Counterstrike
by Talana of Imperian

She clenched her jaw tighter and continued her deliberate march through the rain, the visor on her helm open for better vision, though in turn it exposed her further. A part of her mind laughed at this thought- she was very obviously marked as an Antiochan Justicar and thus a trespasser and enemy by both the style of her armour and the soaked, boldly marked tabard clinging to the wet metal chest plate she wore.

She couldn’t believe it. Though she had ridden hard from Antioch in a reckless fury, intent upon selling her life cheaply in some sort of token statement of defiance, she had actually made it past Stavenn’s gates. She had walked right past clusters of demoners and Diavlous Knights and they had not even noticed her!

Leagues away, she was aware of her own City mental link and the voices of her fellow citizens crying out in anger, attempting to organize a counterattack against a Stavennite raid. None of those calling out were strong enough even as a group to deal with the Stavenite horde that had descended upon them. The cries of dying guards made her colder than the wet, ugly rain, and served to bolster her determination.

She was alone, but she was inside the enemy city.

The fine hairs at the back of her neck were standing on end and her stomach clenched. She could feel the magick all around her, sinking into her body. It made her feel ill.

She continued on her dogged course through dark streets. Finally she paused in front of a tall wooden column that glowed with arcane glyphs that made her skin crawl.

She sheathed her broadswords and focused her concentration on the befouled wooden totem, holy prayers falling from her lips as she moved forward and placed her hands on it.

Imbibing totems was a difficult thing even in a large raid group, and she was alone. Yet the surge of divine power filled her soul as the totem fell to dust and she knew a moment of fierce elation before she turned down the dark street to find the next totem.

She began her work again. Focus. Cleansing power. Will. More precious time spent….

It was something, an act of defiance and an insult given in turn for the demons trespassing in the holy City of Antioch.

Another totem fell. Power surged again in her soul, renewing the reservoir of divinity that was the center of her skill as a Justicar Knight.

She turned into a random building and began on another, removing the corrupted magickal defenses, and opening a hole for a counterstrike.

Another perversion fell to her powers. Aware of time passing, she turned to find another, wondering how long she would be left undiscovered. The mental voices of her city mates had risen in encouragement of her efforts as they saw where she was and they realized what she was doing.

Their thoughts of encouragement and calls for her to return before it was too late made her love them even more. She moved through the streets to another abomination, intent upon adding it to her tally.

She focused...began reciting the holy words…the totem blurred…

“What the Dis are you doing?!”

She snapped out of her concentration and turned her head to look. She was discovered. A woman stood there, dressed in the gear of a Sabotuer. The expression on her face was comical, and Talana fought a decidedly un-knightly instinct to giggle.

She gave a brief mental sigh and withdrew her powers from the totem, drawing her broadswords as she turned to face the gawking assassin. She gave a shrill whistle and out of the dark, wet skies a fierce cry answered her.

Talana hurled a battlecry at the surprised woman, and bore down on her with the fury of her swords as her battle trained falcon dove with wicked talons and gouging beak.

Her opponent responded in a flurry of defensive blows and a rapid series of illusions intended to throw off her attacker.

She retreated. Talana unleashed her frustration and anger on this single target, a symbol of the great evil she was sworn to defend against. Prayers of divine power spilled from her lips and the Gods themselves answered the lone Justicar Knight in the heart of this enemy city.

The assassin ran.

Talana placed her hands on her wounds, closing them with the power of prayer, and cleansed her body of the poisons inflicted by the assassin’s sitaras. She turned and strode in the direction of her fleeing opponent, already hearing the calls of alarm and the pounding of booted feet splashing through rain puddles as Stavennites responded.

Through her haze of bloodlust the voices of her own people came to her.

“Talana...get out now…come home.”

She turned a corner and saw down the street that her adversary was coming back…this time with a very large cluster of Stavennite guards and several demons in tow.

She ducked down a side alleyway and headed back towards the gates. It was over now one way or the other. If she died, at least she had struck out at them.

She ran through the streets, many of the citizens of this unholy city now rousing and preparing for an attack. She didn’t pause to look at the spiked heads adorning a forest of pikes as she slipped out the massive gates, though she wondered if hers would be there soon. She could hear the cries of alarm and caught a glimpse of pursuit.

She called out in desperation to the priests of her city for Pilgrimage…

And just like that, she was back. The desert heat hit her all at once, welcome and beautiful warmth sinking into her bones and chasing away the wet chill of ugly rain. She pushed off her helm, her knees going weak, amazed she had survived.

She was home, the attackers had run as city elders awoke, and it was over. For now.