Please note that I don't own the characters or locations used in this. They are the property of Wizards of the Coast.
Angel's Lament
The battle had been won, yet to her it had been lost. The minions of the dark one, that hateful demon of rot and decay, had fled before the monstrous worms that had erupted from her disease ridden mind.But what had the cost been? Through tear filled eyes she surveyed a realm torn apart by the foul crusade that had been launched against it. Her master – ah, how that word stung her heart, bringing fresh tears to her bloodshot eyes as her gaze fell upon the ruins of his once glorious palace. He wasn't dead; she knew that. She would have felt it in her burning heart had he fallen, yet she felt no pain beyond that caused by his abandonment of her. For, indeed, though he had not died on this terrible day, he had still been taken from her, torn away from her questing hands as the blood flowed freely across the killing fields.
She remembered how it had happened, how the vile worms, the terrible avatars of the dark one's tormented victims had cut a deadly swathe through friend and foe alike. She remembered that one worm, the one from which the putrid stench of death had been worst, and how it had surged toward the palace, smashing her aside without effort. After that she'd been helpless, forced to lie on broken wings as the foul beast smashed into the palace and tore everything she loved from her reach.
Yes, love. She'd loved him, though she knew he could never feel the same. He still loved the other one, the one in whose image she had been created. 'Nivea' had been her name and even now, even when her master was gone, taken from both of them, she couldn't help but wince when she thought of the name. But her jealousy wouldn't help. No, with agonised determination she pulled herself to her feet – well, she called them feet, but in truth they were paws; paws her master had taken from another servant that she might continue to aid him even after the dark one had torn hers away. But what they were didn't really matter now. Nor did the tattered state of her wings. Her new legs served her well, her wings would heal. Even if they didn't, she had a grand task before her and pity would only serve to hinder her master's divine plan.
The words sounded good to her, as though they were right and she had only just noticed; for her master had to be a god, did he not? He carved realities from barren wasteland, creating a perfect realm where none had existed before. And now… well, now he had ascended. Like the angel she was supposed to be, her master had soared into the heavens, leaving her to complete his divine vision and wreak terrible vengeance on those who stood against his vision of perfection.
She would serve him well, of course. To make up for her failures on the field of battle, she would become everything he needed her to be. She was Akroma, devoted servant of the reality sculptor, and his avenging angel. Soon the sculptor's foes would tremble at the mention of her name.