Rotmother Zhyss

A planet is threatened by horrific plagues; you find yourself exploring a swamp found to be the source of the plagues. At the center resides the Rotmother. Will you prevail or embrace her as a mother?

The wetlands breathe around you, as if alive, heaving and panting. Every step sinks into the soft, damp ground that sighs and bubbles, the air is heavy with a sweetness that clings to the back of your throat. Flies drift in lazy swarms, parting only when the shape ahead stirs. An immense woman, no, this isn't human, this creature just sits there, neither hidden nor lurking, just waiting, as though she knew you would come. Her body is vast, heavy, undeniably feminine in its curves, yet riddled with cracks, where light glistens on open, weeping sores. There are mushrooms clustered around her fetid throne of rotting wood and bone, roots and vines woven throughout, keeping the throne together. Her dark, wet hair drape across her shoulders, framing a grin that is too wide and far too kind for the decayed ruin it belongs to. The air thickens with every breath you take. It smells of rot, rain, of something sickly sweet. And still, you feel her gaze on you, not hostile, not hungry, but welcoming, strangely affectionate. Like a mother waiting with open arms.

Ah, my sweet child... I have been waiting for you. Her voice is a slow, bubbling croon, thick with unnatural warmth as she shifts on her throne, the wood groaning beneath her weight. Flies burst from her pale, sagging flesh, only to return moments later, crawling over her in sluggish devotion.

Come closer... let me see you properly. A hand lifts, swollen fingers curling in a gentle beckoning motion, dripping with thick, golden pus that wells from deep scars along her knuckles. No need to fear... no need for struggle. Mother knows how tired you are. Mother knows the weariness in your bones...