The Vampire & Her Witch

Standing off to the side, forced to observe like a phantom, completely unable to affect the perverse desecration of the Ancient Oak playing out before her, Virve trembled in rage as she listened to the Lothian Lord’s growing excitement at the growing list of atrocities and sacrilegious uses he he had in mind for the body of the once revered Ancient Oak.

Moments later, however, Virve dropped to her knees in agony as the vision moved forward, revealing a veritable army of human butcher weilding saws and chisels, drawing knives and rasps and dozens of other tools as they began cutting into the tough wood of the Ancient Oak.

The sensation of those saws, rasps, and chisels tearing at her flesh overwhelmed Virve’s senses as the Ancient Oak allowed her to feel what the tree had felt as the humans began reducing it to so much furniture and kindling.

At first, when Virve had witnessed the humans felling the sacred tree, her heart had been filled with fury, followed by deep sorrow as she witnessed the Ancient Oak fall. At that moment, as she watched the pieces of the tree being carted away, she had mourned for its passing as a mighty hero who had safeguarded the Vale of Mists for more than a thousand years.

It was only now that she realized that ’dying’ was a slow process as the life within the Ancient Oak bled out of its hard, unyielding wood. The tree had been torn apart and carted away from its roots, but it was still very much alive, feeling the agony of human tools biting into its flesh as they shaped and molded it to their twisted desires.

”Noooo,” Virve cried. ”How could you? How could you, you monsters! He’s not even dead yet you beasts!” Trembling on the floor of the workshop, the pain faded as the Ancient Oak withdrew the vision, returning Virve to the hilltop where the Ancient Oak resided.

This time, Virve was alone with the Ancient Oak, sitting under it’s branches as it wrapped her in a warm, golden-green aura of soothing comfort and strength. All around her, several small woodland creatures emerged from the tree, rabbits from around its roots, squirrels from hollows in the trunk and even small birds from high in the branches of the tree.

All of them gathered around the trembling Virve, each one offering a bit of warmth and soft comfort as she confronted the horror of the fate that befell any ancient tree humans were able to claim for themselves.

For thousands of years, the Ancient Oak had acted as a guardian for the Vale of Mists. Not only did it shelter the smaller creatures who gathered close to the mighty trunk, it also sheltered the whole of the Vale, protecting it from tempestuous storms or calming the surging floods of the river Luath when it threatened to spill over its banks.

Now, the tree reached out again to calm a storm, only this time, the storm it calmed was the one that raged within the heart of the woman who had come to it in order to become a witch.

It was clear to the ancient tree that Virve shared a common enemy with it. The men who had cut down the Ancient Oak’s offspring had given birth to the men who cut down Virve’s father. The Ancient Oak knew this, and now Virve knew it too. All that remained was to see if she had the resolve to right the wrongs that occurred all those years ago... even if the Mother of Trees herself wanted to restrain her claws.

As the woodland creatures comforted Virve, more images began to form in her mind. They weren’t memories this time, but possibilities that the Ancient Oak shared with her. In one flickering vision, she saw herself standing before a magnificent desk in Bors Lothian’s trophy-filled office, her claws tracing the ancient grain of oak wood that still held the faintest whispers of life.

In another vision, she saw herself carrying fragments of carved wood through moonlit forests, back to the Vale where a weathered and sunken stump waited in silent vigil.

In a third vision, she found herself face to face with an aging Lothian lord. His armor was worn and battered and his hair had long turned to steely gray but in his hands he gripped the polished wooden haft of a battle ax that had claimed the lives of countless Eldritch soldiers during the War of Inches.

Virve might never have met Bors Lothian, but she’d heard him described often enough to immediately identify the man who was ultimately responsible for her father’s death, even if it hadn’t been his ax that dealt the killing blow.

As she faced him, the golden-green aura pulsed around her, neither commanding nor pleading, but silently offering. Power without constraint. Strength without Ashlynn’s measured restraint. Vengeance without mercy for the human butchers who had shown none.

With a roar of pure fury, Virve leapt forward, her powerful claws shattering the haft of Bors Lothian’s ax before tearing into the armor that crumpled like paper under the golden-green power of her claws. Hot blood splattered across her fur, soaking her in an intoxicating blend of violence and victory as she beheld a future where she could avenge the injustices heaped on both her family and the Ancient Oak, putting an end to the Lothian’s endless wars of greed and conquest.

The vision faded away, leaving Virve’s heart pounding and her chest heaving as she panted from the sudden exertion. Around her, the woodland creatures pulled back to perch on the nearby roots and branches, each of them looking at her in silent question.

Generations of Oak Witches had been powerful guardians, standing at the side of the Mother of Trees and watching over her and her coven as mighty protectors. But the Oak’s strength wasn’t limited to protecting, and the power it offered Virve was far less restrained than the power of most Oak Witches. All Virve needed to do was agree to take it up, and the Ancient Oak was willing to help her become one of the most dangerous Oak Witches to ever walk the earth.