The witchwood blade

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...

Baram moved back toward the shadows. She stooped and her form began to roil and change. I watched for a moment, repelled and transfixed at the same time as she began to shrink as her shoulders spread and arms thickened and sprouted wings. Her bones cracked like warming ice and I had to look away for the other noises in the cavern were reaching a crescendo.

I heard Merrick's hoarse breathing and mumbled incantations. The air crackled with energy. Seymuhr sang in a tongue I could not immediately recognize as his maces shattered the shuffling forms in front of him. Broo Fang Tane yowled and barked sharp vicious war cries as he laid ruin to the mass of undead that pushed through the cavern toward us.

The witchwood blade pulsed in my palm. warm and smooth, as if it still carried the current of life that seeped up from the very center of Korin. Witchwood trees were scattered throughout the land; their origins were lost in the knowledge of the ancient races but they were imbued with strange properties and hidden strengths and, some said, an intelligence of their own. I had never seen one, nor felt their magic before. It was astonishing; I felt a connection to the rock beneath my feet and, very faintly, the tortured souls of the shambling horde that sought to destroy us. 

The blade drew me toward Abilene's malevolent presence and I sensed that she was aware of its existence. I felt a trickle of fear in her as she paused and turned her attention to me. The witchwood sang in me and propelled me forward. I was at peace.

"You...?" The witch was terrible to behold. All vestiges of its youthful beauty had been blasted away or merely discarded. The perfect skin we had seen moments ago hung in red strips from her jaws. Rotted teeth curved like fangs. Her full, red hair was nothing but twisted dirty ropes that writhed like snakes. And her eyes...despite the magic of the witchwood blade, I could not meet her gaze. One look into those black pits and I knew, blade or not, that my soul would be blasted and lost.

Baram's bird form swooped from the darkness above. It screeched, talons extended, and tore more flesh from Abilene's skull. She shrieked and I saw Merrick fall forward, landing on his knees. He gripped his staff and it might have been the only thing that kept him upright. He wheezed and slumped forward. My heart called to him.

Somehow, I was standing in front of the witch. The knife grew hot in my hand. Its warmth spread up my arm and enveloped me, a sensation so primal it tickled my teeth. She bared her teeth in a fearsome grimace and I could feel her hatred boiling toward me, a black disdain for all life and I thought I was screaming, not yelling in defiance or anger of my own, but screaming in utter horror as I plunged the blade into the side of her ancient skull.

I can scarcely describe what happened next. It was as if a storm descended from the sky and covered us all. My ears were filled with an explosion of sound, like a crack of thunder that spun me around and flung me to the hard floor. A yawning void opened and a bizarre, dank wind assailed us all and carried all sound from the chamber. I thought I had gone deaf until the silence gradually eased. I heard rocks pattering to the ground, Baram moaning softly and someone taking a hoarse breath. That was all.