ANGELWING
Prologue
The buffalo let out an excited, angry snort, and stared straight ahead at the two adventurers standing fixed to the ground in front of itself. The wind howled with rage, whipping up a miniature snowstorm that mirrored the beast's own fury at the audacity of such beings to trespass over its sacred land. Obviously it had not seen the creatures of Altana's creation before, and since they had disturbed its peace they would have to pay dearly.
"How many people do you think we can feed with this, again?" Curilla yelled through the wind.
"Do you really want to find out?"
Whren struggled to hear her friend's words through the fiercely blowing gale, and although she had shouted at the top of her lungs the blinding blizzard had drowned most of her voice out. She also felt exhausted from the strenous two-day long trek through such extreme weather conditions and harsh terrain, through the largely unexplored Uleguerand Range. As it was, they now stood precariously on top of a narrow passageway overlooking a snowy slope a long way down. She shuddered, only partially from the cold.
For now, though, the buffalo was a more pressing matter than the thought of slipping over the edge. It snorted again, and there was fire in its eyes. Whren readjusted her grip on her trusty sword with seasoned practice, and knew that if she did not do something the beast would soon take the initiative.
She lunged out at it with her weapon, slicing as deep as her beloved sword would let her into the creature's hide. It was thick and hard and her sword was built for lightness and speed, not cutting power, and it barely scratched the heavy monster. She groaned inwardly, for this was not looking to be a good start.
Angered, the beast flung its heavily horned head at her, possibly hoping to knock her off balance so she could fall to the ground, but the paladin easily saw the blow coming and brought her shield up to ward most of the damage off. It still made her stumble due to the buffalo's immense weight, but she went unscathed for the most part.
Whren steeled herself, knowing she could fight and win. Her heavy surcoat was muddied and dirtied and she looked worn from scrabbling through thick snow and mud, but on her forehead the holy coronet still gleamed brightly, and she stepped with an inner assuredness and strength that could only come from much experience in battle. Here she was, a master paladin of her time, the respected lady of the kingdom of San d'Oria, one who bore heavy armor through days and weeks and months without breaking much of a sweat, and one who had fought epic battles with the myriad dragons and serpents of Vana'diel. Her eyes narrowed. This beast would not – and could not – outdo her. Hesitating no further, she slipped to the side of the beast and gave her sword a magnificent swing.
This time, it lacerated the buffalo's legs, its dark blue blade slicing through the unprotected flesh at the back of its legs. Whren felt it go deep, and with a growl yanked it free. It returned stained a dark color. Grunting, she quickly stabbed forward again, and the buffalo let out an anguished howl.
"He's got nothing on us," Curilla snorted. Where Whren's movements were fluid and quick, Curilla's slashes carried more weight with them, backed by the heavier blade of her espadon. She moved with the customary elvaan grace known to her kind, as a master of swords and of battle, and as a seasoned leader of San d'Oria's Temple Knights. Despite Curilla's lack of vision in one eye, she was the one who had taught Whren a hard-to-master, impressive movement involving using the momentum of a leap into the air to bore one's blade deep into the enemy. It was one of Whren's favorite moves, largely due to how good the whole thing looked when performed.
"Nope," Whren replied, her jaws still tightly clenched together even though she loosened one shoulder for a nonchalant shrug. "I almost don't understand why it wanted to attack us in the first place."
"Heh."
She fought grimly on, the buffalo quickly getting beaten down and exhausted by the two champion paladins. By now, the beast's bloody nose was snorting and frothing with saliva and blood, but where most people would have quailed at the gruesome sight, both of them had seen far too much blood spilled in their respective careers that they were now largely impervious to the carnage of battle.
Wordlessly Whren swung her sword, so accustomed to fighting was she, so in tune with the different swings and stabs and lunges of her fighting style.
Their nemesis was weakening rapidly, tortured by the stabs of pain wracking its massive frame. Frustrated, its torment quickly reaching boiling point, it started a mournful bellow almost as if clamoring its own looming demise. Whren ignored its death cries, knowing that it would be over soon. Her sword was already lamenting for more blood; she could feel just how eager it was for the kill.
Her gaze locked onto a large wound that Curilla had punched in the creature's side. Instinctively she flicked her wrist and stepped forward, guiding the adaman blade in three strong, swift strokes. The air exploded thickly with colorful energy as the sword emanated the elemental energy hoarded along its length – once, twice, thrice, each hit powerful and deadly.
The bovine howled.
Contorted beyond measurable injury, the beast half-reared in its hurt and fury, its breath misting, and with a horrific roar it charged forward with a labored toss of its head. Its gait was stumbling and awkward, but it was in too much pain to bother and all it wanted was the demise of these persons in blinding white armor. It wanted revenge, for its ebbing life that they had taken.
Whren saw the monstrosity thundering towards her, its eyes half-glazed and burning with a hellish rage, and a surge of panic rose up in her chest in that split-second. Before she could react the buffalo barrelled into her, knocking her rhythm off and sweeping the shield from her left arm. Its massive weight was overpowering, its horns grabbing at her waist and gnawing at her body.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!"
She felt her stomach lurch sickeningly as she realized that it was too late to do anything, before her sabatons slipped on a piece of cliff that promptly dislodged itself. Whren had always been a fighter, but the forces of nature she could not win. Her balance had suffered too badly for her to recover.
The sensation of losing control. Of being thrown out into empty space with nothing to hold on to. The unmerciful cutting rock.
She was slipping, sliding, tumbling down the snow-covered surface, her armor getting battered and her mail screeching and straining loudly in sharp protest as the jagged surface bit and tugged at her. She felt the sting of the blowing wind on her cheek, followed by much more potent stings of pain as the dead branches of a withered plant scraped deep crimson marks into her face. She struggled for a handhold, but there were none for her; the plant came loose from the cliff face immediately, and she grasped at nothing.
"Whren!"
She could barely see, for her fall had sent her rolling and she was being played with by the savage rock, hurled and flung from side to side, her view of the world spinning. For an instant the momentum of her descent flipped her over and Curilla was there, desperately calling to her, wanting to aid but helpless to do so.
I don't want to die yet! Oh Altana……help me…
Whren blinked back tears of fright, unable to contain herself. It was all the respite she had, for in the next second the only thing she could fathom or feel was an intense pain she had never felt in all her life slashing and slicing through her right arm and then spreading to the rest of it, coupled with the burning wounds on her cheek.
Mere moments later a blackness began crowding in on her world, drowning out her sight, drowning out the yelling, screaming pain.
-----
"Is she going to be ok?"
The voice tugged at the deep vestiges of Whren's mind, trying to remember and connect voice to person. It was familiar.
The pain…so strong…won't go away…
"Can't say yet."
"You've got to do something!"
"Believe me, my good people, I'm trying."
A pause. The blackness was starting to fill her mind again, and she struggled to keep conscious. She could barely, just barely, feel the same tears of fright starting to pool in the corners of her eyes, before she was pulled slowly into a whirlpool of dizzyness and slumber once more.
Help me…
"Whren…"
