[sub]Vashti Lestil
Hoff's Squad, Outside New Stratton[/sub][hr]

Vashti met the Sergeant’s one good eye with her own unblinking stare, not concerned in the slightest that she had spoken out of turn and for someone of a higher rank. Military protocols were not unfamiliar to the elf, as the Inquisition and the Church were both very proud of their pecking orders. She had ignored them back then, too. If she knew something, she wasn’t going to keep her tongue tied out of fear of stepping on someone’s toes. If she was going to expunge evil from the world, she wasn’t going to wait for the written approval of some pencil pusher. Some might say she was brash and reckless; she preferred to think of herself as quick and efficient. 

“Don’t worry, friend,” said Vashti to Roland after one of the corporals called him out. “I’ll be watching you closely. I’ll handle any shamblers so quickly that you wouldn’t even have a chance to run before they hit the ground,” she said. Her words may have been reassuring, but there was an undeniable, threatening air lingering in the silence after she spoke as she brushed past Roland without a second glance. If the conscript had any brains in him it would be clear that running was not an option, at least not as long as Vashti was alive—and the Gods would see to it that she would remain unharmed, in that she was certain.

The elf waited with mild impatience as the gate was raised open, taking the time to draw her claymore; if what the Sergeant had said was true, than it would be an error to not have it ready in case of a surprise attack by Shamblers. Her Ethergun hung from her shoulder, practically untouched since the moment she had received it except for a test to see if it worked and to learn how to properly load it without having it jam. She didn’t have some sort of apprehension to technology like some elves, or Inquisitors for that matter, did, she just knew that the weapon was almost useless in her hands (as she was as likely to hit a Shambler as she was the bloody Sergeant). No, she would settle any threats like she always did: with her sword and with her faith.

If she had felt any excitement to head forth into the killing fields and win some favor of the Gods, it was immediately sunken once they had set foot in to no man’s land. A weight fell upon her shoulders as she looked out over the ruined city. In her years as an Inquisitor she had spent much of her time in the worst parts of towns, wading her way through absolute cesspools of civilization, yet nothing she experienced was quiet like this. Even in those dark corners of the world there had always been a little bit of hope, a little bit of light, a certain knowledge that the Gods were there and that they were watching. Here, here she felt nothing but a chill than ran over her entire body. She wrapped her fingers around her necklace, almost certain that she and it were the only holy things left in this land.

[i]Doubtful woman, you should feel blessed, for they have given you this grand challenge to prove your faith.[/i]

With that thought in mind, a bit of warmth returned to her body. She marched with the group as they proceeded without speaking, although they certainly weren’t going quietly. Every step she could hear their boots crunching on the ground as if they were walking through dead leaves instead of a dead city, every once in awhile she would hear the snap of a rifle. Yet she also heard the noises that men barely realized they made, the huffs of someone carrying too much, the quiet grumbles of a hungry stomach. Sounds, surely, that Shamblers used to mark their next prey. She strengthened her grip on her sword.

[b]"I thought I saw something-"[/b]  said one of the corporals after hissing to get their attention. [b]"Let's pick up the pace, huh? I don't like the idea of being pounced by shamblers in close quarters."[/b]

Vashti’s eyes snapped towards the alley that the man had pointed out. It was dark and crowded, perfect for casting shadows and creating illusions, and words of dismissal quickly came to her lips—dissolving instantly as she realized that the man was right. She didn’t see anything right away, but she could feel it in her quickening heartbeat and her sweating palms: something was there. Her eyes scanned the alley; the entrance was buried in rubble, the walls of the buildings were delipidated and craggy like a cliff. The Sergeant had implied that the Shamblers had some awareness of their surroundings; perhaps they would be smart enough to not strike from the alley. If she was—her ears twitched as she heard a faint footfall, too soft to be any of them. Her head snapped up to the buildings surrounding the alley, her eyes widening as they fell on the broken out windows right above them. 

“Above!” she shouted.

 Her alarm may have been early enough to warn the others about the Shamblers that were emerging out of the destroyed buildings around them, but she had been caught off guard by the swiftness of the one that had leapt towards her. The undead back home had never moved like that; Vashti was only able to bring up her claymore to put a barrier between her and the Shambler as it plowed into her and knocked her onto her back. She tried to keep the abomination pushed back at arm’s length as it pinned her, its claws scratching marks into her breastplate as they struggled. 

There was no time for prayers or to even think. As the creature swiped at her once again Vashti rolled, knocking the devil off of her and, thankfully, receiving only scratches from the ground instead of the beast’s claws. She was barely on her knees when the Shambler was launching itself back at her, the elf hurriedly positioning her claymore out in front of her like a spike. If the Shambler had enough sense to not slay itself, then it did not have enough time to react. It impaled itself on her sword, its outstretched hands falling slack inches away from her face. 

With a huff Vashti stood up and kicked the Shambler off of her sword, quiet words mumbling on her lips as she looked around to make sure no other creature was launching itself at her. Between the cracking of guns, shouts of men, the shrieks of Shamblers, and her own pumping blood it was hard to hear if Hoff was shouting any orders, or if the man was even alive. There was still a handful of Shamblers left, but if they were outnumbered by the monsters she could not say. She was about to make her as she felt something snag her pants. 

Instantly, she looked down to see the bastard she had just slain still moving, one hand gripping onto her pants as another tried desperately to claw at her. Eyes narrowing, the words fell from the elf’s lips as radiant light appeared from below her. There was a crack like thunder as the Gods answered her prayers, the rotting head of the Shambler replaced by a smoking puddle of filth that burned the elf’s nose like burning brimstone. Her lips began moving again, humble pleas spilling forth as she stepped over the body of the Shambler, her sword leveled and ready to strike, blissfully unaware of the shadow that was then slipping out of the alleyway with her in it’s sights.