18. The Blight Mother
The Blight Mother
There, there, there. It is there, there, there. I feel it lingering unnaturally as I always do—man always tries to find ways to thwart the natural order of things. They take and they take, from the earth, from their women, from those who cannot protect themselves. They are creatures built to take.
Not everyone takes, Vireth defends. Some protect. Some create. Some nurture. These, too, are things in balance. If you wipe everything out, you will take away the good.
I care not for the exceptions to the rules. I am here to make the world right again—starting with this unnatural disruption hidden shamefully below the seat of power in Valehar. Then, onward to all the places that the imbalance has spread—helped along by greed and deception.
Years ago, it began. A throb—an ache—a pulse of pain at someone’s behest. Someone was determined to reverse the natural order of things and oh, how they succeeded. And oh, how they failed.
The valley spread below me slowly gives way to distant fields of perfectly inedible crops. Once, this land was all meadows and small copses of birch, but it’s been cut back and plowed over to feed the humans. Now, it is land that cannot feed anyone.
The dripping black ichor that slips from my fingertips falls to the soil around my skeletal mount’s feet, but the ground quickly snaps back to unmarred perfection—not even my power is strong enough to seize this stagnation and wrench it from the soil.
Not without first getting at the root of it and yanking it out. Then, my magic—Vireth’s magic, aided by my power—can take hold.
I will wipe this mistake from the maps.
I will turn over this land anew.
The rot and the ruin show mercy to no one.
And nor do I.