The Shade

[PepsiWhirda]

It was a decision Whirda felt equipped to make.

"Toward the light," she said, her voice carrying down the empty tunnels. She shook her head, clearing away the cobwebs of exhaustion, which seemed more numerous by the minute. The darkness devoured the torchlight. She could hardly see her feet as they resumed walking, Whirda in front, the blood mage in the middle, and Professor Van Helsing guarding the rear, his crossbow raised shoulder height.

The dim light proved to be torchlight of the shade's own. The trio rounded a bend and Whirda stopped short, flinging her arm back to halt the blood mage, who again seemed distracted and hadn't noticed. Though her communication with the demon had grown less frequent since entering the shade's den, and Nyx seemed to cope better with the intrusions, Whirda still couldn't take the risk.

Just ahead was a door stuck firm in the stone. Slightly ajar, it allowed the flickering torchlight through, to splay out on the walls like poorly applied paint. In it, she could see humanoid shadows. If she listened closely, she could hear frenzied whispers, as of a group preparing an ambush. They quieted after a minute, and silence engulfed them.

With two fingers, Whirda indicated her plan. Nyx and the professor nodded their ascent. Without even a whisper of noise, Whirda's kukris were in hand and she slid forward, planted against the wall. Through the crack in the doorway, she could see the shadow of an arm, elongated across the floor, just to the left of the door. A long, curved blade was clutched in its fist.

Whirda looked back at her companions, motioning to her left. The professor trained his crossbow on the spot, and Nyx brought her staff to bear, the ruby glimmering as if in anticipation. Content that she would be covered by her new allies, Whirda exploded into motion.

She kicked the door open and rushed inside, leaping into a forward roll. Predictably, she felt a breath of wind on her back as the ambusher's sword cut the air above her. She lashed out with a kukri, slicing its leg at the ankle and calling forth a cyclonic prison. Before it could cry out, the creature was engulfed in buffeting wind, lifted, flailing, a foot off the floor.

Whirda couldn't pause to evaluate the situation. The cavern was massive, stalactites taller than the professor drooping from the ceiling twenty feet above. Pillars concealed a dozen potential attackers. Ahead, two familiar creatures barred the exit. Humanoid, thin, with mottled, scaly green skin and long faces, pointed ears, two slits where the nose should be. "Dark and empty," Whirda swore. "He has zerths."

Githzerai were common in Faerûn. A monastic race of evil weal, extraplanar creatures who worked mostly as sell-swords, mercenaries who would fall under the banner with the most dispensable coin. Zerths, however, were far less common. Recognizable by the robes of a priest, blue trimmed with yellow, they combined psionic and earth sorcery with martial skill to frightening effect. Whirda had never fought one, and until today, hoped she never would.

Now, two of them stood in her way. On the right, a female, her hand outstretched toward Whirda, serpentine face leering. Just in time, she saw the jagged shards of rock hurtling her way. She conjured a gust of wind that threw her high over the projectiles, tucking into a forward flip. At the door, a third githzerai, the one in Whirda's cyclonic prison, stumbled free. It shook its head and caught one of the professor's bolt in the side of its head. Though the holy fire enchantment had no effect, it still toppled and lay still.

Then Whirda was facing forward again, a second gust of wind propelling her toward the female zerth. Such was her speed that the second volley of stones also missed their mark, whistling past her and exploding into pebbles against the cavern wall. The female scrambled back, drawing a longsword inscribed with runes. Whirda crossed her kukris and braced herself.

Steel met steel with an explosion of sparks. Whirda's momentum plowed her into the zerth. They tumbled head over heels in a blur of splayed limbs and blue robes, before Whirda came up skidding and dove back into the fray. The female hadn't recovered as quickly, and now Whirda had the upper hand. She faced the entrance, and saw Nyx and the professor enter the room, crossbow and blood bolts picking off a second and third target as githzerai swordsmen swarmed the room. The female zerth regained her feet unsteadily, and Whirda skipped forward, sidestepped a desperate overhead chop, and dragged both kukri through robes and into flesh. They emerged with a spray of blood and Whirda kicked back, knocking the creature from its feet.

Then the world flipped upside down.

The ferocity of the psionic blast took her entirely by surprise. She felt like her brains had been scrambled and pulled out of her ears. Her head split with the force of it, and she stumbled, unsure whether she was standing on the floor or the ceiling. She smelled the pungent air after a lightning storm, fresh cut grass, ginger, vomit. In her ears the clash of swords and cries of the dying were replaced with tinkling bells and the dull intonations of an axe chopping wood. Every sense melted into one another, and she shook her head vigorously to clear it.

To her credit, she was at least able to see the sword that would end her life.