Also as promised, I'll begin posting the stories so you could enjoy them and see what I had to deal with. Keep in mind that all the stories here are entirely fictional, and are abridged versions of the ones you sent me, because I can’t just post those huge texts and keep everyone’s attention, so I’m keeping it to three or four paragraphs.
#1
The winters are harsh and cold in the Laulu village, but even then, the fire takes its toll. When the magistrate started to burn, all the water they had, all the snow around wasn’t enough to contain the fire. The village, with its crude, wooden houses, burned to cinders. The small group of people who survived the terrible fire ended up on their own, without shelter and food. They ventured into the forest, devastated and distraught, and before long they’ve wandered far enough they didn’t even know where the way back home was—and can you blame them? They had no home anymore.
It came as a complete surprise to them when at the sunset they found a wide clearing in the forest, completely devoid of snow. In fact, flowers were blooming amidst the clearing, a few wooden shacks were raised here and there, and a fire was burning merrily in the small pit in the middle of this clearing. People were sitting around the fire, laughing and joking, and a small boar was roasting just above the fire. These people welcomed the poor villagers, and shared their food with them, and gave them a place to sleep. As freezing it was in the rest of the forest, here, on that clearing, it was always warm, and only a little chilly at night. The food wasn’t exotic, but it was in abundance. So the winter passed, and so the villagers were incredibly grateful for such an unexpected turn of events.
It was only on the first day of spring they’ve found out the people they stayed with weren’t as peaceful and welcoming as they thought. As the whole gathering sat around a fire with the sun setting far away, illuminating the tree heads with its blood red light, a few of the younger people brought boars and pigs before the elderly people of the clan. One of them began epileptically pound on a drum the folk brought him, while the rest of the elders said a prayer to the ancient gods for sustaining them for yet another winter, and then proceeded to cut the pigs’ throats, slowly and methodically. And all the while the pigs and boars were squealing, shrieking. The sound was carried through the whole forest—helped by the other members of the clan, who joined in, imitating the pigs shrieks. It was then when the villagers realized they’ve landed in a cult.
The sacrifices were held every day, without a fault. Summer came, and the amount of boars and pigs slaughtered increased. Everyone in the forest could hear the shrieks. Some of the villagers also added their voices to the choir of hoarse cries in sacrifice for the bloodthirsty gods. The cult reveled in blood and shrieks of the animals. In fact, the cult was so overzealous in attempt to please the gods, that when the autumn came, it turned out they accidentally murdered all the wild boars and pigs in the forest near the Laulu village. Yet the temptation of spending the next winter in warmth and safety was so great, they could not resist it. They decided to travel even further north, into the neighboring forest, and found more pigs and boars there. And so the slaughter continued, and as the days passed, more and more villagers joined the cult, until there were no villagers anymore—there were only cultists. As the boars and pigs continued to shriek and die, the winter slowly rolled in, and once again, the clearing the cult was staying at was warm and protected from snow.
And so the eternal cycle went on.