Sorrowmoore, the marsh of the damned. I came across mentions of this place many times during my study. I learned of it through hushed whispers between old men. And folktales told to the children by their mothers. I became fascinated. Obsessed. I searched each corner of the Noxland for those that had any information about the Sorrowmoore. And for a few years, my thoughts were filled with nothing but the morbid curiosity for this hellish glade.
They say the devil dwells here, waiting for those that lose themselves in The Mournewood. So he can strike a deal, and take their souls. If the devil really does exist we are about to meet him.
We’ve made our way several miles along winding trails and through overgrown pathways. To a place I never thought I would see with my own eyes.
“We’re here.” Aurora stops beside a withered old willow, guarding the entrance to The Sorrowmoore. “Mother says the cult eats their victims. Strips them of their flesh while they’re still alive and boils them. My Mother has sent you both to your deaths.”
I steel my eyes and clench my jaw tight. I know what the cult is capable of. What sick atrocities they’ve committed. But I won’t die here. Aurora turns to face us, no sympathy in her eyes. “Should you make it back, seek out my Mother. She’ll be waiting for you.”
I nod and look to Ivar, his expression as hard as my own. Without speaking we make our way forwards under the branches and into The Sorrowmoore. The sounds of our guide’s departure make their way through the willow’s branches. My heart beat quickens as the smell of rot and death fills my nostrils.
Noxious water sits idle, only rippling in response to the creatures lurking in its shallows. The smell of decay is thick, dead mangroves and boil covered corpses emit a stench of rotting flesh. The ground squishes onto our boots as we walk, covering them in a revolting amalgamation of blood and soil. The stories did no justice to this place. We make our way silently through the marsh, looking for any signs of the cult. Ivar breaks the silence with a low whisper.
“There, in the trees.” He motions to a small decaying tree. Hanging in its branches are bones. From what creature I cannot tell, but we’re getting close. As we make our way deeper into the marsh more bone effigies cover the trees, with blood and flesh rotting on their surface. We draw our blades and continue to follow.
A scream pierces the darkness, loud, feminine… human. Ivar and I exchange glances and quicken our pace towards the sound. Again the scream pierces the night, making my blood run cold and my breath quicken. Through the darkness of the Sorrowmoore I make out the silhouette of a woman, kneeling at the base of a tree, clutching something to her chest. We approach, the mud sucking at our boots. My blade raised my eyes flick through the darkness, searching for any sign of ambush.
The woman’s heavy sobbing grows louder with each step. I can see her more clearly now. Sorrow wracks her entire body, shaking and quivering in pain. Long white hair envelopes her form, dancing around her with every shaky breath. I stop dead in my tracks… a Banshee, a hundred feet away from us. She is not a part of the cult’s ranks. Unless they have taken to enslaving even the undead to their unholy religion. If they have, they are far stronger than I thought. We slowly begin to back away from her, keeping our eyes focused on the wailing woman. With each step my breathing gets faster and my heart beat quickens, I’ve seen first hand what horror a Banshee can enact. I glance quickly behind us, our abandoned trail is only a few feet away from us. Before I turn back to the Banshee, I notice something. It’s quiet… no screams or cries echo through the darkness. My heart shoots into my throat, and the sound of my breath is all I can hear. Slowly I turn back towards the Banshee, she’s gone. My eyes dart through the marsh, searching frantically. A scream sounds in the distance, I ready myself. But I’m not quick enough.
The Banshee’s decayed hand is around my throat before I can raise my blade against her. Ivar swings at her but we’ve taken off through the air. She slams me into the soft bark of a tree. Closing her grip around my windpipe. I claw at her hand trying to find purchase, and once I do I pull with all my might. The snap of bone cracks through the air and I fall to the ground gasping for breath. The Banshee screams, lunging for me again, only to catch the blade of Ivar’s greataxe in her skull. The Banshee rears back, letting out an ear piercing scream. I clasp my ears tight as blood begins to run down my neck. All I can hear is an intense ringing, the sound making my vision blur. I think I’m screaming, but I’m not sure.
Heat envelopes me and a bright orange glow flashes in the darkness. The ringing is all I can hear now, but the Banshee has gone quiet once again. I look up to see Aurora, Rhys and Durin standing over its smoldering corpse. Aurora walks calmly over to me, places her hands around my ears, closes her eyes and begins chanting something. My hearing returns rapidly and the bleeding has stopped. She quickly moves to Ivar and does the same.
“I thought you were to return to the coven” I say
“Yes, well. Mother isn’t the only one who has an agenda.”
She walks back to the Banshee and begins rummaging through the ashes for something. Rhys makes his way over to me and offers his hand.
“We figured you two could use some help.” He smiles softly and pulls.
“Well, whatever your motive for saving us… again. Thank you.” Aurora ignores me and continues searching the Banshee. Rhys gives me a nod.
“What the hell were you two thinkin takin on a Banshee? With nothin but steel and your wee littel willies?” Durin asks.
“Getting its attention wasn’t my plan. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t an escaped victim of the cult.”
“No one escapes the cult lad…” He says. His expression saddens. “If they get you, yer as good as dead.” How naive of me to think otherwise. With all my travel, I’ve yet to encounter the cult face to face. Meeting those that have, shines a grim light on the reality of their cruelty.
“We should continue forwards, the cult is close.” Aurora stands and holds up a black vine covered in thorns.
Rhys looks at Aurora concerned.
“Is that Noxbleum?”
She nods and turns away from us, continuing down the trail deeper into the Sorrowmoore. Rhys and Durin exchange a worried look and quickly follow after Aurora.
“Soren was it?” Rhys asks. We’ve taken up camp in a small clearing with just enough dirt to keep us from sinking into the mud. Aurora has placed a magic ward around us, blocking any light or sound from escaping. I stare into the fire, watching the embers pop and float through the air. I nod to Rhys.
“I’m curious Soren. What brought you and your friend here to The Mournewood?” I shift my gaze to Aurora, then to Rhys.
“I’ve got an agenda. Same as you.” He lets out a faint chuckle.
“I see you and Aurora have much in common. Maybe that’s why she likes you.” Aurora glares daggers into Rhys, but he just waves her off. “Only joking. But truly Soren, why risk your life to come here? What’s so important?” I stay silent for a moment. Conjuring up some vague lie to avert his questioning.
Breaking bones cut the conversation short and the sound of hollow moans haunt the air around us. The dead begin to rise. Their blistered, rotting bodies contorting themselves to stand. We draw our weapon and ready ourselves. Though many of them are missing limbs, they are not slow. Aurora rushes to her feet and checks the ward, she turns to Rhys. A panicked look on her face.
“Something dispelled the barrier!”
They dash at us all at once, screaming and gnashing their teeth. Aurora sends out a blast of fire, reducing many of them to cinders. While Ivar and I hack our way through rotting flesh, dismembering them further. Rhys and Durin cover Aurora as she continues to cast her spells. But no matter how many we count down, more just take their place.
One of them lunges at me, and I step to the side slashing its back open but stumbling into another. Latching onto me it rears back to take a bite out of my neck. But before its broken teeth can find purchase. Ivar’s axe finds the creature’s skull with such force it releases me and slams hard into the ground. Ivar retrieves his axe and gives me a nod. We return to the battle, cutting down several more, but all resistance we offer is in vain. We’re surrounded by them, dozens of them. And they are closing in, fast.
“Durin, if we don’t survive this I just want you to know.” Rhys says.
“Donna get all sappy on me now Rhys!”
“You’re the worst blacksmith I know.” They both laugh at the insult and take their final stand. With our backs to each other we each prepare to face our final moments. And then a horn sounds. The sound is deep and rumbling, shaking our bones. The dead surrounding us disperse in frantic fear, falling back into the water. Though our tension does not release. Death has given up its hunt, but something far worse has found us.
“It’s the cult,” Aurora says, her eyes wide with fear. “Run!”
The five of us break into a sprint, the mud sucking at our boots aiding our attacker in slowing us down. The horn sounds again. I look back over my shoulder towards the sound. Three figures fly through the mangroves. Blades extended and screaming like mad banshees. They’re gaining on us and quickly. I begin to warn the others but I smash into the back of Ivar and crash backward into the ground. I slowly push myself to my feet trying to shake away the mild concussion. And then I see what stopped us.
Three cultists block our retreat. They wear tattered black robes, stained with blood. Cruelly curved serrated blades drip poison to the ground. The middle figure raises one blade, directing it to me. My heart begins to beat faster in confused fear. A voice filled with death and corruption pierces our ears.
“Give him to us.”
Aurora, Rhys and Durin look back at me, eyes wild and confused. Aurora hardens her expression and replies.
“Over our dead bodies.” The cultist slowly drops his blade back down to his side.
“So be it.” They rush us, each flailing their blades wildly through the air.
One separates me from my party, pushing me back into a mangrove. I match the swings of its blade, deflecting them away from my body. I parry and go for the opening. But I’m not fast enough, as I lunge, I feel a blade bite into my side. The burn of cold metal sears my flesh. I yell in pain, losing my balance and falling into the dirt. It slowly begins to walk towards me. I crawl backwards in a vain attempt to escape it. It walks slowly, taking its time, savoring my fear. I feel the hard wood of the mangrove behind me and I know my life has come to an end.
Its blades come raining down towards me, I raise my hand to protect myself and a bright flash of light fills the Sorrowmoore. The cultist reels back screaming in pain. As my eyes adjust back to the dark of the marsh, a translucent figure appears behind the cultist. Dressed in sharp black armor, thorned golden vines are embroidered into the fabric. A mask covers all of its face except its menacing red eyes. And in place of a blade it holds a rose. A black rose. Slowly the figure kneels to the ground and plants the rose.
The earth begins to rumble and shake violently. Black vines burst from the ground, entangling the cultists. Twisting around them, their razor sharp thorns ripping through fabric and flesh. I watch in horror as the vines cut and squeeze, the pop and snap of dislocating joints and breaking bones sickens my stomach. The figure stands and makes its way towards me, its steps making no impression in the soft earth. It kneels in front of me, red eyes burning into mine. It says nothing as it raises its hand, producing another rose. It pauses for a moment, admiring the rose, before plucking a petal and holding it out to me.
Hesitantly I reach for the petal, as my hand gets close a bright flash emits from it. I recoil my hand back as searing pain burns deep within it. I yelp in pain, but as quickly as it appeared the burning dissipates. Replaced with a strange numbness. I raise my hand in front of me and see black tattoo-like lines etching themselves into my palm. Forming a single golden petal. I stare at the mark, bewildered and afraid.
“What did you do to me?” I ask. But when I look to the figure, it has vanished. Leaving nothing but the sound of death behind.
My gaze finds a cultist’s eyes. Their yellow bloodshot eyes peer out at me from the shattered mask. They are not panicked, no fear of death exists in them. The vines twist again, cracking and breaking the mask further.
A jagged yellow toothed grin smiles wickedly at me. The sight is something out of a nightmare but I cannot look away. The grin lingers until the vines jerk quickly, swallowing them into the ground. Black blood soaks the earth where the vines erupted. I sit there breathing heavy shaky breaths, trying to calm myself. What the hell just happened? A strong hand grips my shoulder, startling me. Ivar has recovered and is crouched down in front of me. My eyes dart frantically between the calm in his and the blood stained soil.
“She’s not breathing!” Rhys’s frantic voice snaps me out of my delusion. He’s kneeling besides Aurora compressing her chest rhythmically. Durin kneels at her head, acting as her lungs. Ivar pulls me to my feet and we rush over. Between compressions Rhys gives command.
“Soren, in my bag there is a vial of red liquid with a cork in it. Fetch it, quickly!” I grab the bag and fling it open, searching frantically for the potion but finding nothing.
“Hurry Soren!” I dig deeper into the bag, taking no care with the other items. Finally I find the vial and hurry to Aurora’s side opposite of Rhys.
“Good. Now, tilt her head up and pour the liquid into her mouth.” I take her head in my hand and follow Rhys’s instructions. Once the vial is empty I set it aside. Yearning for her eyes to open. She may be a witch, but she saved my life. And whether that was of her own accord or not, I do not wish to repay her with death. It feels like an eternity goes by, all of us staring at her lifeless body. I see Durin move to touch her neck with his fingers. He holds them there for a moment, a shimmer forming in his eyes.
“Rhys…”
“No, Durin. This will work.” Rhys’s expression is cold and firm. Showing no sign of worry. Coughs and convulsions rack her body as life returns to it. Her eyes wide in shock and fear. Her breathing is heavy as the coughing and shaking subside. And then her gaze finds mine, and the fury returns.
“Why did they want you?!” She rises quickly, standing over me. Rage radiating off of her.
“I don’t know.” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
“Bullshit, you came here for a reason. You know exactly what they’re after. What are you hiding?!” Her hand flicks out to her side and a molten ball of fire burns above it. “Do not lie to me, or I will burn you to ash.” My mind races, what do I tell her? I don’t have an answer.
“Aurora. Truly, I do not know what they want.” Her eyes go dark and she becomes lost in rage. She roars as she raises her hand to incinerate me. But before she can burn me alive, Ivar appears in front of me and Rhys catches her wrist. Her glare blazes hotter than her conjured fire into Ivar.
“Aurora. He is telling the truth” Rhys says.
“The hell he is!” She fights against Rhys’s grip violently. A sudden splash of water extinguishes the conjured fire. I look down to see Durin holding a small bucket, looking up at Aurora with a worried expression. Rhys slips in front of Aurora, gently cupping each side of her face.
“Aurora, look at me. Look at me. It’s over. We’re safe now.” His soft stare pierces through her wall of rage. She drops her hands to her side and collapses into him. The two stand there silently, Aurora’s chest shaking from sobs. Ivar turns to me and once again offers me a hand. I yelp as I pull. I had forgotten about the gash on my side. The rust filled wound burns, and I hold pressure to it, trying to alleviate the pain. I give a wincing smile and he nods to the edge of the water, beckoning me to follow.
“The vines, where did they come from?”
I look out towards the foggy waters of the Sorrowmore, running my thumb over the mark.
“I saw it, Ivar… I saw The Black Rose.”
