Betrayal of Sanity

Ailac’s hand went to his face instinctively; feeling for the marks he knew should be there. Yet his face remained smooth, unmarked as if nothing had happened. Slowly his eyes took in the scene, the clearing with its long flowing grass, the tiny cliff next to him, now blanketed in the darkness of night. He was back now, in the clearing where last his body had convulsed into searing heat. ‘Just an image…. A trick of the Nightmare,’ he thought with a relieved sigh, letting his hand fall from his face and his eyes drift down to the ground.

The green and brown leather garb lay at his feet, nestled in tall grass wilted brown and dead. Black moss creeping through the limp blades, flecked with putrescent shades of yellow and red. A chill wind cut through the clearing, scattering the dust from its pile amidst the robes, carrying it silently over the edge and into the night air.

Ailac leapt back from the garb as if it were a coiled viper awaiting its prey, his foot sending small pebbles tumbling off the edge of the cliff in his haste. Ailac had to twist to keep himself from falling over, scrambling for any kind of hold amongst the deadened grass. Sticky puss flowed from the rot in between his fingers, the smell of blood, week old blood washing over his sense. Ailac turned his head, looking back behind him to see Neyeeva’s garb lying amidst the rot. Overwhelmed, Ailac forced his head over the cliff, his stomach heaving itself dry of the sickness boiling within him.

Ailac lay there until the last of his spasms emptied from his body. Images whirled through his head as he peered down into the mist below the face of the cliff. ‘This can’t be real,” Ailac slowly thought, drawing deep breaths to calm himself. “No. This is the Emerald Dream. This rot…. The Nightmare.” Ailac dragged his hands back to grip the cliff face tightly, pulling up to his hands and knees. “I must find Xaneria. I will not succumb again.”

Slowly, steeling his resolve he drew himself to his feet, taking long slow strides away from the rot and corruption seeping into the clearing. As he walked his steps becoming faster as he walked, more purposeful until between one step and the next he vanished from the night.

Pale light filtered down from between the treetops, casing the earth below into gentle shadows beneath a fine mist of swirling verdant colour. Tall trees elevated atop rising hills rimmed the large expanse of the glade, at its centre a large lake shimmered beneath the faint light. Sparse trees dotted the land around the lake, growing between tiny rivers flowing from the North and in small thickets clinging near the edge, leaving soft flowing grasses to blanket the shores of the lake, dotted with wildflowers of every colour in tiny clumps. This was the Moonglade, sacred to the people of the Night Elves, yet it was not. No buildings lined the Northern shore of the lake, not even grown from the living wood as they had been. No ruined pillars, no hollowed alcoves. The glade lay quiet, bathed in natural splendor untouched by any hand.

Ailac stopped, his foot falling softly amidst the lush grass before the shoreline. The peaceful air wrapping him in its warmth, easing knots from his shoulders with its familiarity. His eyes drank in the peaceful scene, immediately recognizable even in this alternate plane. Weeks he had spent here, letting the soft power of the land flow into him and build his strength. Its tranquility washing into his mind to fight off the bouts of Nightmare that plagued him, the whole reason they had wound up in the dream. It was here he had first met Xaneria; here he would begin his search.

Ailac’s hand reached down instinctively, ready to grasp out of the roots of this place. Hot flashes of memory invaded his mind, of him writing on the ground of the clearing covered in bloodlike vines. His hand recoiled, thinking better of such an attempt again. Instead he stepped forward, moving around towards the West of the lake. Wisps and glowing, incorporeal fey creatures danced along the air about him. The creatures curiously dancing in to brush against his arms and chest, tugging his hair lightly before darting off with a sound of mirth. Deer and rabbits strolled through this plane without a care, unafraid of the intruder into their territory. Ailac paid it all no mind, walking the length of the shore with eyes searching.

Ailac searched the entirety of the glade, leaving nothing unturned before slowly sinking his back down beside a large tree, gazing into the lake. Amber eyes gazed up from his reflection, staring into him with a troubled gaze. There had been no signs that Xaneria had been within the glade; nothing other than the tracks of beings native to this forest. Slowly Ailac closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the rough bark, “Where could she have gone… It’s not safe.”

“You could not even hold the corruption within yourself? How weak and sick a fawn are you that you consume those who attempt to save your feeble life?

Ailac whipped his head about in shock, the exact words not filtering in. Behind him stood Cenias, his dark brown leathers blending in with the bark rooted into his shoulders. His face was frowned, looking down with contempt. “Cenias, it-“ Ailac trailed off, suddenly registering the words in his head.


“Look at you wallowing in your self-pity.” Cenias took a step forward, folding his arms across his chest while speaking with a chill matter of fact tone. “You are nothing but a drowning child, reaching out for those helping you, clinging to them, and causing them both to drown. How many more times will you take Xaneria's life in your hands? Protect? She was safer with Sadris.”

“Cenias…. No, I never meant...” Ailac rose from the ground, his voice trembling. Here stood his mentor in the ways of the Claw; the druid whom had shared the sleep cycle with him, tending the Dreamways for centuries, here stood his friend. Looking him in the eye with disgust.

“Never meant to what? To hurt anyone? Oh but do you not long for such sweet release.” The voice came from nowhere, tickling the back of Ailac’s mind, caressing it gently with a lover’s touch.

“I will not hurt anyone,” he said firmly, his hands clenched tight into fists.

“Of course not…” Cenias started, pausing to stare coldly into Ailac’s eyes. “But look what you have brought down upon us. Pain, corruption and sorrow grow from you. What good have you done? If you never meant to hurt anyone then why is that that Falore Xaneria is not with you? Why have you not found her yet?”

“What does he know, the fool. Listen to him, his mind drips with hatred. You don’t deserve this.”

“She was scared… overwhelmed by the dream. I came here in search of her.”

“Yes overwhelmed, overwhelmed by the filth seeping from you. The rot and corruption grow upon you, seeping out to taint those about you. Look around you, do you not see it? Are you as blind as she? She should have run long ago, just looking at you makes me feel unclean.”

Ailac stared in mute horror, the pain of the words slicing into him. Dropping his eyes down in pain then he did truly see it. All about him the black rot seeped, weighing upon the grass of the glade. Pristine flowers curled and wilted from dark crimson flecks, dripping tears of melted petals upon the writhing ground. Roots pulsed and bulged from the ground, plagued by creeping ebony vines. Corruption and rot spread about him, fanning out over the once tranquil ground, all roots leading back to his feet.

“Violence, anger. You feel them flowing through you. Why not let it carry you away? Who is he to judge you, to sit and mock you?” Black vines danced across Ailac’s eyes, writhing with pleasure.

“Do you know why everyone is so desperate to help you? Why everyone is being so adamant to bring you back from the brink of corruption? They don't want to help you; they are trying to stop you. You are a weapon, Ailac, a catalyst of the Nightmare. A putrid dog filled with poisonous gas that everyone is trying to release pressure on so they can safely put it down.”

“No! You are wrong! I am not a weapon!” Ailac forced his eyes shut screaming his denial.

“Yes, you are. You’re mine now.” The voice hissed into his ear, raspy but filled with immense satisfaction. Ailac’s eyes forced open, staring at the thick vine of corruption before his eyes, violet and crimson pulsed along its length, but at the tip it widened out into a large bulb, a curved opening like a mouth twisted in a satisfied smirk, before snapping to disappear in Ailac’s face.

Cenias groaned in pain, a warm stickiness enveloped Ailac’s fingers drawing his eyes downwards. His mind recoiled, crying out in protest, yet his blackened eyes and face twisted into a grin. The dagger was buried to the hilt, driven through the leather carapace below Cenias’ navel, hot blood spilling forth over the hilt. Vines dug into flesh around Cenias’ feet and wrists, tearing through leather armor and keeping him in place with arms spread unable to move.

Leather creaked and groaned under the force of the blade, bark plating snapping loudly. Yet the sounds came through muffled, drowned out by the cry of agony from the male druid, hidden beneath the tearing of flesh by cold steel. Blood flowed like a river, spilling forth to fall to the ground, lapped up by the corrupt moss. Ailac’s arm brought the dagger upward, feeling it slice through Cenias abdomen, the wet blood lubricating the blade as it tore through muscle and intestine. The stench of blood and gasses filled Ailac’s nose, flooding his mind, yet the smile only grew.

The breaking of bone shattered the silence of the glade, each rib splitting with a sickening resistance, sending blood forth in surges to splay across Ailac’s chest. Blood soaked the whole of him; flowed unending as the knife drove upwards, tearing through leather bone and flesh as if carving a roast for the table. The tainted vines seethed as if they were alive, pulling and twisting the druid’s form asunder. The knife tore upwards; with a last nefarious pop it leapt free from fresh, sending an arc of blood across the glade to follow it. Blood and flesh fell from the wound, draining the druid dry as his cries faltered into pitiful gurgles of air, the last vestiges of life draining to fall about the forest floor, coating Ailac’s feet in his handiwork.

Ailac fell back, as if the strings that held him upright had been cut, crumpling to the ground as the crimson blade fell from his hand. Tendrils of faint smoke drifted up from the corrupt moss as the blade sunk into the ground. The body still held there in the air, feet just off the ground, ribcage sprung open as gore trailed town from the unmoving form to coat the earth. Blood pooled beneath it, seeping out between the blades of grass towards Ailac.

Heat enveloped Ailac’s legs, the thick blood flowing up his skin, crawling over his flesh to coat him. He screamed into the night, devoid of words yet filled with raw pain and anguish. Blood crawled over his torso, slowly drawing up over his chest and arms, smothering him. It flowed hot into his open mouth, the metallic taste of it consuming him.

Cenias’ head whipped up, eyes cold yet an evil grin danced across his dead face. “The Nightmare’s weapon. Did you enjoy it, Ailac? Enjoy taking my life. I know you did.” The corpse laughed, shaking against its confines.

Crimson heat enveloped the world, bathing the glade with blood.