An'owyn

Prologue

Clunk… clunk… clunk…

The noise of her plate-metal boots against the hard, dusty ground echoed across the barren landscape with every step. Darlaniette An’owyn felt the armor press down on her even more than usual; a cumbersome, unwieldy selection of highly-polished battle gear to which she thought she’d become accustomed. Droplets of sweat collected on her brow and at the nape of her neck, sliding downwards and underneath her solid armored breastplate.
Perhaps age really was catching up on her.
But, she reminded herself, this was hardly a regular job. She would do what was needed, would prove her usefulness without a shadow of a doubt. And when she was finished, the threat would be gone and the others would be grateful, perhaps looking past her misdemeanors. They could even realize that she had never meant for this to happen, she hadn’t brought it upon herself.
The bastard children were an accident, and a non-consensual one at that.
She winced at the memories, the fresh, sickening jolt of disgust at her weakness, angered by the burning humiliation caused whenever she was forced to confront her inability to fight him off…
Determinedly, she pushed away her thoughts. She was a perfectly capable fighter, skilled with her sword and armed with plate, well-cured leather and confidence.

Clunk… clunk… clunk…

She barely noticed the numerous skeletons of varying sizes littering the ground, bones bleached by age and sun, although that rarely shone in these parts. As if to echo her mood, the clouds had drawn together, making the sky look like an exceptionally large, dark grey woolen blanket. Desolace had always been miserable. The herds of huge leathery-hided kodo stirring up dust and leaving a trail of heavy, imprinted footprints in the dirt didn’t do much for the scenery, and the hopeful packs of hyena following afterwards were even less attractive. Scavenging birds perched upon the towering naked ribcages of long-dead creatures, expectantly waiting for the basilisks or scorpions to starve to death on the fruitless, foodless ground.

A battle horn blew in the distance.

The sound echoed, harsh and unrelenting. Undoubtedly, the Centaurs were at war once again. The Gelkis and Magram clans, characteristically aggressive and easily offended, were always fighting over borders, over resources… Sometimes, they were desperate enough to fight over fighting.

But enough of that, she was here to do a job. The sooner she returned to parade her victory, the better.

She rummaged in her pocket lazily for a long scrap of opaque black cloth to tie around her eyes. Those who hunted Demons usually had their eyes removed, to stop the visual outer world drawing away attention from the tendrils of acrid Demonic energies that gave away the position of their quarry… but she wasn’t keen on ritual mutilation. It was one job, one time. She wouldn’t sacrifice her sight for that. Ten minutes and she would be away from this dismal place, trophy at hand, and everything would be better.
A few seconds search for this, however, revealed her pockets to be empty.
A foolish mistake, but why would that little scrap of cloth be important? She was a perfectly capable fighter, not due to a piece of fabric.

She couldn’t return empty-handed.

The bastard was still hiding from her, although she knew it was here somewhere. The stench of Twisting Nether - the bittersweet odor that drenched all demons, carried over from their true home - cut through the musty air, leaving a faintly-metallic scent in her nostrils. Shutting her eyes a moment, she could sense its presence like a trail of ribbon, teasingly out of her range but leading her to a nearby set of ruins. Without a pause – recklessly, as if she had something to prove – she made her way towards them, the rhythm of her plate boots once again becoming constant and melodic to her ears.

Clunk… clunk… clunk…

And now, the sound of her footsteps echoed through the desolate, decaying building. She made little attempt to stifle the noise, glancing around curiously at her surroundings. Despite the clumps of sickly-green moss and half-fallen walls and pillars, the beauty of the building was still noticeable. The marble had been white no doubt, and the elaborate mosaics, shelves and alcoves were now collapsed and eroded, with only a fraction of their former splendor. With another glance around, she decided that the ruins were empty. The beast couldn’t have strayed far but, as her eyes took in the scene around her, she knew she should sense it, if it was close.

Removing her helm, and then a gauntlet, she ran an experimental finger lightly over the crumbled surface of a crafted column, sending a spray of pebbles skittering off the edge. It left a dusty residue on her fingertip.

Silence, except for her own quiet breathing.

A sudden flurry of action from behind, barely noticed out of the corner of her eye, made her spin rapidly.
She drew her sword in defense.

But too late.

Steel met claws in one brief encounter and it was mere seconds before she was overpowered.

She barely had time to scream.