The Blight

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda's apprehension about Nyx, and the blood mage's newest revelation, clung to Whirda all the way out of Yggdrassil. They took a more linear path south through the forest. A day's travel to the Nexus, where they would rest before entering the Moors. Thoughts about her dream hung thick and dripping in her gut, a blight of her own. On their right, the sun dipped low in the sky.

Darkspawn. The news from Nyx was troubling. Whirda had dealt with demons before—cunning imps, hulking baloths, even those who commanded the elements, fire and ice, ground and sky. But this was different. Tyrande spoke of war. Nyx spoke of an army. It was unlike Whirda to march beneath a banner. She was not a mercenary, not a sword-arm for hire, disinclined to choose sides in a conflict she couldn't understand. Everything about this world dragged her inexorably toward an alliance, like a doomed man to execution.

They walked, flanked by a trio of elves on each side. The escort would accompany them as far as the gate. The elves sat astride lean white horses, immaculately groomed, roped with muscle, fine leather saddles gilded and supple. Not beasts of burden, but war horses. The mounts were bred for battle, trained to run rampant through combat, not be relegated to a slow trot through the forest.

"Couldn't even give us horses," Whirda grumbled. "Fate of the forest at stake, and we're proceeding on foot."

"Our people are at war, Whirda Windstrom," the closest elf, a slender archer with white hair pouring from beneath his helmet, said. "We have very few resources to spare."

"Then why not an escort of four, and mounts for the ones plodding toward certain death?" Whirda narrowed her eyes.

"We do not question our lady's wisdom."

"Right, right, you're just mortal instruments, I get it. Yours is not to question why, and all that. Just seems a little ungrateful, if you ask me."

"Whirda," Nyx scolded. "Ever think you're the ungrateful one?"

"I'll express my gratitude from atop a horse," Whirda bit back, but she was smiling when she said it

"You could just make one." The elf arced a brow, like this was an obvious response.

"Make one?" Nyx asked.

Whirda stopped short, caught up in realization. "The osprey, from the Nexus. The message I sent you. Dark and empty, how could we be so stupid?"

"I don't—" Nyx said. Her eyes widened as she came up beside Whirda. "Wait, the bird? You made that?"

Whirda nodded. "I thought we could just do that with small things. You know... clothes, food, items of necessity. You mean we can make horses, just like that?"

"You can do that and much more, Whirda Windstrom," the elf said sententiously. "Try it."

"See if I don't," Whirda growled. She closed her eyes and held both hands in front of her, focusing on the image of Cascade, her favorite horse growing up as a child. One of the few fond memories she had of her father was his stable outside Waterdeep. She spent hours astride those horses as a child. It was her favorite way to escape from the pomp and circumstance.

All at once, a great globule of shimmering Omnilium filled her view. She stepped back, dropping her hands to her sides. The Omnilium dipped low, barely brushing the ground. The air veritably hummed with energy as the godstuff did its work. At Whirda's side, Nyx copied the movements, creating her own slightly smaller orb.

A few minutes later, Cascade stood in front of her. Well, not Cascade, not possibly. Almost twenty years had passed since she last laid her eyes on her father's prized steed. The old Cascade would be dead now, or nearing death. What Whirda saw was an exact duplicate of the horse in its youth. Taller than the horses of the elves, with a broad back and rippling light gray fur. The horse pawed the ground, bucking its head nervously. Whirda skipped up alongside him, running a hand through his thick mane. Almost at once Cascade settled, regarding her with glinting black eyes.

"I think I'm starting to like this place," Whirda said, smiling.