Mordremoth's Hold

A storm lingers on the horizon, it’s dark mass approaching. Aisling stands, curious, waiting for it’s rain to hit, for the stars around her to become obscured. There isn’t any rain, nor blackening of the sky. Flares of lightning sustain, instead of flashing quickly, they burn red through this shadow. The thunder echoes through her core, loud and commanding. Cumulonimbus in shape, Aisling faces it.

Unmoving, unafraid, alone. Aisling lets the cloud envelope her. It’s form licks at her sides, threads of it unravel to curl around her, thick vines binding her willing form. Aisling is a part of it, and it is pleased, smiling through her entire form. The trees around her seem to breath with her, and every step is supported, paths unfurling along with her gait.

This forest lives, and she lives for it. Each step pleases it. It murmurs low, pressing itself against her cheek to whisper instructions. Aisling smiles, happy to please it. She would go wherever this forest willed her. It knows what’s best for her, it could never lead her astray.

Footsteps sounded through the undergrowth. Aisling couldn’t see them, but she knew the forest could, it would ascertain their purpose. Standing still, she heard stolen scraps of conversation, she couldn’t understand a word. He pressed his lips behind her ear to whisper. Humans. Charr. Intruders here. Aisling turned to face the intruders, her bow emerged from the lush green around her. Taking hold of it, she pulls an arrow against her cheek and focusses. He moves around her, pulling back vines and brush to reveal a new encampment. A human and a charr gather together to light a fire. A man takes watch, large, perhaps norn. Each camper is decked in full armor, shining with the same sigils.

The soldiers couldn’t see her, the distance far too great. It was an easy internal calculation, the angle to fire from to mortally wound them. Aisling assumed position, took a deep breath, and waited for his affirmation. He pulled back her hand and released, aim true.

The norn fell, arrow protruding from his right eye. The charr snapped his head around to notice his ally fall, roaring in that familiar, garbled tongue. The human pulled a small bow from her back, squinting through the trees to spot Aisling; unsuccessful as a second arrow pierces her throat. Mechanically reaching for her third arrow, the charr draws a sword, and starts running shield first towards Aisling.

She struggles to land a shot, firing three times, each arrow clanging from the shield as the charr anticipates the attacks. The sword comes swinging through the brush, inches from Aisling as she pulls back, loading another arrow. A rumble of thunder, the earth cracks beneath the charr’s feet. Vines entangle the hulking feline body, affording Aisling an opening. She aims an arrow under his chin, on release it lodged itself firmly in his brain.

Stillness now, air quiet but for the last gurgle of breath leaving the charr’s body. Aisling stood still, bow held firm, calm breaths, steady pulse. His low laugh sounds from the brush around her, vines pull her arms to her sides. It was so lush, too green. the air heavy with the smells of rotting trees and intoxicating pollens. Red pooled below her feet, his breath at her ear, both ears. Vines crawled their way across her body. He was all around and inside her.

Good girl.

Too close. Aisling reeled, vines tightening around her limbs, inside her lungs. She tried to scream, to claw her way out, but the forest folded onto her. She had been sucked into it and it would consume her from the inside out.

There was no light here, only Mordremoth’s will, and he screamed at her, shrill and terrifying. A scream loud enough to wake her.

And she did, sweating and panting, thrashing against nothing. Mother cradling her in her warmth, Aisling pushed away from the Pale Tree’s embrace, crawling out from between her roots. A whine sounded nearby, Aisling’s white wolf had stood over her while she slept. Shiranui watched her, tentative. How many nights had she awoke to find the wolf spooked by her violent dreams.

While the Grove offered sanctuary in her conscious state, when she slipped into her dreams, Mordremoth was ever present. Though he had left the living world, he had left a noxious seed inside Aisling’s mind, and nothing could uproot it. 

~~~

A little dream sequence I wrote  for my main roleplay character on Guild Wars 2. She had been controlled by Mordremoth in the HoT story, and that shit haunts her. 

I drew the illustration to accompany it, taking inspiration from the Dragon Age Inquisition tarot cards.