For six long weeks Vashti had found herself drawn to the bow of the [i]The Hallspeed[/i], her blue eyes scanning the horizon for the darkness that laid beyond it in an almost eerily obsessive way. It was her way to keep herself from losing focus on her divine mission, for there were plenty of distractions crammed into that transport ship. She had expected as much considering the sort of people who often found themselves being volunteered for the expedition, a relief force comprised almost entirely of murderers and thieves and fools, but it was damn well laughable the amount of malice she felt radiating from the conscripts and the men who had been charged with keeping them from turning the ship back towards Ilya. Vashti could feel the gods testing her with each passing day as she overheard the quiet conversations of her compatriots, but she knew that now was the time to stay her hand and be patient. Those kind of men were a necessary evil needed to supply the expedition with plenty of cannon fodder, and she doubted that any of them had a chance of escaping divine punishment in the New World, even if it came in the form of an ungodly beast.

Yet there was no sense of relief when the boat docked in New Stratton. Her hand shot up to her nose almost the instant the gangplank had been lowered, a motion followed by a few others as they made their way from the landing zone. Vashti made a sort of noise, a mix between clearing her throat and forcing back vomit, as they pressed forward, her eyes stinging from the fumes. The elf had always hated human cities because of the stench, and even during her cloistered days she never truly got used to the foul odors that seemingly oozed out of every possible pore that man had, nor did she fall for the overwhelming colognes and perfumes they used to obscure the fact that they were, simply, a disgusting lot of people. 

The putrid stench was even present, possibly stronger, in their bunkroom. Vashti was mildly alarmed that they did not have individual rooms, and deeply irked that she would be sharing space with convicted criminals. Even if she was no longer a true member of the clergy, she still had a spotless record—the fact that she got the same shitty bed as people who should’ve been hanging from the gallows filled her with venom. She sat in silence on the bunk that she claimed as her own, her head lowered as her lips moved in silence, her fingers fidgeting with the leaf pendant that hung around her neck. She prayed that the people who she would be sleeping next to would be smart enough to not bother her, or at least smart enough to realize that the claymore that had not left her arm’s reach for the past month and a half was neither ornamental nor exclusively for monster slaying. 

If the gods heard her prayers she did not get a chance to interpret a response from them, as a cacophony rose throughout the already noisy barracks when the sergeants began to drive the new recruits like cattle out of the barracks and into the muddy field. It was another thing Vashti loathed about humans as she felt herself pushed and shoved towards the door; they were always in such a damn hurry. She could rationalize it back in the Old World, perhaps. Humans had such short lives and such large delusions that they were bound to accomplish some kind of greatness instead of not even living a life that was worthy of even being a footnote. In a sad way, it was almost adorable. However, here, where the average life expectancy was said to be none, it just seemed stupid to be in such a rush. Death wasn’t going anywhere and, apparently, neither was she, as she found herself standing in some sort of lineup while facing a podium.

Vashti forced a frown off of her face as a man, clearly in charge due to the lack of filth on his clothing, gave a less than warm welcome. He didn’t even introduce himself, either because he was humble enough to believe that nobody cared or realistic enough to believe that none of them would be living long enough to have a need for it, and she couldn’t help but stare at the empty space where his arm should’ve been. She always found wounds interesting for how they would tell of a person’s mistakes even if they themselves were unwilling, and she shook her head as the man talked. An armless man to lead an army; Vashti was no longer lost on how the expedition had made nearly no progress. 

Still, while she could appreciate his simple orders the vices that he used as incentives to drive them to slay evil made her nose wrinkle. In fact, she had failed to see anything but dens of vices and signs of sin around the camp during her walk from the docks to the barrack. Was there even a chapel to be found in the camp, or even just some quiet room where one could momentarily take sanctuary? It wouldn’t hurt to ask; apparently everything in the camp cost kills, and if she was going to be charged for a place to meditate then she would like to know now—the barracks were hardly the sort of place that would allow someone to be at peace. At the tell that the man was beginning to wrap up his speech Vashti rose her hand up; when the word “questions” left his mouth she stretched it even higher, making direct eye contact with the man as he pretended to ignore her question and stepped down from the podium. She no longer tried to hide her frown.

“Asshole,” she muttered, brushing a loose bit of brown hair behind her ear before she dropped her hand to her side and waited for her assignment to a one-eyed man named Hoff. Again, she found herself studying the wound and wondering what kind of shit a person must go through before they decide to stop wearing an eyepatch for the sake of others. She pulled her eyes away from the man to look around at the group that she was stuck with, certain that every single one of them except her were here against their will. 

Well, all of them except her and the Firehawk. She gave the other woman a glance that wasn’t wholly unfriendly. She had overheard whispers about the woman on the ship saying that she was some kind of hotshot bounty hunter, but it struck Vashti as odd that a bounty hunter would sign up for the expedition. The payday certainly wasn’t worth it, but maybe the Firehawk had heard otherwise. If that was the case then Vashti couldn’t help but to pity the woman, although perhaps it was what she deserved for pursuing a career that was more driven by greed than by righteousness.

She studied the Akvir that spoke up next, her eyes not failing to notice the tattoos on his wrist that marked him as some merchant’s property. Had the poor thing gotten on the wrong ship, or had his master sent him here in some desperate attempt at saving his investments in the New World? That hardly seemed like smart business, but Vashti admittedly knew very little about economics. Still, she couldn’t help but judge the man. She had heard that marking themselves for a life of servitude was something the Akvir sometimes did to show their loyalty to their benefactor, but why one would serve a man when the gods were an option completely puzzled her—it was like being offered gold but taking silver instead. Absolutely foolish.

[color=steelblue]“Just one thing. What the hell are shamblers? Folk have been tight lipped on just what we’d be facing out here, and I don't fancy running into these things unprepared.”[/color]

Vashti turned her gaze to Roland. Oh yes, she knew this one by name. They had talked about him on the boat too, much like how they had talked about her when they thought she was out of earshot. The man was vile; a patricide. Of all the people on the boat that had radiated a darkness, he was without a doubt the one with the strongest presence. Vashti was certain that there was no excuse for the man that made him deserve to live, and there was little doubt in her mind that he would do anything to buy his freedom. As far as she was concerned, she was responsible to see that he did not set foot back on the boat. But until that day they needed as many blades as they could muster, and it wouldn’t do to send a sword out without sharpening it up first.

“Not all folks,” said Vashti, giving Roland a half-smile. “Although I must say that I’m surprised Brother Danidus was actually telling the truth for once; he always did like a good yarn. Shamblers are the undead, reanimated corpses hellbent on destroying the living. They actually were a bit of problem in Yggdrasil before the church and its inquisitors put an end to most of them a few centuries ago. Nowadays those  who would see to raise an army of the dead are tossed on a burning pyre before they can even get a single one moving right.” She sighed and covered her nose again. “I guess that explains why this place smells so familiar. Learned the hard way that we had to burn the bodies to prevent them from coming back to fight for the other side, I’d imagine.” 

She shuddered, although the light in her eyes betrayed some kind of anticipation. “They’re ungodly creatures. The sooner we get out there, the sooner we can put them down.”