last glance at the village, Ethan turned and began walking down the path that led into the wilderness. The villagers watched in silence as he disappeared over the horizon.

The journey to the swamp was long and uneventful at first. Ethan followed the map closely, making his way through forests, across rivers, and over hills. The landscape shifted gradually, the trees growing denser, the ground becoming wetter and more difficult to traverse.

By the time he reached the edge of the swamp, the sun was beginning to set. The air was thick with humidity, and the buzzing of insects filled the air. The ground beneath his feet was soft and muddy, and the smell of decaying plants hung heavy in the air.

Ethan paused for a moment, studying the map. The witch's hut was deep within the swamp, hidden among the twisted trees and murky waters. He steeled himself, knowing that the journey was only going to get more dangerous from here.

As he ventured deeper into the swamp, the sounds of the forest faded, replaced by the eerie stillness of the swamp. The trees grew taller and more twisted, their branches reaching out like skeletal arms. The waterlogged ground made it difficult to move quickly, and Ethan found himself constantly on guard, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The bread and shield from the villagers were a comfort to him, reminding him that he wasn't entirely alone. The shield, especially, gave him a sense of security. He had no idea what dangers lurked in the swamp, but he felt ready to face them.

As night began to fall, the swamp grew even more sinister. Strange sounds echoed through the trees, unfamiliar creatures stirring in the shadows. Ethan kept his pace steady, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger.

Finally, as the last light of the day faded, he caught sight of a small, crooked hut in the distance. It sat on stilts above the murky water, with a rickety staircase leading up to the entrance. The witch's hut.

Ethan stopped a safe distance away, his heart pounding in his chest. He had reached his destination, but now came the real challenge, facing the witch and finding out what she knew.

He took a deep breath, gripping the handle of his sword as he prepared to approach the hut.

The villagers had sent him off with gifts, but now, Ethan was on his own. Whatever answers the witch held, he would have to face her alone.