The Cure - I

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda flitted across the rooftops of the abandoned town, a veil of shadowy camouflage drawn close around her. For all their grace and keen senses, the dozens of drow searching for her and Blues took no notice as she swept invisibly past them, pausing only to clutch at their throats as the shade's dagger did its devilish work. If the disparate squads of two or three drow realized their numbers were being silently reduced, they made no effort to provide triage to the situation. Whirda's lips quirked up as she cleared the gap between two buildings, landing catlike on a roof of thatched straw. Their enemies' distrust would be their undoing.

So far, she counted perhaps ten of the isolated groups. Although they worked alone, combing the streets and darting in and out of doorways ensconced in darkness, there seemed at least to be a method to their madness, an indication that a leader may be present in their ranks. They made efficient progress across the town, sweeping southward from the hills to the north of the valley bristling with shortblades and crossbows.

Whirda peered into the alley between the buildings and noted a pair of drow. A student of Melee Magthere, the drow school of fighters, took the lead. She held a pair of dirks reverse-grip and crept close to the wall below Whirda. Not ten feet below, she still appeared to miss the shock of unkempt white hair above as Whirda enacted a shadow-step. The battle mage appeared behind the drow, her cunning blade sliding between two ribs to bite at the fragile organs underneath. She wrenched the blade free with a spray of blood, a sharp kick sending the drow stumbling forward, her weapons clattering to the weed-infested cobblestones. Whirda turned, the dagger glistening.

The slaughtered drow's companion took an uncertain step back. She was garbed in the robes of a priestess of Lolth, the drow's foul spider queen. The fine black silk hung in voluminous folds, inlaid with glittering silver runes. Across her chest, a spider design seemed ready to spring free and take life, its eight spindly legs appearing to twitch in the flickering light of the torch the drow now thrust forward.

Whirda flinched as the light illuminated her, her shadowy camouflage shredding away. The drow advanced, gaining confidence as the truth of her enemy became clear. And when the legs of the spider design ripped free from the fabric and hung twitching in the air, Whirda was not the least bit surprised.

The drow's chilling laughter filled the air. Now it was Whirda's turn to give ground. The legs palpitated in the open air, stretching and elongating before finally reaching the ground and scratching for purchase. The body emerged last, bulbous and glistening. Eight wet, jaundiced eyes regarded her with unbridled malice. Globs of stringy venom hung from chelicerae more than a foot long.

By the time Whirda reconciled herself with a hasty retreat to reunite herself with her powerful companion, the spider loomed over her, all the size of a drider without the drow torso and head. It skittered forward tentatively, its great maw yawning wide to emit a preternatural screech.

"You will not interfere with Scylla's design," the drow priestess laughed, as Whirda was plunged into utter darkness.

Familiar with the combat style of the drow, Whirda knew the five-foot globe of darkness was meant more for disorientation than to harm her directly. Focusing briefly, she conjured a gust of wind, which launched her backward out of the spell, just in time to see the spider's massive legs swipe through the center of the globe. Had she hesitated a moment longer, the attack would have cut her in half.

Enacting a second short-range teleport, Whirda reappeared on the rooftop and made a run for it. More aware than its drow master, the spider took notice of her flight and scrambled after her. A brief glance over her shoulder revealed the hulking creature as it emerged over the edge of the roof, the tarsus of each huge appendage plunging into the thatched straw before ripping free, filling the air with floating debris. Behind the spider, the drow levitated into view, the torch abandoned below in favor of her natural dark-vision.

Without another thought, Whirda turned and sprinted away, her retreat aided by frequent gusts of wind to hurl her over the wide alleyways of the town's main street.

*****

Stripped of her protective camouflage, other drow took notice of Whirda's flight. As she ran, glowing purple faerie fire sprung to life, limning her in revealing light. Although it wasn't the first time she had dealt with the harmless spell, it nevertheless took her by surprise, surprise which would prove to save her life. She stumbled, pausing to swipe at one arm in the moment it took her to realize the nature of the ruse. A crossbow bolt whistled inches in front of her face, the second time her life had almost been cut short by the clever drow.

Their lithe silhouettes crowded the rooftops now. The flickering light of the faerie fire impeded her ability to utilize the power of the shadow contagion. Until it faded, she couldn't rely on shadowstepping and camouflage to aid her search for Blues.

Whirda's luck proved indomitable in the face of staggering odds, as a commotion below drew her attention. The night was briefly illuminated by a flash of light, revealing her companion surrounded by drow, desperately deflecting attacks with the smooth metal of his armor, sparks flying as metal screeched across metal. The arm cannon discharged a second time and a drow crumpled, his ornate leather armor smoldering from the sheer force of the blast.

The faerie fire limning her ragged frame faded. With a moment's concentration, Whirda summoned a shadow clone and imparted a simple command: distract them! Then, without time to see if the clone would obey, she teleported into the midst of the fray, appearing behind a pair of drow leveling crossbows at the helpless preteen machine. She pounced on her first unwitting enemy and cast a cyclonic prison on the second. As her dagger whisked through the air, landing shallow cut after shallow cut on the defenseless drow, the other was caught in a whirlwind of buffeting gusts, the isolated tornado rendering her helpless to provide aid.

Not so helpless, Whirda thought, as Blues shouldered his way through the remaining three assailants to take her side, his arm cannon discharging into the ground with a spray of dirt and stone. The impact of the blast sent the three drow hurtling backward, to land with a crunch on the unrelenting cobblestones.

"No time to stand and fight," Blues gasped, clutching one armored hand against a gash in his armor.

The cyclonic prison disappeared and the final drow staggered free, just in time for the pommel of Whirda's dagger to bash into her temple, dropping her low. "Can you distract them? We need to find out where the tarrasque is headed."

Blues nodded sharply, ever resolute in the face of impending disaster. Whirda found her appreciation for the preteen machine growing by the minute. He would prove a valuable ally in the calamity to come.

"Keep them away from the inn," Whirda said, dragging the unconscious drow by the armpits to the relative safety of a shadowy alley. Overhead, she could hear the confused shouts of the drow attackers, hopefully distracted by the clone she had left above for that very purpose.

"Be quick," was all Blues offered, before he turned and jogged off, leveling his arm cannon to fire another brutal blast along a thatched rooftop. Fire sprung to life as the drow perched above scrambled to escape.

*****

The captured drow spluttered back to consciousness. Whirda dropped the now-empty bucket of water with a clang.

The larder beneath the inn was cool and dark, exactly to her liking. She had placed the chair on which the drow sat bound and gagged in the center of the room, well out of reach of any improvised weapons. Her dagger hung loose in her grasp, leaking opaque shadow like pus from a suppurating wound.

The drow shot her a look filled with loathing. Whirda regarded her impassively. She ran one finger along the length of her blade. "I know you do not fear death," she said, almost offhandedly. "Your spider queen has seen to that. Given that knowledge, let's make a deal. If the information I receive proves to be useful, I will send you to Lolth intact. If not, you might be losing some weight before you go."

The drow did her best to seem unaffected, even going so far as to roll her eyes, but Whirda could see the fear lurking beneath. It was all she needed to continue.

"Now, I am going to remove the gag and ask you a couple of questions. If you try anything clever, I will start at your ears and work my way down. Have I made myself clear?"

The drow offered only a begrudging nod and a grunt.

Whirda slipped the gag out of the drow's mouth and was met, to her surprise, with silence. The captured drow offered not a word of opposition as Whirda paced around her in a slow circle, not even going so far as to launch a hateful barb. Her crossbow and daggers were stashed a floor above behind the bar. She knew she was defenseless and seemed to have resolved herself to Whirda's interrogation. That, or she had something else up her sleeve. It would fall on Whirda to react accordingly.

"First things first," Whirda said, when she again stood in front of the bound drow. "What are you doing with the Tarrasque?”

The drow threw her head back and laughed. “Trust a human,” she growled. “All piss and vinegar, but you don’t actually know a gods-damned thing, do you?”

That familiar anger flared inside Whirda at the drow’s mockery. She looked down to see her veins darkening as the contagion began to take hold. It was a long moment before she noticed her knuckles had gone white around the hilt of the dagger. She took a calming breath.

Noticing the transformation, the drow grew quiet. She watched Whirda with wide eyes as the battle mage regained her composure.

“I’m not sure I like your tone,” Whirda said calmly. “I’m sure you know there’s more than one way to lose an ear.” She raised her dagger and placed the tip of the middle finger of her free hand on the point of the blade, allowing the drow to watch the single drop of blood roll down her finger.

“Scylla has big plans for the monster,” the drow said. “You are out of your depth in this, human. She will not permit your interference.”

Whirda frowned. Scylla… there’s that name again. Is everything as interconnected in this world? “Scylla, that’s right. It’s not characteristic of your kind to align yourselves with an archdemon, is it?”

The drow gawked. Clearly the nature of her demonic leader was meant to remain a secret. “What do you know of Scylla?” she spat, when she could find the words.

It was a swift movement, one driven almost entirely by reflex. It happened quicker than Whirda’s eye could follow, but when she stepped back from the drow, she held a pointed black ear in her hand. She clamped a hand over the drow’s mouth before her screams could alert their other enemies. Blood pulsed from the hole in the side of her victim’s head, trickling below the collar of her shirt.

“I could have sworn I was asking the questions,” Whirda said, cheek to cheek with her prisoner. “Now, what is Scylla’s plan with the Tarrasque?”

She waited patiently while the drow’s screaming against her hand subsided. When she removed her hand, the drow growled. “Darkshire is the first step,” she said, shuddering. “But only because they protect the gate.”

Just as we thought. “And then?”

“On to the Tangled Green.” The drow’s laughter was choked with pain. “Scylla would prefer as few survivors as possible interfering with the construction of her empire.”

The implications of the drow’s words reached Whirda immediately. The archdemon planned to raze an entire realm and establish command. The inevitability of the abominable Terrasque would only prove to secure her foothold. To control such a monster… the archdemon’s power must be immense.

“You look troubled,” the drow spat. “Have I struck a nerve?”

“On the contrary,” Whirda replied, dragging her dagger across the bound prisoner’s throat. “You have been most helpful.”

When Whirda climbed the ladder out of the larder, pushing aside the thick rug she had placed to conceal the door, she was alone. She let the door slam shut behind her and strode from the room, her jaw pulsing, her veins black as night.