The Blight

[PepsiWhirda]

If any one thing spoke to the difference between the elves of Faerûn and the elves of the Omniverse, it was Yggdrassil. In Faerûn, the elves commanded the capital of the Silver Marches, a bastion of commerce and civilization in a land torn by the Spellplague. The sprawling city was defended by knights and paladins, ruled over by lords and councils, as political a place as the Waterdeep of Whirda's youth. The preening elves feigned an interest in relations with the humans and more cultured orcs, but in truth were selfish, pompous, and brusque beneath their bureaucratic façade.

Here, it seemed that couldn't be further from the truth.

It took Whirda some time to recover from the majesty of the World Tree. The elves' attention to detail was awe-inspiring. Everything, from the handrails flanking the paths of mossy stone, to the many doors carved into the tree's base, even to the garb worn by the elves they passed, was ornate and overwrought. Sturdy wood etched with impossibly complex patterns, inlaid with fine gold and silver. Doors that seemed an extension of the tree itself, carved with murals and enchanted to glow warmly as they passed. Sweeping, silken robes in vibrant hues. Whirda was at a loss for words as they followed Tyrande on a brief tour.

The tree itself was lost on her. It was impossibly, hysterically large, hundreds of feet around, so tall its highest branches were shrouded by wisps of cloud. Waterfalls—waterfalls—flowed from some of the thicker limbs, poured down the canopy in sheets to gather in pools. Whirda could see walkways curling around its trunk, clever elevators operated by pulleys or magic or both, full-sized houses resting on stilts embedded in its side. And all of it lit by the floating wisps, always moving but equidistantly spaced. Their glow was warm on Whirda's face as Tyrande led them to one of the doors and spoke a word in elvish.

The door opened in silence, and the trio entered.

If possible, the inside of Yggdrassil was more beautiful still. A broad spiral staircase circled its entire circumference, rising a hundred feet at least to end at a ceiling beneath which hundreds of glowing wisps hung in clumps. Walkways threaded across the vast expanse like spiderwebs, dozens of elves skittering across them, speaking in hushed tones. The few elves on the ground floor fell silent at their arrival, staring curiously. They dipped their heads in respect as Lady Tyrande and her visitors passed.

"The World Tree has been our home since the Omniverse's creation," Tyrande said. Her demeanor had visibly improved since the moment of weakness upon reaching the blighted lands. Yggdrassil inspired a comfort and confidence in her that extended to Whirda, who already felt at home. "It is here," she continued, sweeping a hand to indicate she meant everything up to the ceiling, "that we conduct official business. Beneath us, nestled amongst the roots, are the catacombs that contain our libraries and armories. Above the ceiling, in the upper levels, our homes, taverns, and businesses."

"An entire city inside a tree," Nyx said, reverence plain in her tone.

"It's..." Whirda began, at a rare loss for words. "It's impossible."

Tyrande smiled. "So we thought, when we were brought here. It took some... getting used to."

"I imagine so," Whirda mumbled, and the priestess laughed.

"Come!" she said, beckoning for the pair to follow. "I have already prepared visitor's quarters for both of you. You will find food, clean water for bathing, and fresh linens. I hope that is sufficient."

"Is it ever," Nyx said, and for the first time Whirda saw her truly smile.

Tyrande led them not to the spiral staircase leading up into Yggdrassil, but to an elevator that delivered them smoothly underground. The air grew cool, but pleasantly so, as they descended two stories and came to a halt. Whirda found herself devoid of the tension she would normally feel in a situation like this, being carried into the unknown, at the whim of someone she didn't know or understand. She felt a brief flash of suspicion, but was too weary to pursue it. By all accounts, Tyrande was a priestess of no small measure of power. If her intention was to kill them, she would have done it already.

"This is where I leave you." The priestess smiled warmly as Whirda and Nyx stepped out of the elevator. A hallway stretched out before them, lined with dozens of doors. Tyrande indicated the closest two on the left. "Those are yours. I trust you will find everything to your liking."

"Thank you," Nyx said, and Whirda dipped her head in agreement.

"Thank you, Nyx," Tyrande said. "I will send a courier for you in the morning. We have much to discuss. Sleep well."

"Good night," Whirda said. Exhaustion had seeped into her bones and seemed to pile up all at once. She found she could scarcely stand without tipping over. The lift rose, taking Tyrande with it. "And good night," she said to Nyx, smiling.

"Night!" Nyx chirped, disappearing into the first room.

Whirda entered the second. The sight of a bed had never pleased her so greatly as it did in that moment. The rest of the room was probably as beautiful as the rest of the World Tree, but she didn't pause in kicking off her boots and diving headfirst into the blankets, burying her head in a pillow.

For the first time in days, Whirda slept.