[GREAT] Awakening

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda braced herself for impact as the wave crashed onto the shore, spilling her and no fewer than twenty naga across the beach.  Whether by design or sheer luck, Whirda’s fall was not so rough, and when she picked her head up from the sand she saw her dagger and shield within easy reach.

Most of the naga had not fared as well.  Perhaps a half dozen of the creatures lay stunned and unmoving, and the falling coral chariot had killed a few on impact and left several others howling and clutching at broken bones or open wounds.  Several others, though, were in the process of regaining their feet and retrieving their weapons, a few already advancing on Whirda and Tia Dalma with savage hisses and roars.

Whirda staggered to her feet.  Finally drawing a healthy lungful of air, she snatched up her dagger and fastened the tarrasque scale buckler to her left forearm.  Hearing the final words of another one of Tia’s incantations, she felt a wave of healing warmth rush over her.  Before her eyes, the wound on her stomach stitched and closed and the pain receded from her chest and tired limbs.  She cast the priestess an appreciative glance, only to see Tia Dalma fall back before the onslaught of three naga, her arms up defensively in front of her face.  Without another moment’s hesitation, Whirda vanished with a sharp crack and reappeared behind the rearmost of Tia’s attackers.  Her dagger darted out, scraping against the naga’s dense scales before finding a home in the soft flesh of its armpit.

The naga howled and whirled, its scimitar coming across at Whirda’s neck.  Whirda was too fast for the injured creature, ducking the blow and unleashing a barrage of shadow daggers, peppering its face and throat with slashes and gashes.  The creature slithered back, throwing its finned arms up in front of its face. 

Content to make do with whatever openings the creature so generously provided her, Whirda lunged with her dagger and drew a long gash in the naga’s belly.  Before it had even doubled over, nimble Whirda leaped high and turned an elegant somersault, the dagger plunging into the base of the creature’s neck.  The two combatants hit the sand at the same time, Whirda sprinting toward the next of Tia’s assailants and the naga, quite dead, moving no more.

To her credit, Tia fared well against the remaining two naga.  The voodoo priestess’s hands were a blur and her voice was steady as the incantations poured forth, conjuring gusts of wind and jets of water to keep her powerful enemies at bay.  Fearless Jack darted to and fro, scampering up the naga’s scaly hides to snap and claw at their eyes and deftly avoiding the clumsy blows of their scimitars. 

Taking note of a new host of foes approaching from behind, Whirda drew what shadow she could close around her.  The time for suppressing the power of the shade had passed with the arrival of.  Whirda retreated within herself and coaxed the contagion forth, allowing its cold rush to infuse her completely.  The black in her veins spread outward into her skin.  The sclera of her eyes flooded with black.  The dagger of Ahn’Thrix seemed to sense her transformation, pouring a cloud of obscuring ash into the air around her.  

As soon as she emerged from the transformation, Whirda burst into action with a speed and precision she had not felt since the days in the Pale Moors.  She could hear the harmony of the leylines of shadow thrumming all around her.  This time, not one or two, but four Whirdas reappeared, three sprinting into the midst of the approaching nagas and the fourth--the real Whirda--stepping adroitly up the spined back of Tia’s assailant, her footsteps so light the naga seemed not to notice, six umbral serpents again coiled around her arms and shoulders.  
Catching sight of Whirda’s ascent, Tia Dalma’s eyes widened and she faltered in her spellcasting.  The vicious naga, sensing weakness in the voodoo priestess but erroneously assigning it to its own prowess, let loose a guttural, gurgling laugh and raised its arm to cut the woman down.  

A moment later, it dropped to the ground with a certain dagger buried to the hilt in one eye.  

Whirda landed next to Tia, wrenching her dagger free from the corpse and wiping its blue-black blood off in the sand.  The third naga, now facing off against both women and a thoroughly enraged capuchin, backed off to join its fellow raiders.  The remaining naga stumbled about, snatching and swiping at Whirda’s dancing clones.  The shadeborn woman smiled grimly, enacting the final part of her series of spells with a brief moment of concentration.

The resulting boom deafened Whirda and Tia, sheer concussive force setting them back on their heels and sending the protesting capuchin tumbling across the sand.  The three clones detonated simultaneously, sending the unfortunate nagas ragdolling in every direction with screams of agony and the very audible crunch of bones.  Slithering shadow serpents erupted from the point of the blasts, pinning those naga who had escaped the blast largely unscathed.  

“Lord almighty,” Tia breathed.

Whirda met her gaze.  The voodoo priestess’s features were contorted with fear when she looked upon Whirda and the carnage she had wrought.  The capuchin recovered and stepped between them, its little teeth characteristically bared in silent challenge.  Slowly, Whirda’s breathing settled and she slipped her dagger into its sheath, showing Tia her palms.  

“I mean you no harm,” she said, and Tia did not doubt the sincerity of the woman’s words.  As she spoke, the darkness faded from Whirda’s eyes and her skin transitioned back to dusky gray.  The seeping cold of her umbral form melted away, replaced by the warmth of the glaring sun and the exertion of combat.

Tia relaxed.  “Apologies, child,” she muttered.  “It’s just, last time ya looked like dat ya tried ta cut me down where I stood.”

Whirda nodded, overtaken suddenly by profound fatigue.  “No apology needed.  Now, let’s finish this.”  The two women moved methodically through the pinned and writhing naga, silencing each one with a dagger or a muttered incantation.  

“What are they?” Whirda asked, when at last their gruesome work was done.

“Naga.”  Tia Dalma veritably spat the word into the sand.  “Foul, cursed creatures, half snake and half elf.  Rarely do dey venture into charted territory.  Dere ruler, Lady Vashj, has skirmished with de Empire before and suffered greatly for da error.”

“I imagine they didn’t come for your cooking,” Whirda said, trying to inject some levity into Tia’s grim countenance.

The voodoo priestess didn’t smile.  “Somethin’s comin’, my child.  I can sense it in da wind and da waters… a growin’ unrest.  It is good ya will be gone from dis place soon.”

“And what about you?” Whirda asked.  “The next time the naga come calling, what will become of Tia Dalma?”

“What will be, will be,” Tia shrugged.  “Dis place is my home.  I will not forsake it for any scaly beast, much less dese tings.”

Whirda chewed on Tia’s words in silence.  She did not wish to sacrifice her budding friendship with the voodoo priestess, whose calm manner and command of the healing arts, Whirda often felt, were the only barrier remaining between her and a total loss of control.  Further still, she did not wish for any danger to come upon Tia and Jack in her absence.

Still, Whirda knew she had no choice but to board the ship to Costa Del Sol in the coming days.  With any luck, she could convince Tia to join her by then.  And if not, she could only pray her most recent friends would not end up as corpses in her wake, as had all who came before them.