"Free me, pray to the faith in the face of the light. Feed me, fill me with sin, and get ready to fight."
"Shana..."
"Hope dies, and you wonder . . . The other world, it makes you. Dreams, they rip asunder. The other world hates you."
"Shana... Oh, for Yevon's sake," The person speaking sighed heavily, growing more annoyed at each passing moment. "Wake up, you lazy bum!"
With a sharp kick and a loud cry, the deed was accomplished. Shana Lunette, fledgling summoner, was awake and out of bed. The young boy rubbed his sore, banged up head, while his eyes slowly adjusted to the light of morning. The newborn morning's first rays shone through the cracks in his bamboo blinds, filling the small bedroom with broken rays of light.
Stumbling clumsily to his feet, the boy smoothed out his white shirt and loose bed-pants. While the young woman who had literally kicked him out of bed busied herself with his vanity mirror, he moved to make his bed. "Do you always have to be so..." He began, but was cut short as the intruder interrupted.
"Wonderful? Sexy? ...Yes. Yes, I do."
Briruru Anne Darcly, dancer and mistress of the black arts, smirked up at the slightly taller pilgrim, their clothes reflecting the telltale differences in their personalities. While Shana's clothes were light and tried not to be too flashy, his companion's garb was just the opposite. Dressed in black from top to toe, she wore a barely legal thigh-length skirt, and her bosom was lifted by the combined efforts of a tight top and bra; she was dressed to be dark, mysterious, and alluring. Her short hair, going through all the shades of darkness there was, fell haphazardly around her face, framing it exotically with just the flair of beauty she needed.
"I was going to say extreme, but tomato, tomahto," The apprentice summoner said, walking over to his small wooden table at the corner of his hut. Reaching up to the silken rope that ran through his shack, he pulled off a pair of black leggings and his white temple robe, which was tented with red along the edges. Throwing the entire outfit together as quickly as possible, he inspected his appearance one last time in the dusty mirror on his wood table, thumping at the tips of his long soft chestnut locks. "Okay. I'm...ready," the boy stated wearily, waltzing over to the fur-pelt covered exit of his small home. "Coming, Bri?"
The black mage's face lit up, her purple painted lips tugging upwards in a smile. "Right behind you! Wait; let's drop by my hut really quick. I have to pick up Juliet."
"Oh my!"
Several worried whispers flew amongst the small crowd gathering at the village gate. Hushed voices were all murmuring things along the lines of 'Is he alright?' 'Should we alert the temple?' 'Who is he?' The crowd was edgy in anticipation around a central point, an outsider.
At the entrance, beside one of the towering purple spires serving as fence posts, lay an injured man curled into a small ball against the pain of his wounds. His short brown hair was disheveled and dirtied from hard travel, and he had an injury on his shoulder from which blood flowed, staining his garments crimson.
A hairless, dark-skinned man in the crowd went to the young man's side, resting a hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked, checking the man's pulse in his wrist before attempting to lift his arm over his shoulder. Blood soon stained the balding elder's green robes, turning the fibers a purplish, sickly shade.
"Y-yes, we were-were attacked by Sin...I was sent here from The Crusaders . . . Your temple asked for a Guardian . . ." The young man rasped, wincing as another robed man with red hair came to his aid, lifting his arm onto his shoulder as well. The two men helped him into the village, carrying him towards the Crusader's hut.
Blood spilled so freely from his injuries that even as the two men moved him towards safety, he left a trail of blood behind him. As the priests carried him off out of sight, the crowd slowly broke apart, gossiping amongst themselves. A few people thought the man wouldn't make it to the hut, while others thought he was an Unsent.
Meanwhile, while the young Crusader was being dragged to the vivaciously colored shack called home by the village Crusaders, the apprentice summoner, Shana, and his mage companion were just exiting her hut, across from the Crusaders'.
"I swear, Bri, that doll is so . . . Eerie . . . It's frightening." Shana said, shuddering as he looked down at Briruru's weapon of choice - a gothic marionette named Juliet. The tiny puppet's head turned towards the white robed boy, her constantly smiling face appearing more evil than usual. Shana shivered again, turning away from the doll. He couldn't bare looking at her malice-filled yellow eyes.
And that was when he saw the man being dragged away. "Bri, look!" He cried, slapping at the girl's naked shoulder. Turning to see what was so important, Briruru watched as the black priest and his aid moved a bleeding man into the Crusder's lodge. She placed her hand on her hip, tightening her hold on Juliet as the doll, too, turned to look at him like her mistress.
"And?"
Shana stared at his friend for a few moments incredulously, then at the doll. Then to Briruru, and again to the doll. He finally gave up on trying to make sense of either of them, shaking his head dumb-founded, and ran after the priests. Bri, or perhaps it was the devilish little doll, giggled girlishly before the black-clad woman ran after her cleric friend.
"Brother McCowan, please let me through." The robed man had been told to not let anyone pass, much to Shana's irritation. "Surely Father Leon would allow me to see the wounded man!" The pilgrim had to act fast. If he didn't get Brother McCowan out of the way peacefully, then Briruru would do it by force when she showed up. It was for the priest's own good, truthfully.
The red-headed man turned to look at his superior. Nodding, the priest gave Shana the okay to come into the room filled with beds. Brother McCowan stepped aside, and Shana rushed past him. Before the priest could go back to guarding the doorway, Briruru zipped by as well, stepping on the man's foot in the process. It took a lot of spiritual strength for him to keep from cursing the woman spitefully.
"Father! What has happened?" Shana asked, looking down at the wounded youth. He crouched down beside the bed, looking in the man's face. He had lost a lot of blood. No doubt, he was a victim of a fiend attack. A coyote was probably responsible for these wounds, or possibly a Garuda . . . Some of the injuries ran deep, and he needed to be healed right away if he wanted to live.
"This man," The elder began, dropping the boy's arm to allow the younger men to take him inside, "Is the guardian we asked the Crusaders for. He claims his ship was attacked by Sin..." The dark man said grimly, the lines around his old eyes crinkling as his expression turned into an expression of age and sadness.
Shana immediately pieced together the puzzle. By the grace of Yevon, the man washed up on the Besaid shore. Then, he must have made his way along the path in a dazed, toxin-induced stupor, being attacked by the fiends along the road. He had probably gotten some cuts during Sin's attack, and the scent of blood would have attracted those monstrous creatures like a fly to honey. Now, however, not only did the Crusader need to be healed, but something had to be done about Sin's toxins as well.
Father Leon nodded, and left Shana alone with the man. On his way out, he took hold of Briruru and dragged her out was well. Shana would need total concentration to do this. The cleric sat down on the floor beside the bed, looking into the face of this man who so desperately needed his help. This man . . . To look so helpless, and strong all at once, impressed Shana. He felt an instant tug within his soul. One which he had not felt since . . . There was no time for this.
Moving his hands around, holding them aloft before cupping them in front of him, forming a circle, the cleric chanted a healing spell. An air of magic circulated through the room, before the young man pushed his hands forward. "O Yevon, heal this body. Ease the suffering of body and mind . . ." He prayed, focusing on the toxins flowing through the man. Whenever someone encountered Sin, the dark aura of the beast left a dangerous poison in his or her veins. This spell, Esuna, could remedy that somewhat.
A shaft of light the shade of violets and amethyst radiated around the bed, while a current of shimmering blue magic slowly flowed upward from the man's body. Esuna had taken effect. Though the toxin would still rob some of the man's memory, it was no longer fatal. Focusing once more, the apprentice summoner conjured up another healing spell. An aura of pale blue light enveloped the young man, closing up the bleeding gash in his shoulder. The pilgrim smiled; this man was saved.
"Yay. You played healer-boy. Now c'mon, we're late!" Briruru chided. She had broken past the dark-skinned man and witnessed the entire healing ritual. Grasping Shana's arm firmly, she forced him to his feet. Before she could drag him out of the room, he looked down into the man's face once more. His face wasn't contorted in pain as much as it was now. Barely opening his eyes, Shana saw what would stick in his memory for a long time.
'Brown eyes. Rich and lively, just like his . . .'
"Bah. A woman like that is no good for this village," the elder cursed under his breath, glaring at the entrance to the large shack as the black mage left, the fledling-summoner in tow. The other man snickered, grinning up a storm at the older man.
"Conflict with your daughter, Leon?"