A Fallen Angel, one of the beloved children of Creation, born of the very fabric in which made up existence, and as old as time itself, stood in the blood soaked cobblestones of the Athius first salient's courtyard. Framed against the gray weather torn sky, where the occasional thunderstrike illuminated the gore splattered walls about him, stood Lerajie. Darkness itself seemed to enfold about his body, holding him comfortingly in its velvet softness, so that his pale marble like skin stood out in stark contrast to his dark plumed wings. When his assessing eyes turned toward the figure before him, it was almost as if the Creator himself still penned the last intricate lines into the statue-like features of his face. And when he spoke, it was as if all the sorrows of the world converged into one moment and shaped themselves into the very syllables expressed by the Angel�s flushed lips.
�So your the Paladin.� He had said simply, yet Gallen�s head reeled with impact they caused him. He could say nothing, dumbfounded, the figure�s awe inspiring presence of both sadness and beauty overpowered him.
When the Fallen Angel moved, it was as if the world about him changed its flow to suit his desire. He stirred not a foot, nor set wing aflutter, but simply came to be, standing before Gallen. The air around Lerajie was as if charged by electricity, and an almost palpable crackle of energy could be heard. The Paladin was warmed by it, urged to it, begging him to drop the sword that he held clenched in his fist and touch the beauty that lay before him. Gallen�s heart pleaded for release, as he was torn between the sudden extremes of attraction and loathing. The Paladin�s mind screamed its warning, and somewhere in the haze of his thought a perception was beginning to break through. It nagged at him, pulling his attention away from the beauty that he so craved.
But then the Angel was speaking again. The words, however, had little meaning, except that they amplify Gallen�s desire. The Paladin was stricken with the idea that if he could only just touch the Angel�s cheek, run his finger along his feathered wing, Gallen could relieve him of this unbearable sadness. It appealed to Gallen, the very base nature of his being. Lerajie was reaching for him now, with his slender hand, to touch his brow and relieve all of the burdens the world had visited upon him. Gallen closed his eyes and waited for release.
Yet through the fog that the Fallen Angel had visited down upon Gallen, that singular perception sang through. It called to him, and in his annoyance he glanced down at the cause of his discomfort; the barrier to his deliverance. Treasured Fallen burned cold in his palm. Its icy chill sent a shock, with the realization, through his entire body. Gallen gasped, as if he had been holding his breath, and his eyes shot open where they were met by those of Lerajie.
What once were cold and gray now burned with anger. The marble shattered before Gallen�s eyes, and what lay beneath was more horrible than anything his experience had prepared him for. Not like the Abomination he had met in desert, monstrous and ugly, but perhaps more beautiful than before, yet twisted into a mask of hate and vehemence that it hurt the human heart to recall its image. The hand, in which Gallen had recalled as gentle and slender, curled into a fist pulsating in fury. With a heave of Lerajie�s fist, he sent Gallen sprawling to the ground.
�I can SMELL his foul stench upon you!� The Angel cried, a sound that made the Paladin want to cringe and cover his ears. It deafened even the thunderclap and clash of steel that still rang in background.
�Does that coward Michael still send his underlings to fight for him?� Lerajie had become a storm unto his own. �He sends me his cowed dogs, bearing little fangs to bite me? So be it!� Gallen had regained his feet only partially, but already sprung forward baring his sword. The blow he sent whistling through the air, an arch of flashing silver, would have cleaved nearly any other man�s head from his shoulders. Yet, with the same liquid grace that he had first approached the Paladin, the Fallen Angel�s body seemed to quiver and twist around the sword until he had become solid once more, safely behind the blade. With a snarl, he clouted Gallen upon the back of his head, sending him crashing once more to the ground. He slid several feet before coming to a stop, behind him lay a trail of upturned cobblestones. The sword lay several feet out of his grasp.
The Fallen Angel was laughing, a sound only comparable to a thousand mourning mothers weeping. He stalked over to where the Paladin lay, and knelt beside him. He entwined his fingers in the delicately done braid of Gallen�s quick silver hair and yanked his head backward. Lerajie leaned close, whispering into the Paladin�s ear with sweet-meat tainted breath.
�Make it easy upon yourself and give it up.� He glanced skyward, �You really think he gives a damn about you? Repent for your sins against He Who Lives...the one who provides for his faithful children. His realm will open up into this world and We, his faithful, will be rewarded without measure. It�s really a matter of time anyway isn�t it?� Lerajie asked with a mocking tone in his voice, �How long did you think you were going to last anyway? In their hearts, the people you strive to save are half ours already. All they need is that final push.�
With a grunt, the Fallen Angel took Gallen by the hair smashed his face downward into the ground.
�Repent, and its all over with.� Gallen said nothing, nor did the Fallen Angel give him ample time to speak before proceeding to smash his head against the stones repeatedly crying, �REPENT! REPENT! REPENT damn you!� until the Paladin finally slumped against the ground, blood pouring over his swollen and battered face from a deep gash on the brow. Lerajie raised Gallen�s head once more, and his face contorted with rage, when Gallen finally made a sputtering pretense at speech. The Fallen Angel leaned close to hear what the Paladin said.
�What? Speak up dog, I can�t hear you. What ARE you saying?� But at that moment, from the depths of Gallen�s soul burst the words,
�Paladine will preserve me!� At this a wry smile played across Lerajie�s face.
�He will now, will he? It doesn�t surprise me that He would dane to be called something different. What, to try and hide from his failures no doubt. Which you, I�m afraid Paladin, are among that number.�
Lerajie bent, and with a quick twist of his hand, caught Gallen�s wrist. He brought his arm up and back, pinning it behind his back. With the smile of one who relishes the arts of torture, on par with perhaps only Drax himself, the Fallen Angel sent his foot crashing down upon the already twisted arm. Bone fragments shot through the skin with the impact, and the involuntary scream that escaped Gallen�s throat heralded the heavens. Lerajie raised his head and howled his delight.
�You hear that Michael? Your going to preserve HIM!� Thunder snapped across the sky, and a light rain began to fall. Lerajie twisted his foot and the sound of snapping bone and tendon were drowned about by another involuntary scream. The Fallen Angel continued to relish in tortures, unawares of the light that began to slowly grow in the Paladin�s eyes.
The pain was far off, distant and unburdening. The rain cooled his fevered body, and his mind focused. To many, this was the clarity that came before death. Realizations came, telling Gallen that no power short of another Angel could destroy Lerajie and that his life was quickly slipping away. But why then was the spark that was Gallen�s faith stronger than ever? And in his desperation, the answer came to him.
The Fallen Angel began to literally stomp in glee now, completely consumed in his games. Gallen�s body shook with each movement, but he pushed the pain aside. Desperately, Gallen reached for his sword, now only scant inches from his fingertips. Air rushed into his lungs and he cried once again,
�Paladine will preserve me!� With such a vigor that Lerajie looked down at the Paladin with surprise. He lifted his foot, and with all the strength in his timeless body prepared to shatter the Paladin�s spine. To late he realized his mistake. In that moment, the split second in which Gallen was free of the Fallen Angel�s oppressive weight, Gallen had grasped his sword. In the same motion he swung the blade up and backward in wild arch.
Black feathers fluttered through the air and a shriek cut into the sky. The Fallen Angel hovered, his wings spread to full glory, several feet in the air were he had moved back to avoid the wild swing. But he had not moved fast enough. A thick line of blood ran across his cheek. His eyes smoldered with rage. He put a hand up to his cheek and examined his own blood in disbelief. A mortal had wounded him. So flustered was he that gave up all pretense of torture and resolved to finish the Paladin handily and discover the cause of his condition. The Paladin, after all, had only been one of Drax�s petty whims.
Despite the situation, as the burning plumes of hell fire began to gather around Lerajie�s arms, Gallen�s hope grew with it. Slowly, crawling to his knees at first, Gallen began to rise. He propped himself up first using his sword. Then slowly, if shakily, he stood under his own power. The rain beat down upon him, slicking his blood covered hair against the side of his face. His arm, mangled and twisted at an odd angle, hung limply at his side. His own blood, mingled with rainwater, stung his single open eye and ran in rivulets down his battered face. Yet the spark began to grow, and Gallen�s fist clenched at his side.
The Fallen Angel noted this of course, and disregarded it as some final desperate stand. Foolish and ignoble; just the thing a Paladin would do. Hellfire continued to burn and gather about the Angel�s hands, churning round in and endless sphere. The sphere grew in size and power, already enough to obliterate the court yard and its adjacent enclosure, but the battle lust had grabbed him. Only a few more moments, and he would be able to contain the blast no longer, a force large enough to level the already overrun salients and the courtyard together.
Gallen heaved his faith. A ball of light flew from fist, in it rested everything that he stood for and the hope that he had carried since childhood for the mortal race. It divided into several dozen smaller orbs, faith, love, loyalty...until the scattering of blasts lit up the skyline. Lerajie�s eye�s lit up in surprise as he became engulfed in light. He hung their and for a moment shone brighter than the sun.
The Fallen Angel spun in mid air, his wings curled about him like a shield. The scattering of energy rebounded around him. His eyes narrowed on the Paladin, and a laugh began to rumble in this throat. But their it died.
The Paladin�s hand extended toward the angel in defiance, and with grim set line of continence, slowly began to close. All about Lerajie hung the many magical orbs that had been cast at him. But then they began to blur together, moving in unison with rapidly increasing speed. Soon they had blurred together completely, forming a solid barrier around the Angel. To late, he had realized his mortal mistake. The swirling mass closed inward, and the rumble that shook the very earth beneath Gallen, caused by the Angel�s hate filled uproar, sent the Paladin to his knees.
Lerajie was caught in a prison of faith�s design. The hell fires he had summoned to him already threatened to burst. No longer, even a being such as he, could contain such power. In his arrogance, he had conjured up his own killing blow. From within the sphere of light came blast of such impact its shock spread through courtyard and all of its nearby area. Humans and devils alike were thrown to the ground, Gallen among them. The wail that tore through the wind shattered all glass that lay unbroken. In the Angel�s last moments, his fingertips protruded through vale of energy in vain, before a final shudder shook the sphere and it burst into fragments. Through the air fell, with unreal slowness, the charred form Lerajie the Fallen Angel. He had no more touched the ground with impact of a featherfall and burst into dust. Gallen, who had struggled into a half sitting position, breathed a sigh of relief.
Out from corner of the now deeply shadowed courtyard strode a figure that brought with him his own neon golden glow. He was clad in platinum armor, the likes of which made Gallen�s own pale in comparison to the intricate beauty in which his own was crafted, true enough Solamnic armor had been crafted after its very image. Gallen�s blood caked lips parted in a impish attempt at smile. Paladine had come to take him home.
�No, not yet my wayward son.� The figure knelt beside Gallen, speaking directly to him and no one else with the closeness that only came to him after long hours of prayer. With the ease of one who handles a child, the figure lowered Gallen�s head to cobblestones that now seemed to offer the comfort of the richest silken pillow. The figure laid his hand upon Gallen�s chest and spoke.
�You have done well child, but your services to this world are not yet complete. Carry on, and remember that there will be peace when you are done. Now rest your weary head and fear no more.�
Through the figure�s hand flowed gentle warmth that spread throughout the Paladin�s body with a tingling familiarity. Though the figure spoke, it was Gallen�s own voice that pronounced the healing spell, that by all accounts, he had no strength to cast. The most severe of Gallen�s wounds closed over, stopping the flow of his life�s blood into the rain. The image of the armor clad figure faded, and in the distance, as if in some far off world, human voices could be heard calling through the Athius walls. Gallen�s eyes focused on Jacquere�s boots before lulling to the back of his head in the blissful embrace of unconsciousness.
