'Lady of Battle, send us an angel, Lady of War, send us a savior, Lady of Succor, send us a warrior,' Priestess Jostlin prayed again and again, voice rasping from her dry throat.
The Priestess was short (5' even) and would have been mousey with her big brown eyes, freckles and soft brown hair if there'd been enough flesh to count as mousey. Instead she was bone thin, almost fleshlessly svelte with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, her neck painfully thin and her fingers bony. Her brown robe had always been loose but now was hanging off her breastless, hipless frame like a tent. Sweet and shy, she was as far as could be imagined from a cleric of the Triune Goddesses, three divine siblings of war, love and wisdom who were depicted in mosaics and statues around her chapel. (in order) There was Vola, the voluptuous, black haired beauty of joy, love and sex, Hesta, the dark skinned, kinky haired patron of art, wisdom and learning and finally Fenra, the tall, muscularly curvacious bringer of victory and protector of the weak.
'Please Fenra, send us aid,' the little priestess begged as the castle walls shook from bombardment, 'the orcs have harried us so long, we're out of food, out of spells, out of time. My lover fights to hold the line but unless we have a miracle...please I will give anything...'
Jostlin felt her hair stand on end and for the first time in weeks, a warm strength filled her body. On the altar her last candles flared to painful, blinding light and when she could at last look back she was no longer alone. A woman stood on the sacred stone, or rather floated:
8 feet of divinely carved glory, from the tips of her armored boots up her powerful, chiseled thighs over narrow, girlish hips and an armored bulging with more muscles than all the castle guards had ever had put together on display, leading up to an armored bra cradling two huge, athletic, almost threatening bosoms and hard, bulging arms bigger than Jostlin's thighs had ever been. Her skin was glowing alabaster without a scar or blemish and her golden blonde hair glowed like the sunrise from where it fell over a winged headress. Two pairs of golden wings erupted from her back, out stretched and beating softly and her face was hard to look at it was so perfectly beautiful, while in her gloved hands was a jet black long sword, six feet tall from tip to tip and covered in divine runes.
'Fenra!' Jostlin squeaked, falling to her face in supplication.
'No child, I am not the goddess, merely an angel,' the divinity smiled, showing dazzling white teeth that left after images, 'your request has been heard and I was sent to save you.'
'I...I thank you so much,' Jostlin sobbed, relief and the feeling of safety flowing over her, 'I was so afraid...'
She stepped down, putting the hundred pound sword over her shoulder and gently cupping Jostlin's chin with hands that could have easily juggled the biggest horse in the castle, back before they'd eaten all the horses.
'Be not afraid, for you have proven devoted to the goddess, always making such small sacrifices even from your dismal rations,' the angels smiled at her, 'I wish I could have come sooner but there are so many evils in the worlds and so few of us great warrior angels. Come now, witness the victory I shall offer to the Goddess!'
'What...what is your name?' Jostlin asked, overcome with happiness.
'I am Kelara, Angel of Bountiful Victory,' the giant celestial smiled at her, 'and you little one are Jostlin, always a brave one despite your quietness the Goddess had noted. Always devout and kind and seeing to the needy, a warrior in your own way. Do not worry again though, soon you will be saved.'
Jostlin followed as Kelara walked out of the chapel, through the halls of desperate refugees who fell to their knees weeping at this divine servitor and into the court yard where the few hundred surviving men at arms (out of a ten thousand man garrison) led by her boyfriend Sir Hal prepared to sell their lives dearly. Kelara entered just as the orc horde broke down the gates, a tide of green insanity spilling into the castle. The carnage was horrific and entirely one sided, the orcs had all the chance against the arc angel that a field of wheat had against a scythe. So fast was she that a green mist appeared between where she first drew her sword and the castle gates and entire schools of swordsmanship would have been founded just to study the angle of her ankle if any mortal eye could have seen her step.
Fifty thousand orcs, all the monsters of the northern mountains, were felled in less than an hour, leaving their bodies stretched out over the winter fields. Kelara fluttered gently down into the castle square, wiping her great sword clean with the Orcs sacred banner. There was not a scratch or stain on her body.
'Rejoice, for you are delivered,' Kelara beamed at the awestruck, weeping crowd, 'from the orcs!'
Th angel looked them over, taking in their gaunt, stared appearances. Few civilians had actually died, it seemed the food had been well managed but all were near starved. Jostlin, a maid of 22 summers should have had full breasts, round hips and probably a belly beginning to round with child, such was the love between her and her boyfriend, palpable to Kelara's angelic sight. As was their starvation, in the high heavens all were athletic and perfect but here on the mortal realm things were so precarious, these people would likely die of starvation in a month if she didn't do something. It shouldn't be this way but the battle against the abyss' evil required the goddesses to spend so much divine energy...divine energy like that laying around from the army of devil worshiping orcs she'd slaughtered. It had been born of malice but now stood neutral, able to be used by the first one with the will and skill to shape it.
'...and from hunger!' the warrior angel continued, pointing out her sword and gathering unused divine magic into it and making it rain down on the barren, unplanted fields.
The orc horde had cut down trees and dug up roots, creating two hundred square miles of desert in what should have been productive farm country. With a wave of her blade, Kelara turned it into something from the heavens: rolling hills of lush pasturage populating by mooing, house sized dairy cows with full udders and happy, baaing sheep the size of ponies, flocks of dog sized chickens and pig sized ducks that would lay a hundred eggs a day, winding orchards heavy with fruit the size of human heads, berry patches big enough to hold a carnival in and endless rows of wheat, barely, hops, corn, potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, onions, radishes and all the other stuff humans should eat. Despite the winter chill everywhere else, it was a pleasant spring day in this new mega farm. Kelara wasn't exactly sure on what human farms looked like but she felt a strange joy at creating such fecundity.
'How...how can we repay you?' Jostlin begged, seeing the salvation of her people.
'Remember the goddesses who protect you, pray, be grateful, happy, brave and kind!' was what Kelara said, before she vanished in a puff of white light.
What followed was the greatest feast in the kingdom's history. Scared, starving men and women ate and ate and ate, to their amazement finding that the trees and plants instantly regrew as soon as they were picked, yielding perfect fruit each time. In joy they ate and ate and ate, until they were pinned to the ground by their own groaning bellies. One goblin with a bread knife could have ended the kingdom there and then, everyone was so helpless, but Kelara had ended all threats with her blade.
Hal and Jostlin sat lazily in the great hall, his sword belt undone to accommodate his feasted paunch and Jostlin's tent like dress stretched tight over her monumental food baby. At the moment, neither of the two former starvlings had the energy for sex, but both new it would come in a day or two, once their salvation would sink in. Fierce love, burning hot at their desperate survival was fueling a life long fire of passion.
'I suppose we should get married,' Hal said, running his finger over her immense food baby, 'I'm the last knight in the kingdom and will need a queen...'
'Of course I accept, even if you're an unromantic ass,' Jostlin giggled, punching his arm lightly, 'but first, I must sacrifice...'
Getting up was miserable but Jostlin made her way to the temple, bearing a forty pound tray of fruit and vegetables that her skinny arms could barely carry and had to rest on her tender belly. She sat it on the altar and bowed well as she could, smiling at where the angel had appeared.
'I give this back to you Kelara, who saved all of us. Know I will never forget you and I and my daughters will sacrifice to you forever!' the Priestess grinned.
A world away, Kelara trade blows with a fire demon a hundred feet high. She heard the prayer of thanks, directed not at her patron Fenra and felt herself grow stronger, striking a hard blow that shattered the magma fiend and sent it spiraling apart.
Actual worship? How odd...she hoped it didn't get out of hand...
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