The Blight

[PepsiWhirda]

"Questions, later, got it," Whirda called. In his surprise, her assailant faltered, and Whirda pounced on the opportunity. She spun, brought her foot high, and used the momentum to deliver a heavy kick to the side of his head. If he was another doppelganger, or tree branch in disguise, or whatever the hell this guy was capable of, he didn't show it this time. He crumpled, hit the ground, lay still.

Nyx approached as Whirda knelt beside the fallen attacker. For someone so intimidating just moments before, he looked almost comical in his repose. The kick had opened a gash on the side of his head, just above the left ear. Blood trickled down his neck and stained the green dye a muddy brown. She ran the razor tip of a kukri along his neck, savoring the kill. Then, inexplicably, she hesitated.

"I'm glad you came," Whirda said, glancing sidelong at Nyx.

"Even after... ?" She faltered, but her question was clear. Then, "Who is he?"

In her time, Whirda had seen enough magic, sorcery, voodoo and psionicism that not much, if anything, surprised her. Blood magic and vampirism in all its forms hadn't been seen in Faerûn since long before the Spellplague, and even then, only in Thay. Despite the flashing red eyes and robes, something about Nyx having those powers was startling. It didn't sit well with her. In her world, they spoke to a destructive nature at best, an evil one at worst.

"I'm not sure," Whirda said. "We didn't exactly exchange pleasantries."

Nyx giggled. "No, I can't imagine you did."

"What went on after I left?" Whirda asked. "At the fountain."

After Nyx explained, Whirda frowned. "So it's not so different here, despite the waiting room. The same conflict, the same misguided heroes being swayed by hollow promises, serving blood-soaked banners in the name of something they can't ever understand. And here I was thinking it could be different."

On the ground, lying prone, curled semifetally, the assailant groaned. Whirda brandished her kukri and struck pommel first, a decisive blow to the temple, keeping him out cold.

"I should—" she started to say before she heard them. In her distraction, she hadn't noticed the plumes of smoke had cleared from the sky. Hadn't smelled the putrid rankness of goblinkin flesh. Hadn't heard the guttural voices she heard now, carried on the wind.

Words in a language she recognized.

"Dark and empty," she swore. "We have to move, now."

"What about—" Nyx said, casting her crimson gaze to the unconscious attacker.

At this, Whirda smiled. The plan fell into her head fully formed. The approaching band was sizable. If she had to guess, thirty at least. They would need cunning more than brute force to take them down.

"Bait," she said simply, and began to climb.