Daine had activated
Ever since her Class Evolution during the siege of Swinford, she had found herself relying on this Skill more and more in order to buff the stats of the dwindling train of refugees.
Throughout her long career, she had never found much use for party buffs—the nature of a Knight of the Road’s work was, by definition, entirely solitary—and thus, having access to a significant support Skill as a Templar Ascendant was taking quite some getting used to.
Indeed, it had taken a very awkward conversation with Captain Kettle to bring to her attention that she could be as valuable to their rag-tag forces, not just at the forefront of the fighting.
“We’re not all immortal warriors made of granite, my lady. Help a fellow out, and switch your damn legendary party buff on,” was how he eventually put it.
Considering the Skill’s short cooldown, there was nothing apart from her own inattention to keep her from having it running almost constantly, especially during the brief skirmishes in which the travelling column had thus far found itself.
In fact, such heavy use had this Skill seen over the last few weeks that Daine could already sense it approaching some sort of evolution threshold of its own. She had theorised that the cumulative effect of the Skill on so many people had something to do with that. Certainly, her original Skills as a Knight of the Road had never indicated much potential to evolve their own potency.
So, it had become almost second nature for Daine to trigger the Skill at the very first whisper of trouble.
An instinct that, as it turned out, saved the life of Corporal Jinks.
*
Considering the significant reduction in the forces available to General Souit, it was somewhat noteworthy that Jinks – with all his years of experience – remained firmly stuck at his lowly rank.
Just before the refugee train reached the shadow of the Bloodpspires, Captain Kettle was informed that openings had become available for men of sufficient quality and that it would seem sensible for the thin, weaselly man to take on a higher role. However, once Sergeant Drult let it be known that the second he was required to share a rank with that ‘short streak of piss’, he would be joining the desertion exodus, the idea was quietly put to bed.
Not that Jinks minded. For all his moaning and complaining, he had never felt a moment’s need actually to be the one giving the orders. Who needed that sort of responsibility in their life? Not he, for certain.
Right now, though, he was somewhat less concerned with his career aspirations and rather more focused on the garrotte that had found its way around his throat.
*
Under the cover of darkness, the attack had begun.
A figure had stalked quickly through the shadows, her movements as fluid and lethal as a wolf. She had seen her target leaning lazily against a rock, his attention wavering as he fought off the fatigue of a long watch.
The man was not an imposing figure—his armour hung a bit loose, his belly slightly paunched, and his eyes perpetually half-lidded with exhaustion. She assumed he’d been chosen for sentry duty not for any particular Perception skill but because he was deemed less essential elsewhere.
But then she was on him.
Before Jinks could register the threat, a garrote slipped around his neck, the fishing line biting into the soft skin under his throat. She had conducted many such attacks as these in her time and knew the man was seconds from death.
*
Jinks’ eyes bulged in shock, his hands instinctively flying to his throat as he tried to claw at the wire cutting into his flesh. His breath came in ragged, choking gasps, and each attempt to inhale met with agonising resistance. His knees buckled as the figure - was it a woman? - tightened the ligature further, pulling Jinks backwards and onto the floor. As they landed, she beneath him, her legs wrapped around him, pinning him in a way he could not help but think might have been welcomed in other circumstances.
Jinks' vision blurred, dark spots dancing at the edges as his Strength ebbed away. His hands scrabbled at the rough ground, scraping and tearing as he struggled, his movements growing weaker. Desperation surged, but his body betrayed him, growing limp.
Just as darkness threatened to claim him, a feeling he had come to intimately associate with the tall, imposing figure of the Lady Darkhelm came over him, and a surge of energy flooded him.
It was as if a dam had burst inside him, releasing a torrent of power that he was - and not just in the current situation - finding quite addictive. His normally unimpressive attributes suddenly spiked upwards. Strength he knew he did not actually possess surged through his limbs, and a certain amount of clarity returned to his mind.
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With a desperate heave, Jinks somehow managed to wedge his fingers under the fishing wire, loosening its grip just enough to draw a ragged breath. Pain and panic fueled his movements, and with newfound vigour, he tore the line away from his throat.
Gasping for air, he staggered to his feet. "Help! We're under attack! Raise the alarm!" Jinks shouted, his voice hoarse but loud enough to pierce the night.
With painfully earned experience, the camp erupted into chaos as soldiers - and the refugees they were guarding - sprung into action. Sergeant Drult was among the first to respond, barrelling toward Jinks and his assailant.
The woman, momentarily distracted by Jinks' sudden resistance and the rising alarm, which she had not anticipated, never saw Drult coming. The big man brought his shield down in a crushing arc, smashing her skull with a sickening crack. She crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Drult knelt by Jinks, who was still gasping and clutching his neck. "Not the time for lying down on the job, Jinks. But you did good. Healer!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din.
The camp was a flurry of activity around them. Soldiers armed themselves, readying for whatever was coming. The civilians did what they could, brandishing weapons or supporting those preparing to fight.
Drult hovered over his corporal's body, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond the campfire's flicker, ready to meet the next wave of attackers. The attack may have been unexpected, but this camp was not as defenceless as it may have seemed.
*
For all he suffered under the humiliation of his recent reversals on the battlefield, none of that emotional weight invalidated the power of Souit's Great General Class.
Even without the Skills he had at his disposal, his decades of experience had taught him the value of preparedness, especially when leading vulnerable civilians through potentially hostile territory. Especially with increasingly threadbare professional soldiery at his disposal.
Taciturn and unhelpful he may be during the interminable leadership meetings Mayor Elm insisted upon, but his standing orders were meticulously prepared, with each detail carefully considered.
As soon as he heard the alarm raised, Souit left his tent, finding Degralk already in place to his left. The Major had increasingly taken on more of the administrative duties of command, and Souit was impressed with the grizzled Pikeman's demeanour.
Ignoring Degralk for the moment, Souit barked orders with a voice that cut through the chaos like a blade. "Form ranks! Defensive positions, now!" As a semblance of control was quickly established, he nodded for the Major to take command. "Captain Kettle, get your shield bearers to the front, Archers behind! Everyone else, assist the wounded and prepare to fall back to secondary positions if needed."
Souit had designated a safe zone at the centre of the camp for the most vulnerable—children, the elderly, and the injured - and he was pleased to see that this cordon was immediately established at the first sign of trouble. "All non-combatants to the centre! Healers, be ready."
The refugees, trained and prepared by Degralk - under Souit's guidance - moved with surprising coordination and speed, certainly to the attacker's eyes. Souit took a position where he could oversee the camp, his keen eyes scanning for any signs of weakness or opportunity.
However, the importance of maintaining the initiative ensured that the Great General was not merely focused on defence. His eyes sought out the mailed figure of the Lady Darkhelm. "My Lady!" he called to her. "We have control. Please feel free to see them off."
*
Lady Darkhelm stepped forward out of the defensive line, her eyes blazing with the unyielding light of her summoned Goddess.
A wave of arrows crashed past her, taking several of the mountain people down before she even reached them to engage. One stray projectile glanced off the backplate of her armour; she assumed panicked misdirection rather than an assassination attempt, although she would be having words with whichever Archer had struck her.
And then she reached the attackers who had, rather unfortunately for them, sought to bunch up as she approached. An intuitive belief in the safety of numbers, perhaps? They would quickly learn this was not the case.
Daine had - as Old Gant had repeatedly told her - little actual skill with a blade, but her Class-enhanced Strength made her a force of nature on any battlefield. She strode forward to take the fight into the darkness.
The first attacker came at her with a savage snarl, his crude clubbed weapon raised high. With an almost casual punch, she shattered his jaw and sent him sprawling to the ground. Another lunged at her from the opposite side, but Daine's Speed belied her size. She blurred to the right, catching his wrist mid-strike, twisting it and hurling him into the shadows like a ragdoll.
Her approach to assaulting the mountain men was not, in any manner, with any sort of grace, but each blow she landed was delivered with devastating power. She swung her heavy greatsword with both hands, its massive weight effortlessly borne by her immense Strength, the flat of her weapon cracking skulls and breaking bones whilst the edge decapitated and eviscerated with each sweeping arc.
A tall, rangy figure managed to evade her threshing strokes and closed in with her, slashing at her with a jagged blade. Darkhelm seized his arm, the muscles in her own rippling as she snapped it backwards, the arm ripping free of its socket with a soft tear. She followed through with a knee to his chest, the impact lifting him off his feet, his corpse flying through the air. She tossed his limb after him as an afterthought.
Daine progressed on her way silently, her focused taciturnity such a difference to the cries of the dying attackers. One by one, they fell to her relentless assault. She moved through them like a storm, unstoppable and merciless. Eventually, they tried to flee, but with a swift throw, she sent her sword spinning through the air, striking two of them in their backs and sending separate halves crashing to the ground.
Just as it seemed that the rout was complete, a larger figure, perhaps their leader, she thought, charged at her with twin knives. She let the first lodge into her side, absorbing its impact without a wince, before grabbing the second blade and yanking it forward towards her. With a mighty heave, she lifted the man off the ground and slammed him into the rocky earth, the impact driving him several feet through the ground, snapping his backbone into shards.
Then, a lull settled around her.
The battlefield was strewn with the broken bodies of the attackers, only a handful of them dropped by arrows. Daine stood amidst the carnage, her breath heavy but steady, her eyes scanning for any remaining threats. The last of the mountain men, seeing their comrades killed with such brutal easy, turned and ran, their morale shattered.
General Souit and the rest of the soldiers, having held their defensive positions, watched in awe and relief.
The Lady Darkhelm's ferocity had turned the tide of the battle, her unmatched Strgth breaking the attackers' will.
For her part, Daine wiped the blood from her face, her gaze still fierce, but there was a glint of satisfaction in her eyes.