The Blight

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda came to consciousness much the same way she always did, except someplace different. The trip through the portal was timeless, weightless, a brief flash of light, color, and definition. Like someone cranked up the cosmic contrast knob to test its efficacy. Then her feet were back on solid ground.

In contrast with the appearance of the gate—girdled with jungle vines, emitting that fetid, vegetal smell Whirda knew only from childhood stories of the jungles of Chult—, she stood now in an open field of hardscrabble soil, patched here and there with scraggles of grass. At her back, surrounding the portal, which on this end showed none of the vines, wind-worn stone, or island palm trees of the ones she had seen from the fountain, was a copse of trees, something like poplar or aspen. Across the field, spaced about fifty meters apart, were similar groves, but no other portals were in sight.

Far to the north, the trees grew closer together, thickening into a vast forest that continued as far toward the horizon as Whirda could see. The air was alive with the sound of wildlife, the distant forest breathing with the wind like a great beast. Whirda smiled. It reminded her of time spent with her mother, soon after the move to Luskan. Of hunting goblinkin, kobolds, trolls, sometimes even the drow and duergar who ventured out of the Underdark under cover of night.

The rebel in her blood was near to boiling. She felt again, for the first time since her mother's death, that unique shudder of wander- and battlelust, that indomitable feeling that had seen her through so many battles, the collection of so many bounties, the successful completion of innumerable missions in the names of the pirate lords of Luskan. She made for the thickening trees. A place where she could avoid notice, and perhaps find prey. With any luck, the same vile creatures who occupied Faerûn could be found in this land. She could do with a good slaughter.

Whirda walked, kicking clods of dirt and spinning her blades playfully. For the first time in years, she felt something approximating happy. Perhaps this universe—this Omniverse—wasn't so bad after all.

Then, above the trees a few miles distant, smoke. Great plumes belched into the sky, sooty black, as of a filthy fire. Large, indicating a band of no small number. Whirda smiled. Adventure had found her once more.

[PepsiWhirda]

When Whirda reached the treeline, about a mile from the gate, she started noticing the signs. Voices like whispers, carried on the wind. Trills and caws too distinct, too measured, too joyless to have come from the throats of birds. Rustling in the trees overhead, faint, but faintly human—the creak of leather and swish of cloth. A cough, quickly stifled. Whirda took care not to let on that she knew, but she was being followed.

If this place was anything like Faerûn, it was elves. Passive observers, protectors of the forest—beautiful in their arrogance, hysterical in their elegance, unnerving in their skill with blade and bow. Ultimately, though, nonviolent.

At the gate and the edge of the forest, Whirda had used the Omnilium to conjure two small markers—flat rings of stone, etched with arrows pointing the way she had gone. If any of the others chose to follow—if they were even alive—, she could give them at least some clue how to find her.

Through the canopy, still far off, the plumes of smoke continued to rise. Whirda angled toward the source, knelt, and brought the Omnilium's power to bear. She focused on the image of another directional marker. The globule of swirling, varicolored light began its work.

This system could only work for so long. If she ran into trouble, or had to backtrack, the markers would effectively be leading newcomers right into the lion's den. Not to mention they could draw enemies to her doorstep.

The marker materialized, firmly embedded in the dirt. As if in answer to her concerns, as she turned to start walking, she heard the faint whistle of an approaching projectile. In one fluid movement she dove forward, tucked into a somersault, and spun 180 to her feet, facing the assailant with kukris in hand.

The path behind her was empty. She scanned the trees, saw nothing. Listened hard, heard nothing except her own shallow breathing.

Finely honed senses trained for any sign of attack, Whirda bent to pick up the projectile: a ring of gray extending from the dirt. She unearthed a throwing knife unlike any she'd ever seen: long, slender handle; three-inch blade, finely honed; and a sharp point so expertly crafted, it rivalled that of her swords.

"Who are you?"

Whirda spun to face the voice, skittering backwards and raising her blades for deflection. A man—not an elf—leaned against a tree ten feet behind her, smirking, and, in fulfillment of her prophecy, twirling another of the throwing knives around one finger. It was impossible, that he got so close without her noticing. It defied explanation.

Regaining her composure, she said, "What's it to you?" Disconcert masked by a thin veneer of petulance. Like a kid who thinks he can lie his way out of trouble.

The man laughed. He stood a head taller than Whirda, with a shock of black hair held back by a headband, cloth, inlaid with a plate of metal. The metal was etched with an unfamiliar insignia. He was all roped muscle and casual confidence, his green cloth uniform riddled with pouches and satchels.

"You mean, what's it to us?" Another voice, close behind her.

Panicked, Whirda leaped high, grasping a low hanging branch and vaulting onto it. Before she could even gain her footing, a throwing knife flashed past her and a sickening crack heralded the separation of trunk and limb. Off-balance, Whirda fell. She conjured a gust of wind, flipping her backward. She tucked and landed in a crouch, to face an empty clearing once again.

"Cool trick," the voice said from behind her. "Who are—"

Before he could finish, Whirda whirled and threw her kukri end over end. It caught the man low in the stomach and sunk to the hilt, doubling him over.

"How's that for a trick?" Whirda said, just in time for the attacker to vanish in a puff of smoke, replaced by a thick tree branch, her kukri embedded deep in the wood.

A whisper, right next to her ear: "Mine's cooler."

She spun again, twisting to the toe of her foot for leverage and pushing off, over the log, grabbing the handle of her embedded kukri and tugging it free with a spray of splinters.

"Granted," she said. "Now show yourself!"

"Who, the voice said, from right above her head.

"Are." Now below, as if between her feet, causing her to jump with surprise.

"You?" The man appeared as he spat that last word, showing her the palms of his hands. "Simple question, lady. The answer might make me spare your life."

"Ask one more time, and I sure as hell won't spare yours," Whirda growled, twirling her kukris to a reverse grip and advancing stubbornly. She froze when she felt the cold tip of a blade against the back of her neck.

[Nyx]

When Nyx regained consciousness on the other side of the vined gate, it was much more peaceful than her initial awakening in the Omniverse. In fact, in this particular Verse, she seemed to be almost completely at peace. It was as though nothing troubling had ever happened to her – she'd never been accused of murder, she hadn't been torn unceremoniously from her home and thrown into some clinically white nightmare, and she certainly hadn't had to deal with more strange life forms than she felt she could ever read about in the Circle Tower's library. As her blood red eyes fluttered open once more, she could scarcely believe where she was. It felt so... so normal. So natural.

Nyx blinked a few times in an attempt to clear the sleepy haze from her eyes, watching in wonder as the treetops around her sharpened into focus. Wait... There were trees? Tentatively, she stretched out her palm to feel the ground she lay on. Her fingers grasped at grass. She giggled delightedly, wrenching a handful of grass from the ground and staring at it in bewilderment. She felt as though she hadn't seen anything like it in years! Nyx was also in a state of disbelief that she could get so excited over something that she wouldn't even acknowledge back home.

Her heart skipped a beat as, for a moment, she entertained the possibility that she could be home. The blood mage pulled herself into an upright position, still in awe of her surroundings. The colours! How had she never noticed them before back home? They were so vivid, so luscious... almost too luscious. Nyx didn't really want to look over her shoulder and shatter the illusion, but she knew it was a necessary evil. With a heavy heart, she cast a glance over her shoulder. She was greeted with the other side of the portal. She quirked her head slightly, staring back through the portal and the fountain she had grown to recognize from whence she had come.

“Well, you're definitely not home...” Nyx murmured to herself, turning away from the portal. She sat facing what seemed like an endless forest. The trees sprawled out into the horizon as far as her eye could see. Exploring the forest seemed like the logical progression from her awakening in this tangled green. “But, hey... Could be worse...” she continued, picking herself up off the floor and checking her boot for the dagger she had summoned earlier. It, too, had survived her transition. As her fingers brushed against the handle, she tugged it free from the hilt and seized it firmly in her right hand. It made her feel safer. She didn't know what to expect from this expanse, especially after the variety of different creatures she had encountered earlier. Would they be 'normal'? What even was normal anymore? Nyx wasn't sure what to believe, and she didn't intend to leave herself defenceless so she could find out the hard way.

As Nyx looked up from the hilt of her dagger, her gaze fell upon a strange arrangement of rocks. They formed a ring, and an arrow pointed towards the forest. She smirked, despite herself. “How nice of her to leave a trail...” the blood mage mused, following the trail Whirda had left for her. At least, she hoped it was Whirda. Resigning herself to the thought she was intending to head for the heart of the forest anyway, Nyx shrugged lightly and quickened her pace, dagger still clutched firmly in hand.

As the trees became denser and thicker, Nyx entertained an interesting thought. The deeper into the forest she ventured, the less safe she felt. It was an odd notion, given that she had no idea what – or who – could emerge from the portal at any given time... and more so because she should, in theory, be comfortable with traversing forests... but this one felt different. She felt as though she was being watched, and unlike the forests of Ferelden, she wasn't entirely sure what to expect. That seemed to be a recurring theme as of late...

She focused on keeping her senses sharp, and her blade tensed and ready. She wasn't so concerned about using her magic here – heck, it didn't seem that anyone else was around to see it anyway. Was blood magic even so forbidden in this strange world?

Suddenly, a voice. “Now show yourself!” It seemed familiar... Feminine... Could it be? It was chased by a lower, more masculine voice. That one, she didn't recognize. He spoke softer than the female. Nyx urged her feet to move faster, straying from it and into the trees as she drew closer. Though she'd never received any hunter training, she knew a thing or two. Her instincts told her the bold and brazen approach was not the smartest. She crept from tree to tree, trying to get a better look at what was happening.

What she saw was Whirda with a blade pressed against the back of her neck. Nyx's fight or flight response kicked in as she glanced at the man in a strange, foreign garb. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, the man interjected.

“Is this your friend?” he sneered, jerking his head in the blood mage's direction. “She's not very subtle.”

Nyx's lips curled into a snarl. “I suggest you step away from her,” she growled, stepping into the light. When the man didn't comply, she drew the dagger closer to her left hand. The blade traced the scar that ran from her thumb across her palm, reopening the wound. The female grimaced, but didn't seem too concerned, and clenched her fist. Her eyes narrowed. ”This is your last warning.”

She was met with a light hearted giggle from the man. In one swift movement, she extended her arm, her palm outstretched towards what she guessed was some kind of assassin. Normally, blood would pour from the wound... but in Nyx's case, it coagulated into a projectile which immediately hurtled towards the man holding Whirda captive. Though he was clearly taken aback, his reflexes were sharp enough that he managed to dodge Nyx's attack – but that bought her enough time to break free.

“What...?” she began, but Nyx interjected. ”You can ask questions later.”

[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.

[Nyx]

Nyx was taken aback by the words, “I'm glad you came.” She had anticipated a thousand different outcomes, and not one of them ended with acceptance – she was pleasantly surprised that she had been wrong. There wasn't really much time to dwell on her newfound alliance, however. She, too, heard the goblinkin approaching. They spoke in a foreign tongue she didn't understand – heck, she'd never even seen a goblinkin before. Only ever read about their kind in books.

It was at times like these that Nyx cursed being raised in such a sheltered environment.

She turned to Whirda, who was already halfway up the tree. She climbed with such and ease that Nyx couldn't help but be envious. She then perched on the highest stable branch, poised and ready to strike.

Nyx's gaze flicked between her still-bleeding palm and the trunk. Leaving a bloody trail didn't seem like the best plan she'd ever had. Gripping the hilt of her dagger between her teeth, she used her newfound knowledge of Omnilium to summon a bandage. The process took a few minutes, and Nyx found herself growing increasingly more impatient with each passing moment. As soon as it had finished materializing, she hastily wrapped it around the wound and began to ascend.

She lacked the finesse Whirda had, but eventually joined her companion atop the tree. As Whirda turned her head to acknowledge her, Nyx shot her a sheepish grin.

The chanting got louder as the goblinkin drew nearer. Nyx slowly unwound the bloodstained bandages, and plucked the dagger from her mouth, poising it above the fresh wound. Whirda leaned forward, eager to strike, as the goblin leading the tribe came into view. It became immediately clear – as if there was ever any doubt, - that their intentions were far from noble. They looked like savages, the way they wore untreated, bloodstained pelts and accessorized with the bones of their enemies. Nyx doubted their appearances would be deceiving.

“On my mark,” Whirda whispered. Nyx nodded, captivated by the strange creatures below.

Sure enough, they took the bait. The leader slammed his staff into the ground in what seemed to be a kind of celebratory gesture, quickly beckoning for his allies to come and look. They crowded around him, and a few of the 'lesser' goblins crowded around the unconscious male, tentatively poking and prodding as they waited to be given permission to loot him. It seemed as though they believed him to be dead.

“Just follow my lead,” the blonde hissed, leaping from the branch. She landed behind the group of weaker goblins, and swiped at them with her kukris. As she attacked, she summoned a gust of wind which propelled the weakest goblin into the leader. He slammed his staff into the ground again, then pointed at Whirda. His allies advanced.

Nyx widened the open wound on her palm, clenching her hand into a fist to accelerate the bleeding. As it coagulated, she sent a flurry of projectiles at the goblins. They seemed disgusted and confused as they were struck, opening yet another opportunity for Whirda to advance. She seized it, lunging forwards in a flurry of kukri. Nyx couldn't help but admire the way she handled her blades – she made fighting seem so graceful and acrobatic!

Turning her attention to the leader, Nyx sent a larger projectile hurtling towards him. He glanced up just as she finished her cast, and quickly raised his staff to block her attack. The blood bolt slammed against the wood, breaking the top of the staff but harmlessly splattering against his ritualistic garb. He wailed something the mage didn't quite understand, and flailed in her direction. Two of the goblins who had been surrounding Whirda pealed away and began to climb the tree, heading for Nyx.

"Uh oh."

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda stutter-stepped back and forth, fending off a hail of blows from the nearest trio of goblins. Her weapons were a blur, the air filled with a symphony of steel on steel. The goblins stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, jostling each other for position, a wall of putrid flesh and crude copper shields. She was more than a match for them. Her kukris darted effortlessly into each exchange, shoddy goblin shortswords glancing off refined steel. The momentum was stolen from their blows with expert precision.

Their defenses would falter. They would tire, Whirda knew, given time. But it was time she didn't have, with Nyx to worry about, and the unsettling knowledge this was just a scouting party, with the bulk of the war band quick on the approach. As usual, she had explored her way into the center of a greater conflict.

The chieftain raised its splintered staff and screeched an incantation. The two goblins ascending toward Nyx grunted as the spell took hold. Their skin grew coarse and leathery. Whereas before they were held back by a barrage of Nyx's blood bolts, now they shrugged off the blows and advanced with impunity. The blood mage, less dextrous than Whirda, had no avenue of escape.

Desperate now, Whirda crossed both kukris in front of her and conjured a savage gust of wind. The goblin in the center braced itself, thrust its shield high, and skidded backward before the onslaught. Its arms wheeled in a fight for balance. Whirda followed, ducking below the high swipe of the goblin on the right and rising with a kick to the reeling one's shield. Still off-balance, it toppled over.

In her distraction, Whirda barely noticed the attack of the goblin on the left. Its weapon swept low toward her abdomen. Just in time, she brought her weapons across and double-tapped the sword low near the pommel, allowing it to slide dangerously close to her wrists. Before it could taste flesh, she disengaged, skipped back, and the goblin, intent on the kill, screeched and stumbled forward.

Whirda cut that screech short, dragging her kukri across its throat.

Aware almost preternaturally of the attacker coming from behind, Whirda jumped onto the back of the falling goblin, pushing off and leaping high. Already dead, it offered no protest. Clumsily, almost comically, the attacking goblin tripped over its slain ally for sudden lack of a target. It skewered itself through the bottom of its chin, and out through the apex of its skull with a spray of murky blood.

Whirda landed with both feet on the remaining goblin's shield. It howled beneath her weight, but even its cries couldn't drown out the distinct crack of crushed bone and cartilage. Its arms went limp; the shield fell, revealing what was now scarcely recognizable as a goblin's face.

The chieftain roared its outrage, brandishing its splintered staff and charging toward her.

"Whirda!" Nyx screamed.

Whirda growled. She wasn't used to being a protector, to dealing with vulnerable allies. It made her distracted. It made her weak.

The chieftain attacked and Whirda skittered back. The staff struck the ground with an outpouring of sorcery, shock waves that ruptured the earth and rippled outward. Whirda was knocked from her feet and landed hard on her back, the breath forced from her lungs. The chieftain cackled its flee and advanced again, staff raised.

"Whirda!" Another plaintive cry from Nyx sent chills down her spine.

"I have no time for this!" she screamed to no one in particular. As the staff descended, she thrust herself into a backward roll and jumped in advance of the contact. As waves of foul sorcery shuddered beneath her, she landed with both feet on the center of the chieftain's staff. With a resounding crack, it snapped in two.

The chieftain, now unarmed, fell a moment later before her impatient fury, blood leaking from a dozen wounds.

Whirda shoved past the hulking, falling creature and looked to Nyx. The girl had climbed higher to escape. To her credit, one of the goblins lay in a heap at the base of the tree, groaning, a fractured elbow revealing the porcelain white of bone. The other stone-skinned monster had her by the ankle.

Nyx kicked the remaining goblin about the face and shoulders. The sorcery of the chieftain still in effect, it merely laughed. Nothing the girl could do—nothing Whirda had yet seen—her do, could penetrate the sorcerous defenses. Its jaundiced eyes flashed with the lunacy of a creature that would savor violating the girl, picking her limb from limb, cutting, roasting, grinding...

Whirda forced the image from her head. The creature balanced precariously on a branch, one hand wrapped tight around Nyx's ankle, the other around its sword, prepared to sever foot from leg.

There was no time. Frantic, Whirda sprinted forward. She knew instinctively she was too slow.

The sword flashed. Nyx screamed.

The first throwing knife separated the goblin's hand from its body. The second entered its gleeful, snaggle-toothed mouth, cutting its triumphant howl short. A blur of green flashed through the air. Whirda saw, for a split second, an impossibly short moment, a shock of black hair. Already dead, the goblin fell from the tree, landing with a thud in a cloud of dust.

In her surprise, Nyx released the branch above her, lost her footing on the one below. With a yelp, she fell.

Whirda dove, arms outstretched, to catch the falling bundle of red robes. She blinked once, saw Nyx falling. Blinked again, saw another flicker of black hair, headband, handsome face masked by consternation. The man in green caught the girl in strong arms, landed on one knee, and brought Nyx carefully to her feet.

In the time it took for all that to happen, Whirda hit the ground, hard, and rolled to her knees with a gasp of pain.

The man in green smirked.

"Will you tell me who you are now?" he asked, rubbing the cut on the side of his head with one sleeve. "Obviously you're not with them." He jerked his free elbow at the last living goblin, who now stumbled away, holding its torn elbow and whimpering its fear. Before it could reach the trees, a trio of throwing knives peppered its back. It turned, its expression questioning, almost scolding, and fell.

For the life of her, Whirda hadn't seen the man in green move.

[Nyx]

The mage watched in horror as the Chieftain enchanted his minions, hardening their skin and increasing their resistance to her attacks. This was not an optimal situation. Having her attackers shrug off her bolts as easily as water off a duck's back was deeply terrifying for her. She regretted not spending more time studying self defence; she had always assumed her magic would protect her. It was clear that that was no longer the case.

They advanced with increasing speed, their crude blades hacking into the bark of the tree and carving footholds to aid in their ascent. The rhythmic thud of steel on wood caused her to shudder as she edged away from the trunk of the tree, careful to try and maintain her balance while still widening the gap between herself and her assailants. "Whirda!" she cried, the goblins groping at her feet and ankles, trying to seize her and limit her escape. She thrashed wildly, shuffling along the branch and away from them as much as she could.

She risked a glance below, and saw a familiar white-haired blur laying waste to the goblins below, as before. Then, she caught sight of something she wasn't expecting - the stranger they had K.O.'d regaining consciousness. "Whirda!" she screamed, this time with more urgency. Nyx wanted to point at the man in the green garb. but she feared what might happen if she relinquished her vice-like grip on the hilt of her blade - or took her eyes off of her assailants for more than a few seconds.

Nyx was right to fear this lapse in judgement. The hungry snarl of one of the abominations sent a chill down her spine as they began to hack at her ankles. To her credit, she thrashed and squirmed, somehow managing to evade their heavy blows. The mutated goblins snarled in frustration as their blades met only wood.

However, the mage was quickly running out of branch, and the repeated blows from the goblins were causing the wood to strain under her weight. The only way was up. She scrambled desperately up the tree and just out of reach of the goblins. One of them followed her, still clawing at her ankles. Nyx yelped, thrashing on the branch and aiming several kicks at his face. He lost his grip on the tree and fell, landing on his elbow with a sickening crack. His ally seemed undeterred by his ally's failure, and continued to climb.

The mage scooted along the branch, trying to evade the goblin's grip without breaking the branch. It was a difficult balance, and the goblin seemed to be gaining more ground with each passing moment. They now shared the tree, and his fingers firmly grasped her ankle. She was powerless. He raised his sword arm, licking his lips excitedly as he prepared to chop her foot off. Nyx screamed, forcing her eyes closed and turning her head away, bracing herself for the searing pain that would follow.

Nothing.

She felt nothing.

The goblin howled in pain, joining Nyx's voice in a kind of tortured symphony, then hit the ground with a loud thud.

Nyx opened her eyes in disbelief, releasing her grip on the branch to probe at her legs and ankles, checking they were still there. She rolled from the top branch, stumbled on the branch below, and fell. It all happened so quickly she barely had time to appreciate just how peaceful it was. Again, she braced for the inevitable impact.

... Nothing.

Again, she felt noth-- Wait. She was being held in a tight embrace, firm enough to hold her, but gentle enough to prevent her fight or flight instinct from kicking in. Or so they thought. Nyx thrashed wildly, confused as to how and why she'd evaded death twice now.

Of all the faces she expected to see, the mysterious man from earlier was not one of them.

"Why would you...?" she began, standing uneasily on her feet. Her legs threatened to buckle from the strain of holding herself upright.

The man ignored her, glancing between her and Whirda. He wanted to know who they were. The fact he had implied they would ever be allied with goblins was a notion Nyx found utterly disgusting, but she bit her tongue. She owed this man her life.

"I owe you my life," she stated solemnly, echoing the words in her head. "I suppose the least I can do is introduce myself." She smiled sheepishly, sheathing her dagger. "I'm Nyx."

The mage tactfully fell quiet, her gaze meeting Whirda's. The blonde was still in shock - understandably so. The Tangled Green wasn't exactly a forgiving place, from what they had seen so far. Nyx dreaded to think what she had been through in the events leading to her following her. Whirda ignored the question, shooting Nyx a glance which seemed to say 'Why would you surrender your name so easily?'

"More importantly, who are you?" she replied.

The man shrugged nonchalantly. "All you need to know about me is that I belong to the Mokugakure."

"What is that, some kind of cult?" Nyx enquired. "Is that why you're wearing that funny outfit?"

War drums reverberated around the forest, signalling the approach of the warband.

"You go," the man in green stated, ignoring Nyx's question. "Your friend is in no state to fight." In a flash, he was behind Whirda. "But next time, I would like a proper introduction."

With that, he was gone, leaving Nyx in a daze. She was shaken from her reverie by Whirda, dragging her elbow. "Come on," she urged, guiding Nyx further into the trees, away from the sounds of the approaching warband. As they walked, Nyx held her relatively unscathed hand out, and summoned a few more bandages using Omnilium. The process took a few minutes, but she knew it would be worth the wait. She didn't want anyone to be able to track them because of her bloody hand.

Feverishly, she wrapped her palm with the bandage, tying it tight. The blood quickly began to seep through the material, so she wrapped another layer of bandage around the wound. There was still a fair amount left over. Nudging Whirda's side, she offered her the bandages. "Want some of these?" she asked, her red eyes quickly surveying her friend for any visible wounds.

They continued to walk. Neither of the girls really seemed to know what it was they were looking for, and they walked in silence until they reached a slight clearing. Nyx stopped abruptly, nervously fiddling with her bandaged hand. "I'm sorry for holding you back," she said. "I'm.. not as strong as I was."

[PepsiWhirda]

"Things are different here," Whirda agreed. "Time was, my blows carried more weight." She twirled her kukris as she spoke, almost plaintively. "But I feel stronger with each passing hour, it seems. We'll return to form. Don't worry."

"I hope so," Nyx sighed.

The war drums grew louder. They cut a wide arc around the goblin band. Their brief talk with the man in green had raised far more questions than it answered. Too many for Whirda simply to walk away. Though his rescue of Nyx stung her pride—how could it not?—, she nevertheless owed him a debt. He was right to want Nyx out of the fighting. She was weak, for now, though Whirda could sense the same glimmer of power rising within her as she felt in herself. She was a liability Whirda couldn't afford in such unfamiliar territory.

"When I was young," she said after a time, "I was trained by the finest battle mage in the realms. I came from a life of frailty, where the sharpest tongues ruled and every period of interregnum bled until the gutters of Waterdeep frothed red. If I hadn't escaped—if she hadn't rescued me—that would be who I am. Instead of this." She tossed her blades high and twirled into an easy cartwheel, righting herself in time to catch them reverse grip by their hilts. All in one fluid movement.

"Who was she?" Nyx asked.

Whirda smiled. "My mother."

The war drums were behind them now. Whirda turned and angled herself toward the receding thrums, Nyx close behind.

"She sounds wonderful." The bandages on Nyx's hands were spotted with brownish bloodstains. If the girl minded, she didn't show it.

"She was," Whirda said.

"Oh." Nyx searched for something to say. "I'm sorry."

"I'd like to think I was brought here for a reason. In Faerûn, isolation was all I knew. I hunted creatures like these and sold trophies of their flesh to get by. I deluded myself into thinking I was doing good, suffering some self-assigned purgatory to repent for allowing her to.... What I mean is, whether this place holds the power I need to avenge her, or a chance to do some real good, either way it's a step up, right? So I'm grateful. To whoever brought us here. To you for walking beside me. Don't ever think you're a burden."

"Whirda—" Nyx began, a moment before the mass of mottled flesh dropped to the ground between them.

[Nyx]

Thud.

A goblin landed squarely between Nyx and Whirda, his dark eyes flashing excitedly. He hopped from foot to foot in a triumphant dance, waving his spear about in the air in a victorious gesture. Lowering his spear from the air, the goblin eased into a stance, his gaze hardening as he tried to decide which of the ladies he'd pick off first.

“Blondie die first!” he finally screeched in Goblin, apparently not aware that 'blondie' spoke his language. As he crept towards her, brandishing his spear menacingly, she eased herself into a battle stance, ready to slit his throat. Whirda prepared to lunge, but then--

Thunk.

The goblin's advance was cut short as an arrow pierced his skull. He didn't even have time to wail in protest.

Thump.

The goblin slumped to the floor in complete silence. The blow killed him instantly – he didn't even have time to cry in protest. Nyx and Whirda shot each other confused glances before advancing towards the corpse. Nyx turned to scout the trees for any signs of an archer, but they were lifeless. Meanwhile, Whirda tugged the arrow free of his skull and held it up to the light to get a better look.

“As I expected.”
“Elves?”
“Yeah. Any sign of them?”
“Not that I can see.”
“Typical.”

Some would argue that Nyx wasn't very 'worldly', but she knew enough to recognize the work of an elven archer when she saw it. They had the uncanny ability of being practically invisible if they wanted to be, and their arrows were often silent and aimed with deadly precision. The goblin was a shining example of that.

The forest fell silent again, save for the sound of the retreating drums. Nyx jerked her head in the direction of the sound. “Shall we? If the elves wanted us dead, we'd know about it.”

Whirda nodded in agreement. “You sure you're ready?”
“As ready as I'll ever be. I have something I want to try.”

The steady beating of the drums grew louder as they approached. Soon, the warband itself came into view. Nyx's gaze was immediately drawn to the three goblins at the heart of the warband: the leader and his lieutenants. Each of them rode strange beasts Nyx recognized to be raptors – strange scaly dinosaur-like creatures that walked on two legs and had two spindly little arms. They were known for their speed and ferocity. The strange thing was that they were all decorated in a ritualistic manner with feathers and bones – Nyx guessed that was the work of the shamans, who also seemed to be serving as the leader's lieutenants.

The rest of the goblins were on foot. The warband itself was in a fairly standard formation, with the brawlers protecting the casters. Nyx couldn't see any archers amongst the party on foot, so she assumed that they would be following from the safety of the treetops. She wasn't far wrong. The goblins lacked the subtlety the elves had, and the odd rustle of leaves helped to give an indication of where they were hiding, or where they had been.

The heaving mass of green skin ground to a halt as it reached the remains of the scouting party. The beast the leader rode let out a terrifying screech, which apparently was a recognized signal within the warband as the goblins on foot quickly moved to investigate. The leader and his lieutenants advanced much slower, forming a grim procession towards the remnants of their allies. A few of the archers hung from the trees, wanting to get a closer look at the scene.

In unison, Nyx and Whirda readied their weapons. Whirda drew her kukri, sinking into a battle stance. Nyx unfurled the bandage from around her palm and reached for her trusted dagger, joining Whirda in a low battle stance. Silently, they advanced. Whirda had her eyes set on the rear guard, a trio of goblins. They remained behind as the others moved closer toward the clearing. Among the rear guard were a brawler, a mage and a scout. They frequently jostled with one another, hissing at each other in a language Nyx didn't understand.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda only nodded, crouched low and too focused for a proper reply. As dusk fell over the forest, she glided from tree to tree, her movements the practiced, ball-to-toe movements of a skilled predator. The goblins took no notice. Distracted by the outraged cries of their kin, they wouldn't stand a chance.

Tree to tree, up and over a fallen branch, treading neatly around fallen sticks and leaves, Whirda was soon upon them. Her light jog became a run, her run a full on sprint, and then she dove, fully outstretched, parallel to the ground. The bruiser, a great wall of meaty flesh, hefted a battle axe and bounced from heel to heel. The scout, looking bored, picked its filthy nails and adjusted the crossbow slung over its shoulder.

Whirda spread her arms and struck each of them with a single kukri. Before the weapons could dig into flesh, she called on her sorcery and trapped them both in cyclonic prisons, buffeting winds that jostled them to and fro, silent and immobile. She turned her momentum into a forward flip and landed with one steadying hand on the ground.

To its credit, the slender mage reacted quickly, swinging to face her and leveling a spindly wand. Before it could enact its sorcery, Whirda kicked straight up. The wand flew high, spinning, and before it could land the goblin mage fell, grasping its torn throat, its warning emerging only as a gurgling wheeze.

Whirda pounced next on the bruiser, dissipating the cyclone with a wave of her hand. She barreled through him with her whole weight, taking advantage of his disorientation. They fell, her knees forcing the breath from its diaphragm, her weapons sliding with precision between ribs and into its lungs. It gasped for air, flopping like a fish that couldn't tell upstream from down, and died.

The scout's cyclonic prison faded next, and Whirda was already up and running. The scout emerged stumbling, bent over, and dry heaved. As Whirda neared, it stood straight. The dazed look on its face showed it hadn't yet realized what was happening.

Nyx's first blood bolt caught it square in the side of its head, sending it stumbling. The second, Whirda noticed with a flash of approval, neatly severed the crossbow string, rendering the weapon useless as anything but a blunt object.

"Shit," she mouthed a moment later, seeing the goblin shaken from its reverie.

The guttural, panicked cry reverberated off trees, filled the air to capacity, echoed even over the howls of the rest of the war band. A swift kick to the scout's stomach and a blade dragged across its throat cut the cry short, but the damage was done. Whirda looked up, and into a hundred furious yellow eyes. The war band stared at her, almost with incredulity. More than fifty armed goblins, three of them riding monstrous, scaled creatures of Chultan myth, were now aware of her presence.

Nyx appeared at her side, and for a moment all Whirda could focus on was how pale she looked, scarlet eyes sunken, face wan and etched with exhaustion.

"Shit."

For a moment, everything was quiet. So quiet she could hear her own shallow breathing. Then it wasn't.

The leader of the war band, a hulking, yellow-green monstrosity bedecked in feather and bone, raised its great staff high. At the tip gleamed a hunk of ruby the size of Whirda's fist. The gem flashed intensely, the weapon spitting a coruscating stream of sparks. It howled something Nyx couldn't understand, but to Whirda meant only one thing.

"Run!"

[Nyx]

'You don't have to tell me twice...' Nyx thought to herself, scarcely wanting to believe what she saw.

She was tired. She'd gone from not casting any spells to throwing out blood bolts like they were nobody's business. In case you weren't already aware, using your own life force as mana is not the optimal strategy. It's risky witchcraft, to say the least – and boy, was she paying the price.

Then, something caught her attention: the wand dropped by the mage Whirda disarmed.

Nyx wasn't accustomed to using wands, but that one was going free and sure as heck didn't involve her severing old wounds or shedding blood, so it had to be worth a shot! Risking a glance between the mage's corpse and the advancing warband, Nyx mustered her strength and dashed out, seizing the wand before pivoting and sprinting to catch up with Whirda.

Her body cried out in protest. Her muscles ached, her heart pounded against her ribcage and she could feel the age-old gash on her palm throb with every heartbeat. She was also beginning to feel a little dizzy, but she pushed aside any thoughts of fainting and instead focused on fleeing from the goblins.

Adrenaline kicked in as the goblins' footsteps closed in on them. The blood mage urged her body to keep going, to push past the pain and exhaustion and just keep moving. Stopping would be suicide. Her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest as one of her legs gave way, causing her to collapse to the floor. She scrabbled at the ground, nails tearing at the earth, then scraping against bark as she desperately tried to stand. There was no time for this.

Whirda risked a glance over her shoulder and saw Nyx stumbling and falling like a baby deer, the goblins stalking towards her like a pack of hungry lions.

“Just go!” Nyx yelled, waving a hand dismissively. Her other hand seized the wand the goblin mage had dropped. She brandished it at the approaching warband with more conviction than she felt.

An owl picked that precise moment to swoop in out of nowhere and seize the goblin leader's staff, still held high in triumph. The beast's claws wrapped around the staff and neatly plucked it from the goblin's grasp. Neither the leader himself or any of his followers had time to react before the counter-attack was upon them.

To Nyx, it seemed as though they'd come from nowhere. Some of them appeared from the treetops – some came sprinting from behind the trees – others... she couldn't even guess where they had originated from. One thing she was certain of was that they were elves.

“What in the...?” she murmured as arrows flew around her. There were flashes, almost like fireworks – this, Nyx attributed towards there being mages within the group. The goblins, not having expected such a strong resistance, were powerless to defend themselves. They dropped like flies, and all she could do was watch.

Casting a glance up at Whirda, the two shared a look before the white-haired female shrugged. She didn't know why they were here, either.

Nyx felt firm hands on her elbows, trying to guide her into standing. She was clumsy on her feet, and quickly fell back down, her face flushing red as her knees hit the dirt. This was definitely not the first impression she wanted to make. It was then that the elf trying to help her stepped into view. She had pale skin and ivory hair that was neatly tied into a ponytail. Not a single strand was out of place. Judging by the fitted leather armour she wore, Nyx suspected she was some kind of scout or ranger.

The elf squatted in front of Nyx, pulling a flask from her hip and offering it to her. “Drink,” she said. It wasn't so much a question as it was an order. Nyx regarded her with some suspicion, but obeyed, tugging the lid from the flask and taking a sip just to taste. The water was cool and fresh – and after swallowing, she didn't want to carve her own insides out, so she deduced it was safe.

“Thank you,” she replied, wiping her mouth and handing the flask back to the elf. She smiled, turning and offering the same flask to Whirda.

“You look like you could use a drink, too.”

[PepsiWhirda]

The fight—if it could even be called that—was over in seconds. Whirda stood blinking in the descending gloom. She surveyed the carnage almost contemptuously: four dozen goblin corpses, warty faces frozen in masks of perpetual shock. A handful of elves filtered through the battlefield, here and there delivering killing blows to the few goblins still grasping some spark of life. Not even the scaled beasts were spared.

"Whirda?"

Only then did Whirda see Nyx standing beside her. The blood mage looked better. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks, and she proffered the elven flask with something like a smile.

Whirda shook her head. "Thanks, but I'll conjure my own if I'm thirsty."

"You don't trust it?" Nyx looked suddenly doubtful.

"Just like elves," Whirda growled in place of an answer. They stood in the center of a small clearing, as the graceful creatures dragged goblin bodies into a great heap. None of them spoke. Few would make eye contact with the women.

"What do you mean?"

"They have been tracking me since the moment I entered this gods-forsaken forest," Whirda glowered. "They would have let that goblin take your foot off at the ankle before they stepped in."

"The situation was well in hand." An elf glided up to her, his tunic ornamented with appellations of some high elven regard. He stood with hysterical posture. Whirda could almost smell the arrogance wafting from him.

She strode up to him, anger etching her features, paying no attention to the elven bowstrings drawn taut, arrows prepared to punch holes in her lithe frame at any sign of violence. "Well in hand? Is that what you'd call it. Nyx was almost killed!"

With a wave of the elf's palm, the bowstrings lowered. His features were aquiline, cast in exotic, dusky tones that suggested foreign shores and mixed origins. Not a full-blood elf, perhaps. "But she was not killed, was she?"

"You—you couldn't have known, though. For all your arrogance, elf, you couldn't have known. You should have intervened."

"Our lady Tyrande's orders were specific," the elf said. "We were only to deal with the main force, at a time when engagement was advantageous. A situation which you so graciously provided." He bowed stiffly at the waist, the touch of a smile at the corners of his lips. "For which we thank you, of course."

"You would have watched a girl die to stay true to your orders?" Whirda asked, with no small amount of incredulity.

The elf frowned. "Lady Tyrande is the high priestess of Elune. Chosen leader of the night elves, hero of the War of the Ancients, our savior in the Sundering. I would be a fool to trust my instinct over her wisdom."

"Impressive resume," Whirda said drily.

"Our lady has instructed me to extend to you an invitation," the elf said. "Yggdrassil has many amenities you will not find elsewhere in the Green. Your assistance in dealing with the goblin horde is appreciated, and our people would extend their gratitude."

Through all this, Nyx stood silently behind Whirda. She perked up at the invitation. "We should go, right? We need supplies, and they can tell us more about this place."

"Our libraries are comprehensive in their coverage of the Omniverse," the elf agreed.

Whirda snorted her derision into the night. "We're not interested, elf. If we need supplies, we will summon them ourselves. Your... hospitality isn't needed."

"The Green is an unforgiving place," the elf said. "Where will you sleep? How will you protect yourselves?"

"It's never been an issue before. We'll build our own shelter, if need be." She thought of the man in green, of the place he mentioned during their talk. Mokugakure. If she could find him, she would ask him to take her and Nyx there. Just an hour ago he'd held a knife to her neck, and she still trusted him more than the elves.

"There are those who will seek to kill you."

Whirda barked a laugh. "There are those I would like to see try."

Clearly annoyed, the elf said, "Nevertheless, my friend, I'm afraid the invitation is compulsory. It is poor etiquette to deny Lady Tyrande's hospitality."

"Yeah? Well tell your bitch queen—" Whirda started to say. The arrow whisked past her face, not an inch from her left eye. She looked down to see a lock of pale blonde hair drift to the ground.

"You would do well to watch your tongue when speaking of the lady," the elf said. He had unsheathed his longsword and held it casually, with the confidence of a man whose weapon is an extension of his arm itself. "Or I'll cut it from your mouth."

"I'd like to see you try," Whirda growled, twirling her weapons to reverse grip. "Now, like I said, tell your bitch queen I'm not interested."

"Whirda, don't," Nyx cautioned.

If you asked her later, Whirda would say she imagined what came next. But in the moment, adrenaline pumping, muscles taut with anticipation, she could have sworn the darkness was lifted from the forest. For a moment, as the priestess entered the clearing, it was bright as day.

"Why don't you tell me yourself, Whirda Windstrom."

[Omni]

Tyrande hopped down from her frostsaber, giving an attentive pat to it as she did so. It licked her hand and then stood behind as she crossed the distance to Whirda.

“You’re not very grateful.”

Whirda shot her a look of hatred.

“I will not force you to come. But the way I see it, you owe us. It’s not often we get involved with … outsiders. But the outside has deemed to involve itself with us, so it seems only appropriate.”

Nyx cocked her head. “What are you talking about?”

Deciding to talk to the more reasonable of the duo, Tyrande looked over. “I will cut to the chase. We have a problem. There is a … blight spreading in the forest. We believe it to have originated in the Pale Moors. We will pay you to go there, and find a cure.”

“Pay us?” asked Nyx. She hadn’t even considered money, or the need for it, since arriving in the Omniverse. “What with?”

The high priestess looked blank for a moment, as though regarding a troll. “Omnilium, of course.”

“This blight,” interjected Whirda. “How did it get here?”

Tyrande hesitated. “One of our scouts … died on their trip back to base. We believe her body is what began the spread of the blight in the forest.”

The blonde snorted. “Seems to me it’s your own fault.”

“Enough,” growled Tyrande. “You can take our offer, come with us to prepare, or head to the Moors. Or you can take your chances in the forest.” She turned around, walked back to her frostsaber, mounted up, and fixed them with her intense blue eyes. “Make up your minds.”

[Nyx]

Nyx picked herself up from the forest floor and dusted herself off, waiting until Tyrande was out of earshot before addressing Whirda. She thought about addressing Whirda's attitude, but ultimately thought better of it.

"We should go with her," she began, picking the wand up and twirling it around her fingers. Whirda shot her a disapproving look. "We could use a good night's sleep somewhere safe."

The blonde remained silent, adjusting some of the belts she wore and now turning to stare at Tyrande's back with a wary glare.

"It's not like we'll be there forever.. Just a few days, until I've regained my strength." Nyx sighed, lowering her head to look at her palm. The blood had hardened into a scab, though some parts were still bleeding from Nyx having moved her hand. Some dirt from the forest floor clung to the wound, which she did her best to brush away, but it wasn't a painless experience.

Eventually, Whirda nodded in resignation. "Fine." Without a further word, she began to follow Tyrande's footsteps. Nyx fell into her stride.

They walked in what felt like a stunted silence for a good few minutes before Nyx attempted to break the ice. "Besides... Don't you want to find out more about the Blight? She said she'd pay us in Omnilium."

An aggravated sigh escaped Whirda's lips. "What if we're walking into a trap?"

"Isn't that all we've done already?" Nyx replied smoothly. She had a point. The pair seemed to have developed a penchant for getting themselves into trouble.

Whirda opened her mouth, as if to say something, but hesitated. Nyx frowned a little. She could anticipate what the blonde's words would have been: I was fine until you came along.

She thought about pre-emptively defending herself, but ultimately decided against it. The pair continued their journey in silence.

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda stalked behind the frostsaber in silence. Two elven guards flanked her on both sides, hands on the pommels of their blades, an inch of fine steel poking out of the sheaths. For the better part of a day, she and Nyx had scrambled against the goblin horde. The elves postured warily, still enemies as far as Whirda was concerned, no more subtle in their intent than the dozen corpses she'd left in her wake. One slip up, and she'd find herself face down on the forest floor. Despite herself, she felt like smiling.

Shafts of sallow moonlight poked and prodded through the canopy. Swarms of insects whirled and eddied in their wake. If she looked up, she could see the stars, a welcome change from the clinical blankness of the Nexus. She looked sidelong at the blood mage. Nyx returned the stare blankly. Whirda could see the exhaustion in her stride, the way her shoulders sagged, the charcoal smudge bags beneath her eyes. If nothing else, their visit with the elves would be a welcome reprieve for the girl.

After an hour of walking, Tyrande turned in her saddle and fixed Whirda with an appraising stare. "We will soon reach the blighted lands. If you are still unconvinced at that time, we will part ways. Is that agreeable?"

Whirda set her jaw. "Agreed."

"I know you don't trust our kind, Whirda," Tyrande said, "though I cannot fathom why. But I feel like you might be our only hope." Her angular features were etched with equal parts pride and sorrow. The grief resonated from her like something tangible. Whirda caught herself feeling sorry for the elf queen, for what the blight was doing to her home. She squared her shoulders and shook the thought from her head. Never trust an elf.

"She's so sad," Nyx whispered.

Whirda opened her mouth to reply, but the words caught fast in her throat. They emerged from a tight-knit copse of trees, and she felt like she'd been kneed in the stomach.

The blight was worse than she imagined. A vast expanse of what once was forest stretched before her, now a withered, broken landscape. What few trees remained standing curled sickly in on themselves, the cold gray of embers devoid of a spark. Skeletal limbs groped at the sky beseechingly, or bent low as if to scoop handfuls of leaves from the ground. Even the air was lifeless, somehow heavy, wrapping around them like a shroud. The darkness revealed no end to the affliction in any direction.

On each side of Whirda, the elves dropped to their knees, like the hope had been sucked like marrow from their bones. A few wept openly, their tears streaming in silence.

Lady Tyrande dismounted, caressing the frostsaber's fur with the back of one hand. She approached Whirda and Nyx in silence. "Now you see why we come to you," she said after a time. The words were thick heartache. "Each day, the blight spreads further. Our libraries provide no information. The combined strength of our wizards and priestesses grant the forest no reprieve from its inexorable progress. Our home is under attack from something we do not understand, Whirda. We need your help."

Before Whirda could reply, Nyx said, "We'll do everything we can, Lady Tyrande. Everything in our power. Just tell us how."

The blood mage and the elf queen turned to Whirda, who became intensely aware that every pair of eyes in the clearing was trained on her. She looked to Nyx, to Tyrande, then past them to the devastation of the blight.

"Right?" Nyx implored.

Whirda breathed through her teeth. "Right."

[Nyx]

When the elves had first mentioned the Blight, Nyx began to remember things about her old life. The one which seemed just outside of her consciousness, ever since she was brought here, to a world which she couldn't anticipate and predict. She remembered things.

Blights were something she was already all too familiar with. There were countless tomes in the Circle Tower detailing the Blights of old – Ferelden, her home, had seen more than its fair share of blights in its time. It had seen four before Nyx had even been born, and after her birth, its fifth descended upon the land. Though she supposedly lived in safety within the walls of the Circle Tower, she was all too familiar with the effects of the darkspawn. They drained the life of the things around them, leaving only desolation and destruction in their wake. They cared not for the sadness or the loss of others.

'Neither did I...'

As the blighted lands came into view, Nyx was rudely jolted from her reverie. Previously unfocused crimson eyes now sharpened, furtively searching the landscape for any signs of life. What she saw took her breath away.

It was as though the very essence of the forest had been drained away, leaving nothing but an empty shell. Flowers that should have bloomed merely wilted; trees that should've been ripe with leaves were bare and skeletal; wildlife that should've thrived wasted away. It felt more like a graveyard than a forest.

Even stepping over the threshold had a tangible effect on the group. It was as though someone had put a sign up saying 'abandon hope, all ye who enter here'. They may as well have. Every face furrowed in concern, while some twisted in grief for those they had lost to the blight. Nyx's heart went out to them.

Yet something didn't sit quite right with her. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that this desolate landscape was how others viewed her effect on the world. She knew how the mages in the Circle Tower felt about blood magic – they viewed it as a 'blight on this world'. They seemed to believe that everything blood mages touched would wither and die, that no good could come from their presence.

'That's ridiculous,' Nyx thought to herself, daring to take a step deeper into the corrupted lands. 'I haven't even been here before. Besides, this looks to be the work of the darkspawn... but they can't possibly be here... Can they?'

The exchange between Whirda and Tyrande caught her attention. She turned away from the corruption before her and strode towards the Night Elf. “We'll do everything we can, Lady Tyrande. Everything in our power. Just tell us how.”

When Whirda eventually agreed, Nyx turned her attention back to Tyrande. She looked as exhausted as Nyx felt, but to the elf's credit, she was doing a stellar job of holding it together.

“You look weary. Let us head to Yggdrassil.”

Tyrande mounted her Frostsaber, prompting her elves to fall into formation around her. To Nyx's surprise, Whirda fell into line without so much as a sigh of complaint. She suspected this was partially due to the effects of seeing the blight first hand. But, with each step that put the corruption further behind them, the elves begin to perk up a little. Nyx was at a loss as to why, until it all became clear – they were nearing Yggdrassil.

The sentinels guarding Yggdrassil hurried to open the gate and allow their esteemed leader passage. Tyrande graciously bowed her head in thanks, slowing the pace to allow her guests enough time to truly embrace how beautiful the elves' fabled World Tree was.

And boy, was it beautiful.

Beyond the gate was an arched passageway. Though the structure was made of metal, vines and branches from the World Tree had reached out and wrapped around it all, making the passageway look like an extension of the tree itself. Wisps lingered around the area, providing ambient light and drawing attention to the mossy stone beneath their feet.

The tree itself was much bigger than Nyx could have imagined; it seemed to take up all of the space in front of her. As she gazed up, she felt dizzy – a maze of branches was woven above her, and somehow some water seemed to pour from some of the highest points of the tree. The water draped from the uppermost branches, almost like curtains.

Tyrande lead the procession across the bridge, drawing Nyx's gaze to an entrance which somehow managed to look like it was simply part of the tree. It had a distinctly elven feel – as they drew nearer, the intricate patterns etched in the woodwork came into focus. Elves seemed to have a thing for finery, and their World Tree was no exception.

As they neared the entrance itself, Tyrande stopped, turning to face Nyx and Whirda.

“Welcome to Yggdrassil,” she said warmly, as the sentinels behind her rushed to open the doors.

[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.

[Nyx]

Nyx was overwhelmed with happiness as she pushed open the door to her room. It offered so many things that she would once have taken for granted, but which she now held in high esteem as though they were luxuries. She felt warm, secure... and above all else, exhausted.

The last few days had been truly harrowing on her, not least because she had been adjusting to the Omniverse's effect on her magic. Back in Ferelden, she could cast Blood Bolts as freely as glares – here, each drop of blood she lost greatly drained her. She hadn't really had an opportunity to rest since she first awakened at the Nexus, what with constantly being faced with the threat of other Primes at the fountain and goblins and god knows what else in the Tangled Green.

Here, she had elves to watch over her, and an ally close by. For the first time since she arrived in the Omniverse, she felt safe. Consequently, the exhaustion hit her like a tidal wave, and her body shook and threatened to collapse. She dragged herself towards the bed, summoned the strength to kick off her boots, and fell face-first into the bed.

-

As dappled sunlight streamed in through the window, crimson eyes slowly fluttered open, blinking rapidly to try and adjust to the light. Nyx sat up and stretched widely, grimacing a little as her back and shoulders cracked. She deduced that she must have slept in a funny position. As the room came into focus, she took a moment to admire where she was. Her gaze fell upon a basket adjacent to a door at the far end of the room, away from the entrance.

She got out of bed and moved towards the basket, tentatively lifting the lid. It was empty. Perhaps some kind of wash basket? Nyx replaced the lid and turned the handle of the door, pushing it open and peering inside. It was a simple wash room, with a tub as the centrepiece. To the left of the tub was a railing with a fresh towel hanging over the side. She wasted no time in beginning to run herself a bath, removing her robes and depositing them in what she assumed was the wash basket.

Realizing she had no other clothes with her, Nyx panicked. Then, a stroke of genius. 'Omnilium.'

As her bath continued to run behind her, Nyx concentrated on summoning a clean set of robes. Within a few minutes, they appeared in her arms. They were almost identical to the robes she had been wearing before, but this set of robes had long sleeves. She hurriedly folded them over the towel rack and rushed to stop the tap, before easing herself gently into the tub.

The warm water soothed her aching muscles and stung the wound on her palm. It was an interesting clash of sensation, to say the least. She did her best to clean the wound, then set about cleaning the rest of her body. It felt good to wash after having spent so much time wearing the same set of clothes. She wondered how the elves must have thought, meeting her when she must have stank to high heaven...

As the blood mage towelled herself dry and dressed, she heard a knock on her door. Hurriedly fastening her robes – which, thankfully, were a perfect fit! - she rushed towards the door and pulled it open. She was greeted by an elf in what looked like royal garb. She suspected he was a messenger of Tyrande.

“Milady, Tyrande requests your presence in the Council. She also sends this. She believes it to be yours?”

The elf presented Nyx with a familiar looking staff. The handle was made of gnarled wood, and at the tip of the staff was a large ruby orb, held in place by wooden prongs. It resembled the staff the leader of the goblin warband had wielded, but it looked... different.

“I hope you don't mind, but our weaponsmith took the liberty of making a few... alterations. I hope they are to your liking?”
“It's perfect. Thank you. Send my regards to the weaponsmith, if you wouldn't mind?”
“With pleasure. If you'll excuse me, I must wake Whirda, then I will show you to the Council Chamber.”

As the elf moved to Whirda's door, Nyx took the opportunity to play with her new staff, twirling it about in her hands. It was so light, it almost felt like an extension of her arm. She wondered how the elves managed to achieve such weightlessness even despite the size of the ruby at the end of the staff. Upon hearing the elf greet Whirda, Nyx realized she was missing her boots and trusty dagger, and rushed to rectify the situation.

When she reappeared at the door, both Whirda and the elf were waiting for her. Whirda looked much more fresh-faced than she had the night before, and almost looked... comfortable. It wasn't something Nyx had been anticipating, since Whirda had made it clear from the beginning that she really didn't trust elves, but it seemed as though she was setting aside their differences for the time being. Heck, maybe even a good night's sleep had something to do with it.

"Good morning, Whirda," Nyx greeted the blonde warmly. "Did you sleep as well as I did?"
"I haven't slept like that in years," she admitted. "You're looking much better than you did yesterday."
"Excuse me, ladies," the elf interjected. "If you'd like to follow me."

Whirda's gaze caught Nyx's staff, and she opened her lips as if to speak, but thought better of it. Nyx caught her gaze and mouthed, 'Later.' The pair fell behind the elf, who easily lead them through a maze of hollowed hallways and chambers until they reached a kind of lift. The lift itself seemed to be a vine-woven basket with a marble interior. Neither Nyx or Whirda could see any kind of pulley system, so they both assumed it was operated by magic. The messenger opened the lift's gate and ushered them inside, closing it behind them and offering a warm smile.

“This is where I leave you. Lady Tyrande awaits.”

Smoothly, the lift began to glide upwards. The girls inside were treated to a view of each of the levels of Yggdrassil as they ascended, and each level seemed more majestic than the last. Nyx found herself idly wondering if any kind of internal class system was at play within the World Tree, but didn't have time to entertain her thoughts as the lift came to a halt. Two sentinels were waiting for them, offering a polite salute before opening the lift.

“You must be Nyx and Whirda,” one of the sentinels said, stepping aside to let them pass. “Lady Tyrande is waiting.”

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda dreamed of Luskan. The city crouched low in darkness, a great beast with its hackles raised. She ran across rain-slick rooftops with an urgency wrought of some ineffable sense of danger. It drew her toward the distant glow of a raging fire. Opaque smoke hung in the air, stinging her eyes, her throat, her nose. Still far off, Whirda could hear screaming.

She came to consciousness much the same way she always did, except someplace different.

By the time the escort came to Whirda's door, she had eaten and bathed. She was running through an easy routine with her kukris, focusing on footwork and evasion rather than the usual rotation of grips and lunges she would use against slower opponents, like the goblins. Though her sleep had been restful, the dream felt ominous. The fear she felt hadn't yet faded. It hung fat and dripping over her head like a thunderstorm.

After a brief exchange with Nyx, who now carried the goblin leader's staff, she followed the escort in silence. Along with the dream, her misgivings about the elves had resurged. They festered within her, a blight of her own. Only her memory of the twisted, dessicated wasteland kept her from abandoning their quest altogether. Though not as in tune with the forest as the elves were, Whirda had called the mountainous woodlands of the Spine of the World her home for many years. She would cure the blight if she could—a chance, finally, to do some good beyond the hollow pragmatism of hunting goblin bounty.

The lift took them up, and up, and up. A pair of sentinels guarded an antechamber that could only be Tyrande's. The walls were draped with tapestries, gilded and finely woven, depicting elves in battle, in celebration, even in repose. An image of the lady herself occupied one, resplendent in battle regalia atop her frostsaber, her great bird aloft and swooping. Despite herself, Whirda felt a certain appreciation for the elf queen. She was nothing if not impressive.

Ahead of them, a pair of doors sat ajar. The wisp-glow seeped out through the crack, revealing a pair of shadows within.

The sentinel allowed them off the lift. "Lady Tyrande awaits."

Nyx led the way across the antechamber, and they entered a room more modest than Whirda expected. Not a throne room, but a study, dominated by a great desk of stone and hewn wood, the walls concealed entirely by bookshelves heaped with books and scrolls. Tyrande and her commander, the same one from the previous night, stood in front of the desk, heads bowed in conversation. They looked up when the pair entered. Neither smiled.

"The blight spreads more rapidly than before," Tyrande said, by way of greetings. "More than a league in each direction just last night. In a fortnight it will reach Yggdrassil." Stress etched lines of consternation into her forehead. The bags under her eyes drooped low and dark. She hadn't slept.

Nyx wasted no time in saying, "Tell us what to do."

"It is unlike anything we have seen before," said Tyrande's commander. "There is no literature, no spell of cleansing. Even Mokugakure could provide us no aid." He spat the name of the man in green's home like sour milk. Evidently there was bad blood between Mokugakure and the elves.

"Yes, yes, we know that," Whirda said. "I can't imagine you brought us here just to tell us it's hopeless."

The commander's eyes narrowed. "Remember your place, girl. You are still in the presence of our Lady."

"There is one man." Tyrande spoke to Nyx, curtly ignoring Whirda and her commander. "He lives in the Pale Moors, the place from which we believe the blight originated. He is an expert in the occult and supernatural. If there is an answer—if there is any hope—, it lies with him."

Whirda turned her attention from the commander. "Why can't you send your people to recruit this man?"

"He is much like you, Whirda," Tyrande said. "He has no love for elfkind, nor for the Green. And our alliance with Camelot stretches us thin."

"Camelot?" Nyx asked.

"Though it may be the most immediate, the blight is not the greatest conflict we face. War is brewing between Camelot and the empire. Our allegiance to King Aragorn has been all but forced, and we lend our vanguard to his service."

Whirda accepted Tyrande's explanation with a nod. Though she truly did have no love for elfkind, she knew the elf queen's concern was genuine, her logic clear and unwavering. It fell on them to find the man in the Moors, and convince him to help.

"How will we reach this place... the Pale Moors?" Whirda asked.

"The same way you found us," Tyrande said. "You must return to the Nexus, and from there take the gate of gray stone, directly south. The location of the professor is unknown, but the villagers of the Moors are under his protection. They will know where to find him."

For the entire exchange, the commander had brooded in silence. Now he spoke, his words laced with venom. "My lady, you cannot truly mean to trust these... these girls with the fate of our home. Send me—send anyone else. This will be the end of Yggdrassil."

Tyrande's eyes narrowed. A palpable air of contained fury filled the room. "You forget your place, Toryn."

He cowed beneath her regard. "I apologize, my lady. I do not mean to question your judgement. It's just—"

"That will be all, Toryn." Tyrande turned her back on her commander, speaking to Nyx as he stalked from the room. The door closed behind him, and Whirda couldn't help but smile. "Please excuse him," Tyrande said. "He is overzealous, but I assure you he thinks he has my best interest in mind."

"We will need information," Whirda said, "about the Pale Moors. I would not venture there uninformed."

"Of course," Tyrande chuckled. She turned to the desk and grasped a scroll emblazoned with the seal of Yggdrassil. "I have had our historians compile a compendium of information. Bring this to the archives, and they will provide you with all the information you require."

"We should go, then, right?" Nyx said, looking sidelong at Whirda.

"I guess we should, yeah. Is there anything else, Lady Tyrande?"

The elf queen's expression clouded over. "As I said, Whirda, this man is no friend of elves. You must convince him to help us. The fate of our people is at stake."

"This man," Nyx said. "Who is he?"

Tyrande had already turned away, staring hard at a map of the forests surrounding Yggdrassil, a black splotch dominating most of the eastern reaches. Whirda could see a tear tracing a path down her cheek. "Professor Abraham Van Helsing."

[Nyx]

The Archives were based in a rather understated hall, and unlike the other rooms Nyx and Whirda had seen, this one favoured a more 'natural' look over the finesse and grandiose furnishings and decorations typical of the Elves. The hall looked as though it had freshly been carved out of a tree. The Archives also lacked the paintings and tapestries of the other rooms the women had seen recently – instead, the prime focus of this particular room were the bookshelves.

They were arranged into neat rows, with enough space between the end bookshelves and the wall for at least five people to move comfortably. The aisles shared the same generous space. The bookshelves themselves reached from the floor to the very top of the ceiling, with movable ladders stationed at each end for easy access to the books higher up. Nyx marvelled at the simplicity of the room's design, and her mind boggled as she tried to process just exactly how many books were stored within the walls.

While Nyx was admiring the architecture, Whirda took the scroll Tyrande had given them and made a beeline for the nearest elf. He looked rather wizened and weathered for his age, and wore simple robes that weren't entirely unflattering. He looked up as she approached, caught a glimpse of the parchment's seal and immediately rose, inclining his head politely as Whirda closed the gap between them. His gaze shifted from Whirda to Nyx, who was making a beeline for them.

“Ah, you must be Lady Tyrande's guests. May I?” The elf gestured towards the scroll, which Whirda readily handed to him. He unfurled the parchment and studied it for a few moments, nodding to himself as he read. “Ah, yes. We took the liberty of collecting the books you require and gathering them in one place for your convenience. Please, follow me.”

Without waiting for so much as a nod of approval, the elf turned on his heel and lead them through the Archives. They must have passed at least seven or eight rows of bookshelves before he stopped at a door on their left. It was marked by an Elvish handmade sign, and a few wisps hovered around the entrance. He pulled a key from around his neck and unlocked the door, scroll still in hand, and lead them into what looked like a cosy study.

It shared the same architectural décor as the Archives – it seemed as though the entire room was a part of the tree itself. Wisps provided ambient light, but were assisted by candles hanging from the walls. A few bookshelves lined the walls, but the centrepiece of the room were the three desks. On the middle desk was a pile of books, which the elf immediately headed for and began to check the titles with whatever was written on the scroll from Tyrande. He nodded satisfactorily and placed the scroll beside the stack of books.

“Everything is present and correct. Do not hesitate to find me if you have any further questions. I will be around to answer them.” He turned as if to leave, then hesitated. “Oh, and Whirda? Lady Tyrande wishes to see you. Alone.” He emphasised the last word with a pointed look at Nyx, who held her hands up in a submissive gesture. He narrowed her eyes before leaving the women alone.

“What was that about?” Nyx asked in a hushed tone, watching the elf intently as he closed the door behind him.

“Elves,” Whirda practically spat. It was clear she hadn't entirely put her grudge behind her.

“What does Lady Tyrande want with you, anyway?” Nyx continued, twirling her staff around her fingers.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Whirda replied with a shrug.

“I guess you should go and find out, though. She'll be waiting.”

Whirda began to head towards the door, but hesitated. “What about you?”

Nyx lightly nudged the pile of books with her staff, taking extra care not to knock any off. “I'll stay here and start on these.”

“Very well.”

“Try not to bite her head off, okay?”

“No promises. And for what it's worth, I'm glad you're in such good spirits.”

Nyx beamed at Whirda as she turned and left the room, leaving Nyx alone in the company of the books the historians had recommended to them.

As she moved her staff from her right hand to her left, she felt a strange pang shoot through her body, unlike anything else she'd ever experienced. Before she was aware of what she was doing, her staff had switched hands again and she used the prongs on the top of the staff to reopen the scab on her palm. As the wound began to bleed, she balled her hand into a fist and squeezed.

Nyx felt powerless. All she could do was watch, and that's when she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the ruby – her eyes had turned black, like that of a demon. She fought the urge to shudder as her blood dripped onto the orb. That was when she realized that something was wrong. Instead of running down the orb and soaking her staff, the red orb seemed to be absorbing her blood. The ruby seemed to glow feverishly as it drew power from her life force. This continued for a good few minutes.

“What on earth...?” she murmured, as the glow faded. Her eyes seemed to return to their usual crimson, too. The orb looked much the same as before, but Nyx could tell something was swirling around inside of it: her blood. Horrified, she gingerly placed the staff on the desk beside her, and turned her attention to her palm. Using some of the bandages she had summoned before (and cunningly stored in her robe), she quickly redressed the wound.

Still feeling shaken from the unusual experience, Nyx forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. Lady Tyrande had sent them to the Archives to read up on what the elves knew about the Blight, not to get freaked out by strange compulsions linked to a weapon she recently acquired.

She plucked a book from the top of the pile, and settled herself on the desk to read it. She flicked through the pages, scanning the text for key words and phrases which would actually prove to be useful in their investigation. Having been an avid reader in Ferelden, Nyx was already all too familiar with the knowledge that elven authors were known for being rather verbose, and for using an entire paragraph to explain something that could've been summarized in a single sentence.

Interestingly, what she found was that they were echoing many things she had already learned before coming to the Omniverse. If the blights that destroyed the Moors were anything like those that terrorized Ferelden, then Nyx knew what they would be facing – an Archdemon.

'Archdemon' was the name given to an Old God that had been tainted by darkspawn, and manifested in the form of a terrible dragon. It leads the hive-minded darkspawn on a path of darkness and destruction.

It was at this point that Nyx remembered exactly where she was. This wasn't Ferelden, and this certainly wasn't a 'normal' place, by any stretch of the imagination. 'Does the Omniverse even have any Old Gods?' she thought to herself, crimson gaze scanning the pile of books for any titles which could potentially be related to religion within the Omniverse. None of the books the historians had presented seemed to even hint at religion.

She bit her lip, but continued to study. Though she was unsure of whether the leader of the Blight would match what she was expecting, one thing was for certain – the horde responsible for the awful attacks on the elven lands were indeed darkspawn. They fitted the description down to a 'T'. Nyx had spent so long studying them that she could recall the summary passage about them from memory: 'The darkspawn are perhaps the greatest single threat to all of Thedas; they are bloodthirsty, exceptionally numerous and willing to indiscriminately kill or corrupt all in their path.'

This didn't bode well for the elves at all.