Body withered, body died...

[Rheawien]

The cleanup was as much of a painful ordeal for Rheawien as it was degrading. The two harpies came into her cage shortly after their exchange, carrying a bucket of smelly rainwater and a handful of tainted rags. She tried to use the appendages that were still operational, kicking at the pair of bird-women and cursing in barbaric Dram language, but her struggle was short-lived. Her hands were bound with a piece of rugged rope, then yanked upwards in order to hang her like a piece of meat. Rhea wanted to kick at the bestial pair again, but the pain in her shoulders was so intense that her activities were limited to whimpering and shivering like a feather. The claws snapped at her once again, but even as she braced for another barrage of pain, they merely grazed her skin. Instead they tore her scant tank top asunder, the proceeded to peel of her sweat-drenched shorts, leaving her in nothing but her marred skin.

“She’s a pretty one. Mistress will enjoy ruining her before she takes her face off.” the smaller of the two spoke, admiring Rheawien’s body for almost a minute with what seemed like hidden envy. Her clawed fingers passed over Rhea’s breasts slowly, just pricking the skin and drawing out another muffled cry before proceeding down to her stomach. Rheawien closed her eyes, but even as she did so, a splash of water struck her back, drenching her in stale-smelling liquid. The other one – Engra, the woman remembered through the chaos in her head – rubbed her down with the rags as if she was a horse, completely disregarding the numerous wounds on her body, passing over them roughly.

“Bah, she’s bleedin’ lika stuck pig.” Engra said from behind her, wiping her carelessly, the stopping abruptly. The next thing Rheawien felt was some sort of rancid-smelling grease being rubbed into her shoulders and this time she screamed because whatever it was, it burned as if it was made out of embers. After that the wiping continued for a short while and once the harpy was satisfied, she untied the rope, allowing Rhea to crash on the ground once again. She didn’t want to get up anymore. All she wanted to do was curl up in some corner and let death come for her.

“Oh no you won’t. Come on, get up. It’s time to meet your Mistress.”

Mistress. How she loved to call Sarah by that title. The Lavinian was harsh towards her, sometimes even violent, but Rhea loved every second of it. She loved being degraded by the spunky thief and yielding to her every desire. She even loved the punishment that came for being disobedient. But that was a game that she and Sarah played. This however was the bitter taste of reality. She felt what it meant to be degraded for real and now she was going to find out the sadism of a real Mistress.

Feria – the weaker, yet obviously more superior of the two – led her like a slave by the same rope that she hanged from minutes earlier. Rheawien tried to cover her breasts at least, but every time she did that, Feria yanked at the rope and hastened her gait. The narrow dungeon hallways soon gave way to a spacious cave that was filled with hundreds of harpies, most feasting on something that looked like cadavers of small desert animals. However, once Rheawien and her escort entered the main room, their feeding ceased and all eyes turned towards the naked half-elf. She looked at the beasts through the curtain of her white hair that fell before her eyes and she realized that in all her bitchiness and defiance, she had none now that her final hour was nearing. Rhea was beaten, broken and led like a convict to a guillotine. On the right side of the cave was a wide opening, looking down on the eternal desert and letting in sunlight in a form of a thick white beam, but she saw no freedom outside. Up ahead, beyond the swarm of harpies that formed a passage through the middle of the room, was a throne and on it sat bird-thing different from the others.

For one, she was the only one that wore clothes, black leather outfit clinging to her figure skin-tight. Her face was concealed with a leather mask as well, allowing only her abysmal eyes to be seen and her lips that curled into a wide smile at the sight of Rheawien. Her hand made a gesture towards Feria to approach and the harpy tugged on the rope again, advancing towards the throne.

“Mistress Aghra.” the harpy spoke, bowing low before offering the rope to her.

“Oh my. Aren’t you the sweetest looking thing.” the lead harpy spoke, pulling on the rope so hard, it sent Rheawien stumbling forwards. She would’ve fallen down pretty badly if the masked bird-thing didn’t catch her by the neck and pulled her up. Aghra’s claws dug into the soft neck of the half-elf with agonizing slowness, but they stopped before they made any serious damage. Instead they released her from the steely clutch and approached Aghra’s mouth, smearing the blood over the pale lips of the harpy.

“Oh, and you taste heavenly.” she added, her eyes rolling in ecstasy for a couple of seconds before returning to normal pitch-black. “Strap her up.”

By the time she was led to the iron shackles – which got a roaring approval from the gathered harpies - Rheawien’s knees were buckling beneath her and she felt the need to throw up the bile that’s been boiling in her stomach for hours now. However, soon she was pulled up by her hands once again, with her face pushed against the wall and her back to the crowd. She could hear the clicking of the clawed feet behind has as Aghra approached. “I’m going to take my time with you.” the croaked whisper entered her ear and even as it did, the harpy let her clawed hand pass over Rhea’s back slowly, cutting through her skin and flesh down the entire length of her back. Rheawien screamed, but her cry got lost in the guttural roar that echoed throughout the entire cave.

“W-Why...Why are you doing this?” Rhea managed to speak, but the first response she received was a raucous mocking laughter. Then, after it subsided, the harpy spoke.

“Because I can. Because I love to see the pain and anguish, I love to hear it in your voice, see it on your face.” the masked thing spoke, leaning so close to Rhea that their bodies pressed against each other. “I feed on it. Just like I fed on the agony of the Oasis until you put a stop to it. And now... you have to pay for it.”

Aghra moved away and before Rheawien had a chance to even assume what was going to happen, a whiplash tore through her back, eliciting another scream from the white-haired woman. After two more, her legs gave in and she hung on the shackles, the rusty metal cutting into her wrists deep enough to draw blood. Her long white hair clung to her mangled back, crimson with fresh blood. She had nothing left. All she hoped for was that the blood loss would result in death as soon as possible.

[Izvilvin]

The wind was blindingly strong, forcing Izvilvin's eyes into a squint as tears filled them. He gripped the Phoenix' feathers in an iron-tight fist, knowing that letting go would kill him. Rheawien's blades were in his other hand, held tightly against his stomach.

He couldn't take the time to enjoy the flight, despite that he was riding a Phoenix. His concern over Rheawien consumed him. Already he was planning on the course of action he'd take upon reaching the nest of the harpies. Scenarios played out in his mind, numerous branches of what he'd do depending on how many winged demons there were, and whether Rheawien was near. An infinite number of possibilities were in his mind.

But there was not enough time for him to ponder such things. The Phoenix crested a ledge, a large plateau with a great cave mouth. A deafening screech escaped its beak. Izvilvin leapt from its back immediately, seeing several harpies caught by surprise, though they were all a blur as his adrenaline took over and he rolled to a standing position.

Rheawien's blades went to the ground as a harpy came at him, looking to knock the Drow from the cliff side and down the mountain. He was too fast, however, too focused on his goal to allow one of these clumsy bitches to stray him from his path. He quickly ducked below the reaching claws and clipped the thing's wing, moving past the harpy.

The Phoenix, meanwhile, was like a magnetic force to the harpies, who swarmed the great bird. It seemed helpless at first, but with a great call the Phoenix lifted its wings and threw the harpies off of itself. The great creature burst into flames, scaring off the remaining harpies, and soon the beasts were falling to the bird by the second. Clawing, biting, and the occasional flame from its wings were the Phoenix' way of battle, and it worked well.

Izvilvin had a fortunate moment in between harpies to survey the area. Rheawien he could not see, but the cave seemed to go deep, and undoubtedly he could find her inside. He began to take steps toward the cave, slashing at harpies to try and keep them at bay. One clipped his shoulder, ripping his wound into something larger and so much more painful, but he fought through it to drive the creature away with his sai. There was no time for pain.

A chorus of screeches came from within the cave. Izvilvin’s biggest fear had come true—there were many more harpies than he had anticipated. It made sense, considering the size of the horde that had come for them in the night. All the same he charged forward, knowing there were only two ways to go, onward or down the mountain.

A harpy came at him, wings flapping to give it some lift, but Izvilvin was furious in his strikes, cutting left and right with the short, precise weapons. The creature’s legs were slashed and bloodied in seconds, and he was past the screeching beast to boldly face the next. He stabbed forward, but this one swerved around the strike and batted him to the ground with its wing. Immediately Izvilvin was swarmed, overrun by the harpies as they punched, kicked and scratched at him.

He tried to cover his face and other sensitive areas, and soon the harpies backed off. The Drow was badly beaten, scratched deep all over his back and shoulders, but he was breathing still; not only breathing, but actually trying to get up. The Phoenix, meanwhile, was once again assaulted by harpies. The bird made pained sounds as it struggled to escape, but even the powerful sunbird could not fight them off. A great flash erupted from its body, and when the light subsided, the Phoenix was gone, leaving just a pile of ash where it had been.

Izvilvin witnessed the thing’s death, and with the vanishing of the Phoenix came the end of his hope. His hair was gripped in the claws of one of the beasts around him, and he was pulled to his feet by the thing. It seemed his dramatic rescue was not going to go the way he had hoped.

The things talked among themselves, laughing at the Drow and seemingly not caring about the death of their kin. Izvilvin was disgusted by their lack of camaraderie. He struggled to free himself, but was stopped immediately by a nearby harpy who slashed at his face, causing him to cry out.

They were not gentle as they brought him into the cave, nor did they bother to stop and wash him down. Were he able to understand their high-pitched chatter, Izvilvin would have known they intended to bring him immediately to the mistress of the cave, to have him be tortured or killed right before the eyes of his ally, who he struggled so hard to save. The sinister beasts thought such a spectacle would make Rheawien’s struggle all the worse. The mistress would love it.

[Rheawien]

Rheawien could hear the commotion, the screeching shrieks of the harpies mixed with what seemed like a howl of something much larger, but no matter how much she craned her neck, she couldn’t see what was the reason for it. In the back of her mind, coy and almost inexistent, a spark of hope was whispering that the cavalry was here to rescue her. The pain put in a rebuttal, once again exploding over her back as Agrha whipped her one last time before turning her attention to whatever caused the mess. Her mistress shrieked and screamed, obviously issuing orders to her winged troops but all Rhea could hear were the deathly cries of the bird-women. Maybe the coy voice was right. Maybe somebody – Izvilvin that same voice offered – came to save her from the torment.

No. Even as Rheawien got her hopes up ever so slightly, something large – A dragon? her mind asked – cried out before every trace of it faded away. Instantly the commotion was replaced by the cheering croaks and guttural laughs, a despicable celebration of death of Rhea’s hopes. The half-elf could her movement behind her, multitude of clawed feet approaching her and then throwing something on the ground. Her injured neck bled and ached as he twisted it once again in an attempt to enable her to see what was going on. Once it succeeded in that, Rhea couldn’t stifle another whimper.

“Izvilvin...” she whispered, looking at the bloodied drow lying on the ground in his tattered clothes. He did come for her. Even though he was one against the many, even though he knew it would likely be his demise, he came to her rescue. And once again Rheawien was crying. She cried because she was the reason for the downfall of a good man. And she cried because somebody finally cared enough for her to risk his own life for her sakes. This feeling of worthiness was something that the half-elf didn’t feel in ages.

“Thank you.” Rhea added, and then another whiplash sent her screaming.

“Mmmmm...” Aghra cooed from behind her, licking her lips as she once again neared the half-elf from behind. This time her clawed hands embraced Rheawien, grasping her breasts tightly and pressing her scathed back against the leather outfit. “Is this your man, pretty one? He is, isn’t he? I would enjoy ripping him apart in front of your eyes...”

“AGHRA!!!”

The voice that called out the name of the leading harpy resonated through the entire cave with such unhinged power that it sent a cold shiver down Rhea’s enflamed aching back. And even though the half-elf couldn’t see the owner of the voice, it was Rava Featherblood that waltzed into the main cave. Unlike the vast majority of the bird-women, Rava was a ravishing specimen, her naked body pale and well-endowed. Her hair was blood-red, descending gently around her face and spilling over her shoulders. The only details that differentiated her from a normal human female were a pair of pitch-black wings that stood serenely on her back and lengthy claws on the ends of her fingers.

“M-Mistress Rava...” Aghra spoke, her voice suddenly weak and modest as she moved away from Rhea. The surviving harpies that feasted on the remains of their own kin all fell to their knees as Rava entered the cave, touching their foreheads to the cold stone. Somewhere in the middle of the bowed group, the ravishing harpy met with the leather-attired one. “I thought you were on a mission down sou...”

A backhanded slap cut Agrha short, sending her head flying sideways and detaching the leather mask. Below it was a mangled grimace of a face, disgusting even amidst the harpy ranks. “SILENCE! I was on a mission until I heard about your little escapade, worm! I should’ve known better then entrust you with leadership.”

“But-but mistress, I only did it to help our cause.” the ugly-faced harpy tried to justify herself, bowing her head and avoiding eye contact with those blazing-red irises of her superior.

“To help our cause? And how is that?”

“The poison, Mistress Rava. The poison was extracting the life force of the humans and replenishing our own.” Agrha explained and the red-haired harpy answered with a studios look and a nod of her head. Seconds after another slap followed, proving how false that look was.

“Excellent. What you forgot to mention, worm, is that you almost killed the entire town in the process. Do you know what that means, idiot?” Another strike, only this time an openhanded slash across the face of the inferior harpy. “It means that they’ll send soldiers to hunt us down now. More people like these two. We only kill as much as we need to survive. And you broke that rule.”

“But Mistress...”

She wasn’t allowed to speak any further. The clawed hand of Rava Featherblood stabbed at Agrha’s chest, cutting through the soft flesh and seizing the heart of the beast. The horrendous shriek of the bird-woman lasted only a moment and by the time its echo died and the cave became perfectly silent, the heart of Agrha ticked its final beat in Rava’s hand. She discarded it like an old rag, then proceeded through her bowed minions and approached Izvilvin and Rheawien.

“Now, what am I going to do with the two of you?”

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin flopped to the ground, his clothing torn and matted to his body by the stickiness of his own blood. The wounds covered his back and shoulders and were many in number, but in truth they were superficial. The pain was bothersome at the most, and the Drow had sustained some loss of blood, but he was doing well considering the two battles he'd taken part in.

Yet he could not see the light in his situation. It did not seem to him that things could possibly get any more grim. Things he'd seen on his way inside included cages, bones, and rotting corpses. It was something out of a morbid children's tale, the very essence of what a worried parent told his son to keep him from wandering about.

Izvilvin took some solace in seeing Rheawien again, though something poked at him as he saw her condition. She was beaten and bloody, like him, though it didn't appear that her wounds were quite as light as his. But she was alive, and as long as she was, the Drow had some sense of hope. His spirit was unquenchable even in such circumstances, but even Izvilvin had to admit that things were looking dark.

The appearance of Rava made him feel as if the end was near, for the harpy came into the area amidst sudden silence and revery from its kin. From his spot on the floor Izvilvin looked about the room to search for some manner of escape, but there were no less harpies at the other end of the chamber than there were right next to him. Rava wasted no time in confronting the uglier one who was acting in charge (and had suddenly become a quivering mess). Before many words could be spoken this black-winged one had done away with the mistress entirely, ripping out her heart in a gruesome display of pure power and cold-bloodedness.

The Drow wanted to retch, but fought the impulse off. Rava had come to stand before him, and though Izvilvin wanted to stand, to show some form of strength before this newcomer, he simply did not have the strength. The creature bent slightly, wrapped her fingers in his bloodied white hair, and pulled the Drow's head back. A finger traced his jaw, then went down his neck, poking rather hard into the black skin. Rava said something, but it was a jumbled mess to Izvilvin's ears.

Before the situation could get any worse for the Drow and the half-elf, a screech came from the mouth of the cave, powerful and full of vigor. It was indeed the Phoenix, he could tell, though the great bird had undoubtedly burst into ash before Izvilvin's very eyes only moments ago. The cry had brought the attention of the harpies within the cave, but they did not swarm outside to assault the creature the way they had earlier, not in Rava's presence.

The harpy leader, who indeed looked a lot more composed and statuesque than the newly dead one, not to mention greatly more appealing in features, strode past the fallen Drow and his ally to confront the source of the noise, leaving the two captives and the rest of the harpies behind. There seemed to be a heavy tentativeness in the cave, one Izvilvin could feel as completely as any blanket he'd ever been under.

His eyes moved to Rheawien again, looking over her as he frowned. They had beaten her badly. Just the sight of her wounds made the blood rise in his body, made him forget his own pains and want to rip the throats from each and every grotesque creature in the space around him.

Unfortunately, it was simply not possible.

[Rheawien]

“I never had a drow slave before.” Rava said as she yanked on Izvilvin’s hair, toying with what was bound to be another slave to her morbid desires. However, it was at that exact moment that another shriek echoed through the stone halls of the harpy lair. It was akin to the one Rheawien heard before, only thrice as strong now, an imposing, deafening sound, dominant over every other in vicinity. Its origin was the reborn Phoenix, the majestic beast using his legendary trait and rising from its own ashes. Only now it was twice as strong, smothered in vivid flames that sent the remaining flock of harpies cowering in fear. The Phoenix made no move to chase them down, remaining stationary at the cave opening and shrilling another cry towards the interior of the cave. Towards Rava Featherblood.

The eminent harpy leader didn’t seem impressed by the obvious power of the resurrected firebird. She walked through the retreating ranks of her kin leisurely, approaching the Phoenix and placing her hands on her curvy hips. Her wings fluttered once, her black eyes ascertaining the intruder, measuring it up before she spoke.

“My, my, my. You’re certainly a big boy.” the bird-woman said, her fair face smirking as if she didn’t have to crane her neck and look upwards to face the obviously more powerful foe.

“Release the two prisoners, Featherblood, or deal with my wrath.” the reborn creature said, its flaming eyes almost vibrant enough to fill in the abysmal darkness of Rava’s own. But the harpy didn’t yield in front of the apparent might. She stood defiantly as ever, testing the patience of the mythical creature. However, while defiant, Rava wasn’t stupid. She knew that, despite the fact that she had numbers at her side, the fight with a fully grown Phoenix was bound to be everything but easy. At best, she would find herself with half of her troops singed and turned to vapor. At worst, the bloody thing would turn her little mountain shack into a harpy cemetery. Neither of the two seemed terribly appealing to Rava.

“A Phoenix that cares for outlanders?” she said, her tone tiptoeing between mocking and condescending. The massive bird failed to respond in telepathic words. Instead its wings flapped once, creating a fiery whirlwind that cut through the harpies effortlessly, scorching at least a dozed before dissipating.

“Whoa, easy there, big boy. I thought we’re negotiating.” Rava said, pointing her index finger at the Phoenix as if she was a mother and it was a mischievous child.

“Release them.” the bird reiterated.

“I could. But then they’ll go back and tell everyone how the harpies poisoned the Oasis. And that’s bad business. Now, if I kill them and risk my chances with you...”

“We won’t...” Rheawien interjected, straining her neck and failing to turn her head enough to see the two. Her voice made its way to them though. “We won’t tell a soul... Please... Just let... let us go.”

Rava looked at Rhea for a second, then back at the Phoenix with studious eyes.

“The one responsible for the poisoning is dead. I had no quarrel with letting you linger in these mountains before this. It will remain so if you release these innocent two.” the Phoenix said, its wings now fluttering twice, a clear display of the waning patience. Rava didn’t respond immediately though. She walked to where Rheawien was tied to a wall as if there wasn’t a raging enflamed beast behind her back. Her clawed hand moved precariously, removing Rhea’s blood-soaked hair from her wounded back before the other hand passed over the crimson surface.

“So beautiful.” she whispered in the half-elf’s ear before bringing the bloody claw to her lips and tasting the scarlet liquid. “If you ever want to play hard, come visit me.”

“RAVA!” the firebird roared from the other side of the cave.

Rheawien felt the harpy’s lips press against the back of her neck before the claws swished above her head, cutting off the rope attached to her shackled arms. Rhea’s naked body collapsed into the pool of her own blood, unable to move on the cold stone floor.

“Very well. They are free. Now leave because my patience is wearing thin.”

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin, feeling unable to move under his own power, was plucked from the floor by a pair of harpies. They seemed indignant toward helping the Drow, yet did not pause as Rava gave the order to aid him. Izvilvin didn't understand what had happened, but he didn't feel the need to, either. He'd done all he could to help Rheawien and had succeeded, however much that success had been thanks to the Phoenix. That enough made him feel some pride. It was pretty difficult to be proud when you could barely walk, though.

He only got two steps toward the door before he looked back, planting his feet against the ground to stop the harpies from pulling him along. Rheawien was in bad shape, on the ground and bloodied. She was in considerably worse condition than him, and that fact made him feel foolish. Through sheer determination, he felt strength, and pulled himself off from the harpies' shoulders.

Moving slowly, but determinedly, the Drow shuffled over to her position on the floor and knelt down, putting his shoulder under her arm and pulling the woman to her feet. He looked at her briefly, his eyes slightly brighter than they were a moment earlier, and together they were off.

Outside, Izvilvin looked to the Phoenix. It was brighter now, engulfed in flames that roared as triumphantly as any bonfire he could ever lay eyes upon. If the Phoenix was beautiful before, it was now the very essence of beauty and power. Through a mental dialogue, they quickly established that the Phoenix would take them back to Suravani's Oasis.

He helped Rheawien mount the bird, supporting her back as she climbed up. Its flames moved harmlessly out of the way of their skin, providing more than enough room for them to sit. But before Izvilvin followed her on, he went to the edge of the cliff and retrieved her swords, tucking them under his arm and climbing onto the Phoenix' back. The Drow sat behind her, arms reaching around her smooth hips to hold tight onto the feathers of the Phoenix, so that they would not fall.

The wind picked up and pushed his hair back, but Izvilvin couldn't take comfort in it. He hadn't been able to pick up much, language-wise, so he wasn't sure if the poison problem had been solved. However, Rheawien was safe and in his arms, and that was something.

The sun was up higher now as dawn struck across the desert. The Drow could feel the beat of it against the side of his face as he sat atop the bird of flames. He turned slightly to look back at the harpies, but his face was without expression. The man didn't know what to think, what to feel. He hoped that somehow, Rheawien would be able to explain later.

[Rheawien]

Every move she made elicited a stinging sensation of pain all over her whipped back, making her mind beg her to remain stationery. But they were given pardon by the harpy leader, the Phoenix was ensuring them a safe passage home and Izvilvin was doing his best to lumber both of them out of this hellhole. Given those circumstances, Rheawien couldn’t afford to give up, not when the window of opportunity was wide open and looking towards salvation. So she clenched her teeth, forgot all about the embarrassment that her nakedness and Izvilvin’s closeness caused, and climbed onto the back of the peculiar bird creature. The drow sat behind her, his hands holding her and preventing her from slipping down as the Phoenix flapped its wings and took the pair flying over the landscape.

It would’ve been an amazing experience, just like when she was carried in the opposite direction by the harpy, but once again Rheawien was in no condition to enjoy it. Her hands held to the warmth of the orange feathers that seemed to glimmer in the rising sun, her broken body leaning forwards and leaning onto the neck of the majestic creature. Her tousled hair, caked with blood and sweat and tears that Aghra extracted from her, blocked her sight, but the half-elf wasn’t in a mood for sightseeing anyways. Instead she kept her eyes close, enduring the pain and thanking every cool whiff of the wind that quenched the fire that seemed to burn over her wounds. Her lips whispered words that got lost in the swoosh of the wind.

“Thank you... Thank you... Thank you...” she repeated over and over again. Pain was a game that she liked to play from time to time, a little bit of it was like a strong spice that amplified the sexual experience, and Rheawien liked to practice it on occasions. But today she met the other side of the coin and she knew what’s it like when a game stopped being a bed play and turned into harsh reality. And it wasn’t pleasurable. “Why are you doing this?”

Surprisingly, the Phoenix replied, its voice appearing in her woozy, weary mind. “You fight with the power of the White, despite the fact that you shield yourself with darkness. Your sacrificed yourself for the sake of people that owed you nothing. That is an ultimate sacrifice. I couldn’t allow somebody with so much potential to perish at the hands of those beasts.”

Rheawien had no idea what the bird thought when it spoke about potential and what was this White whose power she was supposedly fighting with, but she didn’t care at this point. The creature was flying them back to Suravani’s Oasis – where she hoped her wounds would get some attention – and that was all that mattered. The plague was stopped, the perpetrator was left dead and heartless back in the harpy lair and she felt like she could use a hot bath that would last for the rest of her life.

It didn’t take them long to reach the town from which they started their rather crummy crusade. After less then an hour of flight, the Phoenix started descending from the staggering height it was flying at, circling around the Oasis several times, and finally landing in front of the town hall. Erak and a couple of recovered patients that felt well enough to sit on the front porch in their pajamas were the first ones to witness the descent of the firebird, their eyes wide in disbelief. Phoenix was considered an untamable creature, even holy in some parts of Fallien, and these two strangers got a ride on one’s back.

Rheawien didn’t care too much about their awe. She made a move to get off the bird, but her strength failed her and her battered body stumbled onto the warm stone tiles of the main square. That was enough to light a bulb in Erak’s head, the old man hastily making his way from the porch and at Rhea’s side.

“Miss Rheawien!” he exclaimed, his weak arms unable to help her up properly. “By the gods, what happened to you?”

But the half-elf didn’t respond. Instead her eyes were locked on the Phoenix, on the pair of blazing orbs that looked down at her with what seemed like a mixture of benevolence and strictness. “What’s your name?” she asked the resurrected creature, her voice weak and wavering, coming out much dryer then she wanted.

“Don’t you worry about that. You’ll be seeing a lot of me later. There will be plenty of time for questions. For now rest, rejuvenate, and call upon me in times of trouble.” the Phoenix responded, and just as Rheawien wanted to ask the bird how was she supposed to contact it in case she was in times of trouble, it raised the wings and flapped with them once again. The tempest was strong enough to uplift every grain of sand on the square, and yet its force failed to strike any of the people present. And riding on the gust was a single orange feather that seemed to shine like gold as it flew unevenly through the air. Its final target was unquestionable though – the feather landed directly into the hand of the half-elf.

And even as it did, Rheawien felt as if her entire body burned with live fire that exploded somewhere inside her chest. Only instead of devouring her, the unseen flames seemed to close up her wounds, speeding up her regeneration to the point where the open gashes disappeared one by one in a matter of seconds. Even the blood smears were evaporated, her body cleansed completely in an instant. The strain of the sudden restoration was a bit too much for Rhea though, and even as it ended and the bird flew away, she passed out once again. Her hand was tightly wrapped around the orange feather, unwilling to release it no matter what.

[Izvilvin]

The sight of them, descending from the heavens upon the most noble and powerful of avian, was likely akin to seeing a wizard conjure a great fireball. Few people in life ever got to see a Phoenix, unless it was in a book, and fewer still were allowed the pleasure of riding one. Izvilvin enjoyed the ride, but not necessarily for the view of the feel, but the company and cargo.

He dismounted after Rheawien, his eyes fixed on the building ahead and the humans on the porch. One rushed forward, concerned, but the others simply looked on in humorous shock. Wide eyes and long mouths, they gaped at the Phoenix without the ability to speak. It put a weak smile on the lips of the Drow.

Turning, Izvilvin laid his eyes upon the Phoenix, simply watching the great bird and feeling the heat of its flames as it communicated with Rheawien. He didn't have anything to say, himself, or rather he didn't know how to say what he wanted to communicate. Before he could form the syllables, the Phoenix took to the air in a great bound, sending a feather to Rheawien and a feather to Izvilvin.

He caught it as it floated happily in the air, pinching it between two slender fingers. At his touch, the golden thing turned to dust and washed over him, mending his wounds and his spirit, making him feel more vitalized than he'd probably ever been. He felt stronger now that he was healed, and to his surprise, the feather formed again in his hand, as if it would never leave him for good.

Rheawien suddenly fell flat. The feather was a second thought as Izvilvin tucked it into his belt, rushing to her side. It felt good to run on strong legs again. The Drow pushed past Erak as gently as he could, and fell to his knees to press his ear against the woman's chest. She was fine. A rush of relief fell over him as he lifted his head to gaze at her. The woman was merely tired.

Erak ran to them, as quickly as his feeble legs could take him, but a raised hand and a calm expression from the unmasked face of Izvilvin seemed to set him at ease. The Drow put his hands together and leaned his face on them, signifying that she was only 'sleeping'. He could see the thankfulness on the human's face at seeing this.

Izvilvin pointed to where the Phoenix had been, where Rheawien's blades now lay against the ground. Erak got the message and fetched them, as the Drow scooped his arms under the woman's knees and back, lifting her without a great deal of effort. Erak said he would take them to a place where they could rest, and Izvilvin nodded though he didn't quite get it.

Upon entering the building, they made their way past rows and rows of beds. Empty beds, Izvilvin saw, and his spirit soared. Together, the three came to a room at the back, where a large bed lay against the wall. A window shone bright light into the center of the small chamber, calling attention to a thick brown carpet against the wooden floor. Erak left the swords standing upright by the door, and then shut it as he left. Evidently, attempting to communicate with a Drow was something he wasn't up for.

The Drow made his way to the bed and laid Rheawien upon it, putting her head gently against the pillow provided. He stayed there, sitting on the mattress and looking at her contently. She was safe. He realized then just how fond he had grown of her, but he couldn't pinpoint why. She was the most physically appealing of the humans he'd encountered in life, of course, but there was something else. Perhaps it was the way her lips moved when she spoke, or just the tone of her voice.

Whatever it was, he was content to sit there and look at her, pondering it for a moment or two. She was serenely beautiful, like a stream in a forest. The thought made him smile.

[Rheawien]

***

Rheawien dreams and in the alternate reality that her mind offers, she is standing in a desert that seems endless regardless of the direction she looks at. Her first impression is that it’s just a chunk of Fallien desert represented by her mind, but there is an eerily touch to it that she can’t quite pinpoint. Perhaps it is because the sky is colored in hues of purple that seem to flow like a river. Perhaps it is because there is no heat in the air, no sun to vex her, no wind gusts to blow sand into her face. Or perhaps it’s just the feeling that she has in her gut, the strange sensation that even though she doesn’t know where here is, she is here with a purpose.

She turns on her heels. Her eyes scour the monotonous environment. And even as she finishes her turn, there is a woman standing in front of her. Her posture is royal, her figure womanly, her eyes the very testament of incisiveness. Her hair is as red as live fire, cut short, but not soldierly short. Her attire is something she saw on one of the Scara Brae knights, during a parade for the masses, where the knights trotted down the cobbles on their mighty steeds in their shined silvery armors with their capes fluttering behind them. The woman reminds her of Letho even though she is clearly of the opposite gender.

“Am I dead?” Rhea speaks, her own voice strange and echoless in the silence of the desert. The woman smiles mildly, but shakes her head. She asks another question. “Who are you?”

“I am the one who died and was reborn. I am Yves, once a leader of the Esseker tribe, and I am to be your ally and your guide.” the woman replies, her tone both sensual and strict, as if she is both a warrior and a lover at the same time.

“You... You’re the Phoenix?” Rheawien inquires even though her deduction skills predict an affirmative answer that comes in a form of a courteous nod. “What will you guide me through?”

“Life, Rheawien Mal’Ganis Lightbringer, something you’ve been evading for a good while now.” Yves replies, her mild smile a constant on her fair face.

“Why?” the half-elf asks.

“Because life is too precious to waste.” the woman says, and then adds with a somewhat of a mischievous smirk: “And here’s your first lesson: Never pass on a good thing.”

And with that spoken, the picture in her mind goes blank.

***

Despite the rather strange encounter within her dream, Rheawien awoke peacefully. Her eyelids slid upwards sedately, giving her eyes ample time to get used to the sunlight that was crashing through the window beside the bed. The first thing she noticed was that she was lying on her back and that the pain was completely gone. In fact, her body felt fresher then ever before, as if she just took that hot bath that she desired while riding a Phoenix. “The Phoenix... Yves...” she thought, allowing a swift retrospect and attempting to discover whether the whole thing was just a dream or were the two real. As if it wanted to respond to her pondering, the feather that her hand still held on to reflected the sun and captured her attention. Yes, it was all real. The last-second salvation, the conflict between the two harpies, Izvilvin, the flight on the back of the Phoenix and... What did the woman told her?

Never pass on a good thing.

Only then Rhea noticed that she wasn’t alone in the room, on the lofty bed. Next to her, sitting calmly and looking at her with kind, beautiful eyes, was Izvilvin. Izvilvin who came for her, despite the hopelessness. Izvilvin who carried her out of the lair of those beasts and held her close during the flight. Izvilvin who looked over her even now with concern and maybe even affection in his lilac eyes. Rheawien couldn’t suppress a smile as she looked up at him. Her nakedness, though still extremely embarrassing, wasn’t something she tried to cover up even now when his eyes were on her. He deserved a look for what he done for her. A look and much more.

“Hey there.” she said to the drow, still smiling and shifting gently on the soft sheets. “I never got a chance to thank you for what you did. You came back for me, you risked your own life for me. Nobody ever did that for me.”

Her hand moved in search for his own, wrapping around his fingers tenderly and pulling him a bit closer. She knew he didn’t understand a word she was saying, but there were other means she could show her gratitude to Izvilvin. She lifted her head from he pillow, just enough to press her lips against his own rather passionately. It wasn’t a friendly kiss, not even a coy kiss that it ought to occur between two strangers. It was a kiss of a lover that wasn’t about to pass on a good thing.

[Izvilvin]

((Er... Bunnying approved.))

She was suddenly awake, her eyes fluttering open gently. Izvilvin smiled as his eyes danced up and down her, admiring the subtle beauties -- and the not so subtle ones -- that Rheawien possessed. If he'd ever thought he could find a human so attractive before, he might've been looking for different qualities altogether in the women he met.

She spoke to him gently, and remarkably enough, Izvilvin understood her better than any drow. Her fingers weaved in with his, and she kissed him. As unexpected as it was, the Drow couldn't admit that he was completely surprised. After all, they had been through a lot together.

When she began to pull away, Izvilvin came forward, keeping his mouth pressed against hers. He couldn't deny how he was feeling about the kiss, how right it felt, and how much he wanted it to last. Rheawien seemed to agree, albeit without words, so he slowly crept onto the bed as they held it. Their breathing heavy, neither of them seemed reserved.

The sun wavered for a moment behind some clouds, but he didn't notice. The kiss had given way to another, then another, and the two began to engage themselves more passionately. Izvilvin had forgotten about his inhibitions. He wasn't considering the after effects of what they were building up to, nor how he might feel about it in the long run. He was running on the fuel of spontaneity, that one spark in him dictating his movements and feelings.

They held each other, and Rheawien grabbed his shoulder. Hard. It hurt, but the Drow took pleasure from it. It was just another intense feeling among the others in him, so he returned the squeeze to a more... Sensitive area on her. They laughed together, but for only a split-second. Neither of them showed even the slightest hesitation as they carried on, throughout the rest of the afternoon.

***

The roughness, the progression of their passion, hadn't ended there. At the end of it all, Izvilvin was exhausted and drained of energy, and wasn't able to remain awake for long. He managed a final, silent look at her before his eyes closed and he drifted into sleep. It was one of the better experiences in his life.

Naked and unconscious, Izvilvin did not dream.