Blightborn Prophecy

The dense canopy of Sylvanshade shrouded the group in murky twilight. Slivers of fading sun pierced the foliage, painting shifting shadows across the forest floor.

Aeremis moved like a phantom. Standing at least two heads above most, their jet-black skin was etched with glowing white sigils. A braided silver mohawk spilled between their shoulders. Androgynous in their natural form, Verispellians did not come equipped with tits or cocks, just the lean suggestion of a body sculpted by gods too drunk to bother with details. They wore no armor, just a mantle of duskweave and bone, fastened at the throat with the fang of something long extinct.

Behind Aeremis, Eckhart “Marrow” Trevalier— a Caelish-born pirate— trudged with a determined pace. His armor clinked softly with each step. Ynaya Thurnbrush–Caelish princess and chosen Ascendant of High Matron Dramida –checked their perimeter. Her daggers glinted briefly as she trotted along.

Tension thickened as legends of Sylvanshade's curse slithered through sentient vines.

“I still can’t believe you convinced me to come to this gods-forsaken place,” Marrow grumbled from atop his destrier, wiping the sweat from his brow. “And with a palace brat, no less,” he jeered. “No offense, majesty.”

“Quit your bitching, pirate. You’re getting paid well enough,” Ynaya retorted with a smirk. She was unapologetically unfazed by the fragility of the male ego.

“Bad enough to be seen with sky-vermin, but we just love to add insult to injury don’t we?”

“Sky-vermin?” Ynaya scoffed. “Fuck’s sake, Marrow, your insults are older than your dusty bones.”

They'd hunted together more than a dozen times—insults were the currency of their camaraderie, forged in blood and near-death.

Aeremis glanced back, eyes hard. “Focus. We’re close.”

The crossbow, Shadowfang, was situated on the shapeshifter’s back. Crafted from the bones of mythic creatures and infused with ancient magic, Shadowfang was a sleek, lethal extension of its wielder.

The forest trembled again.

Marrow adjusted his grip on the reins. “Aye, boss. Lead on.”

They pushed deeper. The trees thickened, light dimmed, and the ground began to quake—subtle, steady, like a heartbeat beneath earth.

Ynaya yanked her garron to a halt, raising a hand. “You hear that?”

Aeremis froze. Shadowfang thrummed softly, sensing the shift.

“I heard it too,” Marrow murmured.

Aeremis signaled for silence, spreading them out. The woods fell unnaturally still—no birdsong, no chittering insects. Only tremors. Rhythmic. Approaching.

They broke into a clearing soaked in crimson light. At its center: a towering, blood-soaked tree, its leaves drooping like funeral veils. Scattered around it—mutilated, blighted Elves, flesh carved with glowing sigils, limbs bent wrong, faces frozen in torment.

“I’ll be damned,” Marrow muttered, as he stepped around the corpses. “What the hell happened here?”

Ynaya clenched her jaw, daggers at the ready. “They’re called the Deathmaw cult. What’s left of the blighted elves after the fall of the Titans.”

Aeremis approached the tree, their grip tightening, the enchanted crossbow pulsing with an ominous hum. The ground beneath their feet seemed to throb with a malevolent energy, a lingering echo of the violence that had stained the clearing.

“We’re not alone,” Aeremis said quietly. “Whatever did this is still out there.”

At Eolindir’s base, the ground convulsed. A fissure cracked open with a thunderous roar. The ground shook violently, nearly knocking them off their feet.

Ynaya gasped, her eyes wide with fear and awe. “What in the hell is this place?”

Aeremis stepped forward, their crossbow at the ready. Shadowfang released a thin mist that wrapped around the arrows, enhancing their targeting and piercing power. “Stay close. I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

The silence of the forest intensified as Aeremis’s pointed ears perked.

Suddenly, the ground split open with a deafening roar. From it rose a beast: tall as three men, cloaked in rusted armor that wept pus. Its skin black and cracked, veined with rot. Eyes burning like furnace coals.

A chain-flail uncoiled from its wrist, dragging bones in its wake.

“Shadowfang, guide my arrow.”

Aeremis fired.

The bolt shrieked through the air, sheathed in black mist. It pierced a seam in the armor with a wet crunch. The beast roared in rage.

The flail lashed out.

It smashed into Marrow’s ribs with a bone-splintering crunch, hurling him like a rag doll. Blood geysered from his mouth.

Aeremis blurred—flesh turning smoke. They became wraith, darting and whispering, haunting the Blood Elf’s periphery. As the giant swung at Aeremis, his weapon connected with Marrow's chest.

Ynaya shrieked, diving to Marrow’s crumpled form. She slapped a glowing salve onto the gaping wound, sealing ruptured flesh that bubbled like lava.

“Get up, soldier!” she roared. “Don’t you fucking die!”

Marrow growled through shattered teeth, staggering to his feet, blood dripping from his chin.

Aeremis shifted again—bones snapping, sinew twisting. A direwolf emerged, taller than a horse, eyes ablaze with ghostfire. They lunged—fangs shredding tendon, ripping through hamstrings with feral glee.

The beast roared. Black ichor sprayed in torrents.

Blood splattered in crimson arcs as weapons clashed and wounds deepened. The quakes intensified, the ground beneath them heaving with each blow exchanged. Aeremis tore into the creature’s flesh with primal savagery, ripping sinew and bone. They shook the excess blood from their fur and shifted back into their natural form, ready to shoot again.

Marrow and Ynaya coordinated their attacks. Marrow lunged. Ynaya danced beneath a swing and drove her dagger into its neck. Blood—black and boiling—poured as the beast thrashed, then crumpled into a bubbling mass of steaming pulp.

Aeremis lowered their bow, their breath coming in ragged gasps.

Marrow finally caught his breath enough to joke, “Y’know, I really didn’t peg you as much of a fighter, Ynaya.”

She shot him a wry grin. “Well maybe you should leave the fighting, and pegging, to me.” She chuckled.

“What in the seven hells was that thing anyway?” Marrow panted, leaning heavily on his sword.

“Blood Elf,” Aeremis replied. “They should've died with the Blight.”

“Apparently not all of them,” Ynaya muttered, eyeing the mountains. “And this shit’s only getting worse.”

They pressed on. The air turned sharp, the path treacherous. Everything breathed. Everything writhed.

As they stepped into a clearing just beyond the border of the cursed forest, the air grew colder. The rocky pass twisted and turned, leading deeper into the mountain's core.

Suddenly, the tunnel widened into a cavern bathed in an eerie blue light. At its center, a group of figures clad in arcane robes stood in a circle, their hands glowing with mystical energy as they chanted in an ancient tongue. Before them, the rock face shimmered and shifted, responding to their incantations.

Aeremis, Marrow, and Ynaya froze in horror as the woman's body contorted, her belly swelling and rippling. Her body spasmed. Her belly stretched unnaturally, writhing.

Then something began to emerge.

Tentacles tore from her pelvis, soaked in bile. Bones snapped as her spine arched unnaturally. Something clawed its way from her, shrieking in alien rage.

A malformed creature slithered out—eight limbs, teeth where its eyes should be, wings of bone and blood.

“What in all the flaming fucks is that!” Marrow choked.

“We need to go,” Aeremis said.

But the chanting rose. Dark magic thundered through the cavern.

The newborn beast snapped its umbilical cord with a roar. It grew—twisting, writhing, pulling its wet bulk onto the altar.

“RUN!” Ynaya screamed.

Too late.

The thing leapt. Its tentacles slammed into the rock, tearing chunks free. Its wails shredded their senses.

They ran. Aeremis turned panther, bolting through narrow passages. Marrow and Ynaya mounted and galloped.

Behind them, the mountain screamed, then went silent.

Darkness swallowed their trail.

“I have to warn the Council,” Ynaya panted.

Aeremis nodded, eyes grim. “It’s already begun.”

Marrow looked back once. “Gods help us.”

Aeremis didn’t answer. Because the gods were dead—and something else had taken their place.