Body withered, body died...

[Rheawien]

((Closed to Izvilvin.))

There was nothing sadder then seeing the eyes of a child that came at terms with the fact that death was inevitable. Rheawien didn’t know this until today. During her life she saw a plethora of sad scenes, desperate eyes of dying men, pleading eyes of dirty-faced younglings, terrible shrieks of wives that lost their husbands. But regardless of how gut-wrenching those sights were, she never felt such woe as she did today. She was sitting at the bedside of a bronze-skinned tyke, his weakening tiny hand so cold in her own as he looked up at her and drew in one of his final breaths.

“You’re going to be alright.” she lied in a whisper, barely withholding the quiver of her rosy lips, barely containing the tears that would reveal the truth. The truth that the skinny tribal boy knew already. Her other hand passed through his blonde hair, a gentle comforting motion as the boy’s chest inhaled once again roughly, shallowly, as if his throat was made out of sandpaper. And then, with one final squeeze of her hand, the breath left his lithe body. And he was gone. Rheawien checked his neck for pulse, bit her lip and closed his eyes one last time.

“Rest in peace, little one.”

The white-haired woman was never a sentimental woman. She didn’t cry at funerals and read cheesy love novels that would make her feel all fuzzy inside. But within the infirmary of the Suravani’s Oasis there was too much agony, too much pain. Too much death. And it was starting to get to her. It was starting to chisel its way down to that piece of rock that she carried in her chest that used to be her heart. Countless beds stretched through the vast room, all with pristine white baldachins that isolated one victim from the other. Some that were still in the early stages still whimpered and cried, but most were slowly fading away. And it wasn’t the death that struck Rhea like a hammer, but its futility, the lack of reason. Because there was a big fat why that hung over her head and she couldn’t get to the answer no matter how much she mulled over it.

And yet, less then a week ago, Suravani’s Oasis was indeed an oasis for her, a sanctuary in which she came to find some solitude, a safe haven where she cut all ties with the world that she knew. She came to Fallien partially on vacation and partially because without the Brotherhood, Corone seemed less significant to her. Sarah was nowhere to be seen and left on her own, Rheawien turned to the one thing that all homeless people turn to; wandering. Fallien was hot, relentless, and different and it attracted her attention more then other destinations. So once she procured a Pass from Irrakam, she took the first merchant convoy out of the Fallien capitol. A rather eventless journey eventually led her here, to the Oasis where the folk were harsh but fair and they bred the finest horses in all the known realms of Althanas. Rheawien liked this above all other segments of Suravani’s Oasis. When she was a young innocent lass and her father was alive, they bred horses in the elven land of Violein. Here the heat was significantly higher, the people were sunburnt and not as fair as the elves, but the gist of it was the same. She could still sit on a carpet of grass for hours, looking at the mustangs flying over the flatlands like lightning bolts.

And then the plague came. Horses were the first ones to feel its deathly touch, their faster metabolisms crumbling under the plague. And by the time the locals realized that it was the water that was spreading the disease, countless men, women, children succumbed to the poison. Surprisingly, it was a venom that took down the stronger individuals first, but soon enough it became less picky and in only three days most of the Oasis was either bed ridden or six feet under. Death became the theme of every passing hour, its scent prominent in the air, carried on the wings of the shrieks of pain that came from every household.

Rheawien first wanted to bail town. No use staying onboard a sinking ship, especially since she surprisingly wasn’t affected by the poison. But even her cold heart couldn’t fight off those desperate eyes that looked at her from every window, every corner of the town. They weren’t too kind to her; she was after all a stranger that looked like a genuine troublemaker with those swords strapped to her hips. And women in particular weren’t kind to her, her scantly clad curvaceous figure captivating the eyes of the men with the clarity of her tan and the untouchable frown on her brow. But when misery struck, the boundaries between enmity and friendship tended to be erased, forgotten. And she just couldn’t leave them to their fate.

So she stayed and fought a losing battle with this invisible enemy that destroyed the Oasis one piece at the time. There was little she could do actually, mostly comfort the affected ones, talk to them, make them know they weren’t alone. And all of them she could handle, but those azure eyes of the boy just crushed her. She had to get out of here, to take a breather, to hide her tears away from the others, to hide the bare truth that clearly states: You are all going to die.

She burst through the doors and into the scorching sun outside, running around the large city hall that was turned into infirmary. And once she was certain that nobody could see her, she crumbled in the foot of the wall, sitting on the hot dirt and burying her face into her folded arms. Her tousled white hair concealed her face, but the rest of her body was getting assaulted by the afternoon sun vehemently. She could feel its hot touch on her bare legs, on her arms, on her shoulders, ardent in defiling her pale tan. But she didn’t care anymore. Those eyes... She would never forget them. No child should ever perish before its parents. And this boy’s parents were two beds over, waiting for the same fate.

[Izvilvin]

((Read This last post (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=992&page=2) to save me some explanation!))

The desert sun was unkind to the Drow, pouring heavy heat down upon the thick white hair that topped his head. Sweat dripped down his back disgustingly, but Izvilvin was able to ignore the intense heat and focus on his goal: Suravani's Oasis. He could see it in the distance, a miracle in the relentless desert, a place to rest and restore the vitality that drove all of Izvilvin's intense motions. Even if what the Jya said about the situation there was true, Izvilvin didn't imagine that taking a break among dying humans was any worse than taking a break among living ones.

But that was the heat's influence on him. It stripped him of his emotions and made him primal, caring about nothing but the comfort of a bed for a night. He was thinking selfish thoughts, ones that would float away at the first sight of a sick woman or child, whether he realized it or not.

He expected to be stopped on his way into the city, but no guards were posted at that moment. Even though he had the proper papers and should have waited for someone to attend to him, Izvilvin walked into the city without meeting anyone.

Almost immediately, Izvilvin was unbalanced by the atmosphere of the Oasis. He had envisioned playing children and happy adults carrying along with their daily routine as they wondered, in the back of their minds, whether the Jya's antidote would arrive in the morning or afternoon of that day, to save the few sick ones. Instead he was shocked by the heavy blanket of woe that seemed to cover him. Each human he saw gave an uncaring glance his way and went on with their movements, not seeming to care he was a Drow, which was usually cause for concern in any land but Alerar.

But here he was just a figure among the others, he realized. The situation was infinitely worse than he had imagined. A pang of guilt hit the Drow's heart, and he immediately revealed the small vial of antidote that Jya had given him, along with the note she'd written. A guard was in the distance, and Izvilvin ran down a remote road to meet with him.

The human seemed uninterested at first. Izvilvin had to shove the note in front of him to get him to read it, but even then the human was hardly excited.

It seemed the whole city had lost its morale, its vibrancy. The Jya had downplayed what was happening in Suravani's Oasis, and for a moment Izvilvin was furious about it. He felt that he'd been deceived into this situation, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He'd made a deal, and unless he followed through, his mission for Step would be lost. The consequences for failure were horrible...

He explored the town for a few minutes. It was remarkable to him that a city so beautiful could be brought to its knees so completely, and at that moment, Izvilvin felt that he'd learned something about the evil that lurked on Althanas.

A few minutes passed before Izvilvin came to a large building with a front porch that ran along the front. Who could imagine people sitting there and enjoying the day, but of course there were none. Horses were outside and there was a large sign above the doorway, though of course Izvilvin couldn't read it. Upon the steps was a hunkered man, sobbing into his hands. He looked like a man who should be in his physical prime, but his dark hair was in patches, as if some of it had fallen out at random times.

The Drow approached him tentatively. As his shadow fell over the human, the man looked up without making any attempt to hide his sobs. His pride was gone, Izvilvin knew.

His slender fingers produced the vial and the note, handing the note over first. The man glanced at it and threw it aside in a fit, suddenly standing and raising his voice to surprising levels, considering his sorrow. "Don't mock me!" He screamed, but it was jumbled syllables to the Drow. "There's no cure, Jya doesn't have one! What a joke! My kid's dead, you stupid elf, do you think I care about this shit now?"

The man swiped for the vial. Izvilvin could have been quicker than him, but allowed it to be taken. The human popped it open and swallowed a portion of the contents before throwing it, too, aside. "Wowwee! I'm cured now, aren't I? But what about my kid, elf? You got a magic potion to bring him back!?"

Face red, eyes swollen and fists clenched, the human pushed past the Drow, who seemed passive in the face of the man's rage.

The Drow knelt, picking up the half-empty vial and examining it. He thanked whatever God watched down on Fallien for his fortune, not quite understanding how any of the antidote could have possibly remained in the bottle.

Was life in Fallien always so hard, so filled with death and disease? The Jya had been so kind and loving to him, but if she ran her land allowing her people to die so suddenly, how glorious a ruler could she be?

It was all too confusing, too despairing, for Izvilvin to contemplate at that moment. All he could do was stare at the vial in his hand.

[Rheawien]

Rheawien didn’t know how much time she spent with her head in her hands and her thoughts running rampant, but she was at the verge of getting sunstroke when she heard a loud voice shout something on the other side of the town hall. It seemed like an expression of mirth, but it was distorted somehow, a yell of bitterness sugarcoated with a faux elation. However, even though it was false, it was a substantial deviation from the melancholy that fell on the Suravani’s Oasis like a veil, filtering every word and thought through its bitterness. The half-elf decided to inspect what it was all about. She got up, dusted off her skin-tight shorts – so much like the ones her Mistress wore – and made her way towards the front entrance to the voluminous building.

The first thing she could see as she swung around the corner was a piece of paper, carried by a whiff of wind that she didn’t even feel in the afternoon heat. Her foot pinned it to the dirt deftly, trapping it long enough for her to bend over and pick it up. A man that flapped his gums passed by her with an acerb frown, mumbling something about a cure. Once she removed the locks of the tousled white hair that stuck to her sweaty forehead, she could read what the man was babbling about:

To the citizens of the Suravani’s Oasis...

I have heard of your predicament with the poisoned water supply. I send you my messenger with a concentrated antidote that will aid you until I am able to dispatch a platoon of my soldiers to inspect the origin of this plague.

JyaThough obviously written in a hurry, the handwriting was still more refined then Rheawien could ever do with her own two hands. However, the handwriting was the least of her worries now. Because the note was here, but where was the antidote? Her lethargic weary gait transformed into an ardent one instantly, taking the woman to the figure that most definitely seemed out of place. Black-skinned and white-haired, the dark elf that held the half-empty vial was a peculiar sight to say the least. She would’ve pitied him even for his black skin that must’ve amplified the heat that the blazing Fallien sun created, but there were dozens of ill inside the town hall that needed her pity more then a wandering elf.

“You? Did you come bearing this note?” Rhea asked in a confident voice, standing in front of him and presenting the piece of paper she intercepted. She didn’t need an answer. The glass vessel that he held in his hand was obviously what the note spoke off, and while most of it was squandered away by the blundering idiot that ran away, she could still use this.

“Why in the world did you give it to that man, for gods sakes?! You let it go to waste!” she spoke, taking the vial from his hands and examining the contents. Though it was hued like something that men usually ejected from their noses, the concoction spread a divine scent that her nostrils picked up instantly. “Come on, we have work to do.”

Her hand caught the drow by the elbow, leading him into the significantly cooler interior of the town hall. Inside, the magical scent of the potion got lost, giving way to the prominent reek of decay that almost made her gag the first time she entered. This time though, she barely felt it encroaching her olfactive senses as she hurriedly made her way between lines and lines of beds. Ultimately, she stood in front of the washing area, placing the vial down beside a large sink. Next, her hands found their way to the empty vials of useless potions that they tried to give to the injured, washing the small glass bottles as fast as she could with the water they drew from the wells. Rhea didn’t know how fast this potion worked or the ratios at which she should mix them with the water. But she knew that every second she spent pondering was bound to produce more casualties. She separated the remnants of the concentrate in two larger bottles, then poured them full with water.

“Alright, take this one and spread it around.” she spoke, giving the drow one of the bottles. “Don’t give them too much though, we don’t know how strong this stuff is and we need enough for all of them. Understood?”

She looked into his pale purple eyes and they didn’t seem too much like the eyes of someone who got the message.

[Izvilvin]

The Drow's eyes, which had grown glassy as he'd began to daydream, suddenly became aware again as the woman spoke. As was always the case when someone began to speak to him, Izvilvin wasn't sure how he should act. A quick study of her told him that she was a strong woman, almost elvish in the way she stood and in the fairness of her skin. Her hair was almost the same color as his, though it varied in darkness, yet hers was long and beautiful, though tied up in a strange bun with a feather protruding from the top. She could be beautiful, Izvilvin noted. Remarkably so, if her face was not so hard.

He didn't even know how to indicate that he didn't understand her, but he did get her point as she called attention to the note. Izvilvin pointed to the vial that she now held and back to the note to try and explain, but she was already grabbing him. Her grip was strong and insistent, and he followed without putting up any resistence.

The building was cooler than outside, for the sun didn't reach in here, but Izvilvin was not any more comfortable. Rows upon rows of beds were filled with the young, the old, the newly dead and the newly dying. The smell was horrifying, somehow infinately worse than the smell he had encountered while hunting for treasure on that strange island... Perhaps it was because these people were not warriors, but simple civilians, who didn't deserve such a fate. They were not hunting greedily for treasure, they were simply living their lives, drinking the water that they thought was clean.

The woman seemed focused ahead despite this smell, despite the cries of pain and the pleas for help. Izvilvin didn't know whether to consider her strong or callous. In reality, she was focused.

She was done mixing suddenly, and a bottle was thrust into the Drow's hands. Her voice, melodic and yet very blunt, detracting from its beauty, once again rose up. Izvilvin felt nervous as he looked at the bottle and back to her. She seemed to be examining him.

"F'sarn taudl," He said. "Usstan xuat zhaun vel'bol dos ph' galla ulu telanth ulu uns'aa."

And yet as he looked to the bottle, he understood what she wanted him to do. He'd felt his apology was neccessary, however, and was glad he said it as he turned to face a row of young, sick children. The first one he approached shrunk back in fear of him, which set the Drow aback. Carefully he lowered his mask and smiled a bit, which seemed to ease the young boy.

The woman had mixed this potion with water. Izvilvin had limited knowledge of any kind of alchemy or potion-making, but he knew this was meant to be distributed to several people. He brought the vial to the lips of the boy, so dry and cracked, and tilted just a few drops of the serum onto his tongue.

He used his shirt to wipe the mouth of the vial and moved on to the next child, who was anxious and hopeful. It was a young girl who said a few words he didn't understand, but even when he didn't respond she took a few drops of the liquid.

Soon the vial was empty, and he had only given the serum to one row of children. They all did seem to be feeling better though, he noted with some happiness. It seemed to him that the Jya's potion not only worked, but workd remarkably fast as well.

The Drow was smiling as he pulled his mask back over his face again. In the heat of the Fallien sun there was little that could make him feel happy, yet that's just what he felt now.

And he continued to feel that way until he turned around, and was reminded of all the other sick ones. He decided that a vacation among living humans would be much preferred in the future, a different mindset than he'd had earlier.

(("I'm sorry, I don't know what you are trying to say to me."))

[Rheawien]

When the dark-skinned elf responded in some gibberish that wasn’t native Fallien – which she slowly started to decipher during her time in the Oasis – Rheawien thought that she didn’t have time to draw it out to him. But before she even got a chance to reiterate her command and follow it up with some sign language that would explain to the stranger what he should do, his eyes shifted from the perplexed look into a much more purposeful one. Without another word spoke, the peculiar drow proceeded to administer the cure to the beds that stood at the right side of the isle. She looked over his first attempt and after being satisfied with the amounts he was handing out to the children, she proceeded to her side of the room.

On her side there were adult patients and she was glad that that was the case. After those serene woeful eyes that chased her out of the room some time ago, she couldn’t bear looking at another suffering youngling, not even if she had a possible cure in her hands.

“Are you sure it’s going to work?” one of the few orderlies spoke, a gaunt dry looking geezer with a bald head and a pair of wrinkliest hands the half-elf ever saw. Erak was his name and he was one of the lucky ones – or rather the weak ones – that the disease left unharmed. Well, maybe not completely unharmed. From the moment of the disease breakout until today, the man lost two sons, a daughter and two grandchildren. All he was left with was a tiny girl that waited for her cure on the other side of the room.

“It better. We tried everything else.” Rheawien responded callously, rousing one of the patients from a feverish slumber and letting a couple of drops spill over his tongue. The man coughed, his glassy eyes that seemed too murky to be alive slowly regaining their sharpness. He tried to smile, but by that time the half-elf was already at another bedside. Most took the cure unquestionably. Some – mostly the ones that still had some strength in them – insisted that she gives it to the children. But after seeing that the dark elf took care of the children, she ensured them that there will be enough for everybody. There were a couple of troublemakers, of course, the ones that thought she didn’t give them enough. But when her brown frowning eyes whipped them ardently, they knew it was not up to them to decide.

Minutes later, Rhea was standing on the other side of the room and for the first time in days she could see life on the faces, even mild smiles on the innocent faces of the children. There was no celebration though. They were all aware just how much was lost, how many have perished, and they paid their respects to them with silence.

Only a couple of drops remained at the bottom of the vial that Rheawien held in her hands. She gave it to Erak. “Here, you take it. Just in case.”

“What about you?” he asked, eyeing the young-looking half-elf that, with all the sorrow in the air, seemed weary and at least ten years older.

“Don’t worry about me. If it didn’t get to me by now, I doubt it will. Besides, you have Leah to take care of now.” the white-haired woman spoke, wiping her sweaty brow and leaning onto the wall with a sigh. She was tired. She didn’t feel it until now, but she realized that the last time she slept properly was three days ago and the last healthy meal she had was the day before yesterday.

“If you don’t mind me asking, but why do you care so much for us, Rheawien? With all due respect – and some is definitely due – you are a stranger here.” Erak spoke in his ancient raspy voice, his studious eyes watching her closely. The half-elf just smirked and shook her head, once again leaving the room.

“Drink up, old man.”

Why did she care so much? By all rights, she shouldn’t. She was a bitch - The Bitch - and she should’ve scolded them from day one. Well, that was at least what she always told herself, that she was this big bad meanie that needed and cared for nobody. It was a defense mechanism and it worked well in everyday situations, keeping people at bay, keeping people afraid of her. But when shit hit the fan and the situation was dire, what lay deep down inside of Rheawien always surfaced. And it was still good, still pure, it still cared. It was something she hid, something that Sarah tried to extract from her in a rather rigorous, even masochist training. And as she sat at a bench that stood in the hot shadow of the front porch, she had to admit that it felt good not being The Bitch for a short while.

Only now when she consolidated herself, she noticed that her forearms were dirty and caked with sweat and that she smelled rather badly. Despite her light clothing, the heat was unbearable, it stuck to her body like glue, driving her insane. Her mind made a remark that she would kill for a shower and a whiff of cool wind, but around her the air was standing still, as thick as syrup. Hopefully, things were going to get back to normal – or rather as normal as it could given the severe casualties – and she would at least get her shower.

[Izvilvin]

The joy of seeing the new, vitalized faces of the children did not last long. As his eyes drifted from the young and toward the old, Izvilvin saw something besides hope; he saw loss and dread, the broken forms of shapeless humans who had lost dear ones to the poison. He saw the remains of a broken town bundled into a single building, sharing in the collective misery.

The Drow couldn't bear it any longer, and left the cooler, darker hall to once again brave the blistering sun. He tried to leave his sadness in the building, but it followed him closely. Izvilvin couldn't shake the feeling of dread that this town had put over him. He knew that he should leave as soon as possible.

But even as he left the porch and took a step into the road, Izvilvin saw the woman in his peripheral vision, sitting on a bench and appearing to be in deep thought. He observed her for a moment. She was intiguing in some way he could not pinpoint, but perhaps it was her physical beauty, or the subtle grace with which she moved.

Still, his mind begged of him to walk back to Jya and get the information he so needed on that strange blue-haired wizard, Sasarai. After all, he'd done what she asked him to do, and the sooner he returned to the Keep, the sooner he could bathe in a luxurious suite.

But he did not leave. He could still help this town. He didn't know how, exactly, but surely a man of his talents could at least keep people company, perhaps perform some acrobatics for the children.

It was the weakness of sensitivity. Arawn would have laughed at him.

Izvilvin went to the woman and sat next to her, tentatively touching her arm to draw her attention, and pointing to himself. "Izvilvin," he said slowly, enunciating each syllable as best as he could. His voice was dry from thirst, but it was the farthest thing from his mind.

[Rheawien]

If it weren’t so hot that she felt utterly irritated by the heat, Rheawien would’ve probably dozed off due to tiredness. As it was though, the temperature insisted on drawing out new sweat drops on her fair tan, making her itchy and generally in a very bad mood. The night was the savior now, bound to bring significant comfort and finally subside the heat that the sun ceaselessly maintained. However, that same sun announced that there were at lest four more hours of singing to take place. For Rhea, those four hours were bound to last forever.

The reappearance of the drow messenger that delivered the lifesaving potion broke her dour train of thought though. If she was in a better mood, seeing the masked man so out of place in this desert environment would’ve drawn a smile to her face. And it wasn’t just his incomprehensible language that made him look so, but his entire attire, even his skin. Fallien was a desert realm and that meant the sun wasn’t too kind in these areas. That went double when it came to dark colors. Rheawien learned this the hard way, reaching Fallien shores in her regular leather pants and a tight shirt. Both black of course. Suffice to say, her priority in the local Bazaar became procuring attire much lighter and consequently much more revealing. She didn’t care much for the latter; the more she revealed, the more of what they would never get would the people see. So she sat in her red shorts that seemed dangerously, even sinfully short, stopping way before they even reached the middle of her thigh. Her top of the same color wasn’t much of a top; just enough to cover her breasts and keep the rest of her torso bare. And still, she could feel the sweat dribbling down her spine. She could only imagine how the dark elf felt.

He took a seat next to her and did his best to pronounce his name the right way. The clumsy way in which he did it finally managed to break the strict expression of her visage, drawing out a minute smirk. “Izvilvin, huh? I think it’s safe to say that you’re not from around here, are you?” Rhea responded, pretty certain that he didn’t understand her, but not caring too much. Sometimes a silent conversation partner was the best.

“Well, I’m Rheawien.” the woman spoke, slowing her speech slightly and pointing towards her chest as she spoke, extending her other hand towards the drow. “I find it rather strange that Jya sent a stranger to deliver the potion. We could’ve used it earlier, but better late then never, right?”

She wound up with a chuckle and a grin, but it was a bland, thin looking thing, not complimenting her face too much. Once again, his expression wasn’t the one of a person that had the cogs moving behind his eyes, but she reckoned most of her assumptions were correct anyways. Her eyes surveyed Izvilvin without coyness, inspecting him in a swift skim that finally led her to the weapons she noticed on his body.

“You any good with those things?” Rheawien asked, then realized that she’d probably have to try harder then that. “You...” she pointed her finger at the drow. “...can fight...” her hand made a couple of thrusting moves to imitate a sword in motion. “...with those things?” she finished with pointing to the sai Izvilvin had with him.

“Because if you are maybe we could...” she ultimately shook her head, realizing the futility of the conversation. Even if he would understand, how would he reply? “This isn’t working out. Never mind.”

Her eyes fell on the main square that stretched before the town hall, then moved sideways and towards the desert in the distance. Whoever was responsible for this poisoning was up there, probably upstream. She didn’t even think about going after the perpetrators while the illness was still taking lives, but now that they were doing better, she wanted some payback. Not for herself, not for the people, but for that blue-eyed boy that died holding to her hand. And perhaps she could make Izvilvin her ally.

“Come on.” she suddenly said to him, once again grabbing his elbow strongly and leading him out into the sun. The heat out of the shade came at them like a heated slap to the face, but the half-elf led the way towards a surface covered with sand. Yes, she could use this. Next, she snapped a twig off a tree that seemed dead for at least a hundred years judging by its dryness.

“Alright, look here.” she started, dropping on one knee and using the twig to draw in the sand. The first thing she drew was a couple of houses. “This is the Suravani’s Oasis.” She proceeded to draw a squiggly line that represented the river that ran from the mountains. Then she drew a couple of jagged lines that represented the mountains. Above the mountains she drew what she hoped was looking like a skull.

“The poison...” she tapped at the skull above the mountains. “...probably came from upstream, from the mountains...” Rhea moved her hand, pointing to the actual mountains that were visible on the horizon. “...down the riverbed.” the twig followed the squiggly line. Her hands drew a pair of stick figures.

“You and me...” pointing at herself and Izvilvin first, then to the figures in the sand next, ultimately dropping the twig and making a walking mimic with her forefinger and her middle finger, beside the line that represented the river. “...go upstream and see if we can find something out. Do you understand?”

Rheawien finished, looking though her scattered hair from her lowered position and up to the white-haired drow. Even if he said no and went about his business, she would proceed with the charted plan, but despite his lack of comprehension, the half-elf wanted an ally in this. And Izvilvin was probably the only able male in the vicinity.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin was happy to see the beginnings of a smile on her face, despite how short it lasted. The woman seemed to get his point, even repeating the name rather accurately. Unfortunately, that was all the Drow understood for the moment, shrugging innocently as each word following his own name was lost to him.

She then introduced herself, offering her hand and pointing to her own chest the way he had done. His strong fingers gripped her hand and gave it a single shake, but his eyes lingered on her chest for perhaps a split-second longer than a polite length. The lavender orbs that were Izvilvin's eyes crawled to her face again, and he repeated her name. "Rheawien." It was a bit rough. Common tongue was smoother than Drow and less aggressive in casual conversation, since tones are about half of how speech is made.

Jya, a word he understood, was like a small piece of driftwood in the sea that was Rheawien's dialect. She had asked a question, but he was hopeless to respond. She seemed to detect this as she quickly moved on.

Finally, the woman asked a question he could understand. It wasn't her words that he'd picked up on, but the way she used her body and eyes. Under his mask Izvilvin smiled in recognition, and deftly plucked one of five sai from his belt. It was rather heavy for its size, for iron was a dense metal, but the weapon spun rapidly around Izvilvin's long black fingers as he displayed his comfort with the weapon. It was placed back in his belt with calm recognition of where it belonged.

Basically, "yes" was his answer.

Izvilvin could see she was already frustrated with the language barrier, or at least confused with how to communicate with him. Rheawien rose with purpose and pulled him along, leaving the Drow squinting in the sun as she obtained a branch. He was suddenly reminded of how hot he was. How merciless the sun was in the desert sky! Izvilvin removed his mask again, this time detatching it from his person altogether and tucking it under his belt.

The beginnings of Rheawien's illustrations left him baffled, but as she began to point and indicate certain things, directions, he understood the diagram and knelt to observe from closer. "You and me," she said, pointing to both the Drow and herself, and this intrigued him. He'd been referred to as "you" before, but never quite understood it. He wanted to ask her why he was considered this strange thing, but she had already elaborated further and was waiting for a reply. Thankfully, Izvilvin could be curious and pay attention at the same time.

He nodded quickly. This would be his way to help. Izvilvin had no knowledge of poisons, where they came from or how they could form within water, but Rheawien seemed to have some idea of where the source of it was. If it meant helping the city of Suravani's Oasis, a place that was surely beautiful and full of life when not so severely wounded, the Drow could not hesitate.

No matter how badly the call of the Drow warrior, which Arawn and all the Drow back in Alerar seemed to follow, told him to keep to his own devices, Izvilvin's heart was too strong to avoid what he saw as his responsibility.

[Rheawien]

Rheawien was gladdened with Izvilvin’s compliance just enough to smile weakly once again, satisfied with the fact that her shabby drawing procured her an ally. True, it might prove to be a rather dull journey given the fact that all he responded with were those confused facial expressions that reminded her a bit of the faces dogs made when they were issued a command they didn’t understand. Not that the drow was as ugly as a dog. On the contrary, despite his plentiful clothing, she could see a rather muscular sinewy figure, the kind that seemed to be packed with subtle strength instead of the bludgeon bullheaded kind that she admired in Letho Ravenheart.

“Then it’s settled. But we’re not moving out just yet. We’re waiting for the dark.” Rhea said, then her mind reminded her that she might’ve been talking a recipe on how to make a deer stew, and it would all be the same gibberish to Izvilvin. “Waiting for the dark.” she repeated, pointing towards the sun with her hand and making an arc that signified its trajectory over the sky, ending on the horizon. “When the sun...” she pointed towards the blazing orb that made her regret looking up, blinding her almost instantly. “...is down...” her hand moved once again, ending somewhere in the west. “...we move.” she finished with making the walking motion with her fingers, mimicking a walking human figure.

She ultimately sighed audibly, wiping her forehead with her arm. She never thought that talking could be so physically exhausting. And despite the relentless heat, she still had some more to do. “So, you stay here, alright? Stay here...” her hands trying to make something that looked like a sign for stopping or waiting with her splayed fingers. “...and I’ll be back soon.”

Rheawien moved away from him precariously, monitoring the drow’s reaction and trying to read whether or not he understood from his reaction. When Izvilvin didn’t follow her instantly, she was rather certain that he got the message. So she proceeded around the building, feeling the sun scorching her bare back like a hot poker, reminding her that she needed a shower. The half-elf knew it was improbable to find one, but the well that stood adjacent to the town hall was bound to serve the purpose. The water from it was clean, untainted by the poison. If only they knew that earlier, then maybe they could save... how many more? Dozens? Hundreds?

Rhea pushed the dire thoughts aside, her hands working on the pulley and extracting a wooden bucket filled with crystal water. “No use running in circles. What’s done, can’t be undone. Get some payback for them instead.” It sounded like a good plan to her and she hoped that Izvilvin and she would be able to execute it. Their chances were pretty damn slim though; the river had several confluents and the poison could’ve come from either of them. Hopefully, given that the spring was drawing to a close in Fallien and summer was knocking on their doors with heated fingers, most of them would be as dry as gunpowder.

She suspended her pondering once again, her hands lifting the bucket and positioning it slightly above her head. She expected the water to be cold, she tried to prepare herself for it, but once she poured it over her head, she couldn’t suppress a muffled scream. It was a shock for her body, the difference in the temperature making her breathing shallow due to the surprise, and for several seconds she just stood there, leant on the well with her messy white hair clinging to her face, her back, her arms. Her scant clothing was drenched completely, the fabric greedily holding on to the curves of her damp glistening body. Ultimately, after about a minute of just standing there soaked with her eyes clothes, she moved the hair out of her eyes and repeated the process. The shock was once again staggering, but this time she managed to restrain herself from screaming.

“Damn. Nothing like a bloody cold shower.” Rheawien muttered to herself, her breath still rather hasty as she sat on the ground, propping her back against the stone well, her hands wrestling with her ample hair, trying to restrain it. She felt like shivering from the coldness, but the temperature of the dry air around her erased every trace of it in less then a minute. And in the midst of that battle between the chill of her dowsed body and the heat of the environment, Rhea fell asleep in the shadow of the awning that overlooked the well.

[Izvilvin]

Waiting until evening was already the course Izvilvin was hoping to follow. He'd been struggling over how to communicate that when Rheawien took care of the problem for him. Relieved, the Drow merely nodded to indicate his agreement. He was hot enough as it was without the hot sand creeping about his thick boots, and Suravani's Oasis didn't have much of it, so braving the desert again so soon did not feel wise to him. The ground here was grass, and though hot, the tiny green blades didn't hold heat the same way.

The woman suggested he wait where he was, and the Drow understood it. After all, the motions weren't exactly difficult to catch on to. She watched him as she left, and to Izvilvin it seemed almost as if she was afraid he would move. It was strange, but he refrained from moving in order to keep her comfortable.

A moment passed, and already he was impatient. Did Rheawien expect him to stand here in the hot sun and wait for her?

With that question in mind, he followed the path she'd taken, making his way around the corner of the main building that housed the sick. He noticed her immediately, and out of reflex jumped back around the corner to peer in secrecy. She was soaked in the waters of the well, clothes clinging tightly to her shapely body as she reveled in the cold. Izvilvin found her attractive then, not just for the cold, wet flesh that gleamed in the sun or the soft-looking curves so prominent upon her, but for the loose joy she seemed to take in the comfort offered by the water. She looked free and happy for a moment, and it added immensely to her beauty.

Izvilvin had never truly found a non-drow woman attractive until then. The dark skin of his race was something he was accustomed to in a female and the sheer grace that surrounded a drow priestess would be admired by any onlooker, and said person would be hard pressed to tear his eyes away from the slender figure or a truly beautiful drow.

Khalxaen had been cute to him. Rheawien was something else altogether. She was strong and admirable, a mix of physical beauty and subtle intelligence surrounded her and held Izvilvin's interest. But she was a human, and the attraction, however strong to the Drow, was also somewhat sickening. He'd witnessed the grotesque figure of a half-breed Drow before. They were not physically horrendous but were often gray, and the abominations were always regarded as the lowest of the low in Alerar, worse than the human and goblin slaves that were routinely beaten and killed for the slightest of errors.

Half Drow in Alerar were chained to walls, beaten close to death, and then healed in order to begin the process anew. The life of even a half drow could last over a millennium, but that was not too long for a drow priestess to spend inflicting pain.

Not that seeing the woman in this new light had instantly made him want to wed and bed her. Quite the contrary, as he forced himself away from the scene to walk back toward the stable, where earlier, he'd met that angry human man.

**

Night had not quite yet fallen, but the sun had retreated behind the dunes of the desert to hide, and it had grown cool enough for Izvilvin, who had wasted the hours in calm contemplation of recent events. He was a collected man who valued stability of mind, so these long sessions of thought were not uncommon to him. Of course, it had also managed to distract him from the last lingering hours of heat that the Fallien sun had forced upon the city.

Rheawien was still sleeping when Izvilvin came to her, though he sensed that she, like him, could awaken if an attacker were to be anything but the utmost of silent around her sleeping body. Though not an attacker, Izvilvin was probably as silent as silent could be as he leaned over to gently shake her shoulder.

"Draeval ulu alu," he said. Time to go. Of course she wouldn't have understood him, even if she was listening, but that wasn't the point.

All thoughts of the woman's beauty were gone now, regardless of how prominent they'd been earlier. Izvilvin was again all business, ready and willing to trek the desert in the chilling night to brave the dangers of the Fallien dunes.

[Rheawien]

No nightmares haunted Rheawien’s dreams, but throughout her slumber there was this intangible discomfort that manifested itself as a dull ache in her neck. Her mind – usually not too prone to fantasizing – served her an image of being locked in one of those wooden constraints that trapped both her hands and her neck. She thought that her subconscious imagination would go a step further and place her on some random town square, where folk could toss rotten vegetables at her, but there was no such imagery in her mind’s eye. Only the cold wooden contraption that pushed against her neck, disabling her from straightening it.

Izvilvin snapped Rhea from her slumber with another peculiar phrase that she couldn’t even begin to understand, but even as he did so, her right hand moved by pure instinct, grasping his wrist tightly. Her left darted to her belt, trying and utterly failing to procure her damascus dagger that she discarded several days ago, acknowledging that the blades were of no use to her against the poison. The discomfort from the dream though, it persisted, making the half-elf’s neck genuinely sore. Only when she opened her eyes and ascertained her surroundings she realized that her back was leant against the crude stone that bore into the suave skin of her scruff. The drow’s face above looked at her with one of those rather amicable expressions that assured Rheawien her reaction was uncalled for.

“Uhm... Sorry about that.” she spoke, releasing his dark-skinned arm and craning her neck first to one side, then to the other, making it pop and crackle silently. “I’m usually a tad cranky in the morning. Even though it’s not morning.”

She was once again reminded that her words meant squat to him, but she slowly started to ignore that fact, deciding to say her piece regardless of his lack of comprehension. At least now nobody could accuse her for talking to herself, even though speaking to Izvilvin amounted to pretty much the same. So instead of words of explanation and apology, she offered an unthreatening smile before she wiped the crust from her eyes and got up to her feet.

Noticing the lack of sun and the dark orange colors of the dusk that painted the entire west sky, Rheawien realized why the dark elf roused her from her slumber. The heat around her was still significant, introducing the remnants of the daily vehemence and announcing that even the nights around here had a sticky warmth about them. But the sun - that during the day was like a leech that bit into her and sucked the energy right out of her body – was gone and with it went the unbearable sense of heat-induced irritation. And that meant it was time to start their little righteous expedition.

Joining her hands behind her back, the half-elf stretched with a hearable satisfying sigh, before speaking to her companion again. “Alright, I’ll just go get my weapons and we can move.” Rhea spoke, thinking about reiterating with some sign language or diagrams, but opting against it. It didn’t matter that much and she didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary explanations. Instead she walked doggedly back to the front of the town hall, entering through the ajar doors. The stench of death that usually slapped her like an iron-plated gauntlet was almost completely gone now, replaced with almost equally detesting smell of chemicals that reminded her of Corone hospitals. The patients within the make-shift collective bedroom didn’t seem to mind, the white curtains around their beds removed, enabling them to palaver amongst themselves. Some children even played a card game further up the isle. That was good. They would mourn, they would grieve, but they needed to move on. It wouldn’t happen today or tomorrow, but eventually they would arise and rebuild what was destroyed. It was up to Rheawien to make sure their enemies don’t do this mischief again.

Her weapons were safely tucked away in a rather vacant wardrobe that stood next to the entrance and she equipped herself swiftly. The leather holster that positioned both of her blades at her back was the first item she put on, the thin leather straps descending down her shoulders and over her ample breasts, joining the horizontal strap that went around her torso. Next was a pair of belts that looked like gunblets, both rather loose and crisscrossed once she put them on. On the right one two damascus glaives stood in their holsters, the left one holding another glaive and a dagger. Her small satchel was soon secured around her as well. Last item she put was The Ward, a nondescript pendant that looked like a piece of rock hanging on a string. It nestled itself safely in the middle of her cleavage.

“You’re finally leaving us?” the voice that during these tribulations became familiar to Rheawien. She knew before she turned around that it was Erak who spoke those words.

“Yes. I’m going to seek out those responsible for this devilry.” she said, lifting one of her boots on the chair and bending over to tie it properly.

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait for reinforcements from Irakkam?” the man said, but Rhea merely changed her position, placing her left boot on the chair and attending to the laces.

“Perhaps. But I’m not a very wise girl.” she said with a sarcastic smirk, before adding: “Besides, I won’t be going alone. Izvilvin is coming with me.”

“The drow? Are you sure you can trust him?” the old geezer asked, his eyes going to the door and eyeing it for Izvilvin’s presence.

“No. But he’s the only one who can help me that isn’t bedridden around here.”

“True enough. Well, Godspeed to both of you then.”

Rheawien didn’t think that gods had an awfully lot do with this entire deal, but she thanked the man with a smile and a reassuring pat on his shoulder before leaving the town hall. Outside the dusk was slowly giving in to evening, allowing the first stars to appear in the dark-blue dome above. Izvilvin seemed ready to go, tranquil in his benighted attire, his lavender eyes acknowledging her presence wordlessly, as per usual. With one last check that tightened the leather string that held her messy white hair in a long ponytail, the woman approached the drow.

“Let’s go.”

[Izvilvin]

The Drow was standing in the soft beginnings of moonlight, looking up at the stars in the grand desert sky. The moon was reflecting off the nearby river and onto him, but the Drow was unaware of the effect, too lost in the sky to consider his own appearance. His long black pants -- linen trousers he'd obtained upon first landing in Scara Brae -- were tucked into his boots. He wore a tight black shirt as well, though he didn't know what material it was, the sleeves of which came down to his elbows before cutting off.

It was an unremarkable wardrobe, really, but the clothes served their purpose. He felt light and agile in them, so travel was comfortable and easy. The clothes were the reason he hadn't succumbed to heat stroke, for dark as they were, the wind passed through his clothes like a screen door.

He sensed Rheawien's presence then, and turned to meet her with his blank gaze. With her weapons strapped on Rheawien appeared far more imposing, he noted, but supposed others might get that impression from him since his weapons were always at his belt.

She straightened out her ponytail and said something to him. He knew that it was time to go.

***

The night was unbearably quiet save for two things: the steady, gentle flow of the river and the constant crunch of sand under their feet. Every so often the scuttling of some creature would break this routine, but never for long.

Izvilvin's eyes were set ahead, as if he were lost in thought. He'd grown considerably less excited about the prospect of this journey since Rheawien had brought it up. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or food, Izvilvin wasn't quite sure. He was still motivated to remove the poison, but those few hours of silent thought had reminded him of home.

He didn't miss Alerar very much, but his mother was there. Vriel Di'Lolth, in her prime, was a priestess of the highest degree who'd wed a powerful man by the name of Zyrl, and their child was Izvilvin. The Drow's father had died early in Izvilvin's life, so his mother decided to have him adopt her name.

She'd taken care of him from that day forward, before Izvilvin broke away from the military training and hid in Kachuck's mines, staying there for a century of his life. It was only after so long that he got the opportunity to flee to Scara Brae.

It was all fresh in his mind again, as if the events had taken place only a few days earlier. It sapped him of his stamina to recall how he'd left his mother behind, and he wanted desperately to go back and see her. She still had a few hundred years of life left in her by his count, but he didn't want to wait much longer.

Yet Alerar was a poison to him, home to only hurtful memories and anger. Vordutin was there -- Izvilvin had not learned of his death -- and the Drow didn't have the support he needed from Step to rise up and kill him, not yet. Frankly, he was getting tired of waiting.

He looked sideways to Rheawien, then back forward, to where he noticed for the first time that a range of mountains was in the distance, barely visible through the night.

[Rheawien]

The night was beautiful and stubborn in maintaining the heat. Even though the sun was gone and the night sky was a piece of pitch-black canvas sprinkled with diamonds – the crescent moon being by far the most prominent argent jewel – the sand still emanated the warmth. Rheawien heard stories about the temperature fluctuations in desert areas that made the nights chill, but Fallien summer was obviously an exception to the rule. The sand clearly accumulated more then enough heat during the day to keep transmitting it throughout the entire night. This consequently canceled the effects of her makeshift shower, making her sweaty all over again, and the sand grains sticking to her damp skin only amplified the annoyance. To top it all off, Izvilvin was – unsurprisingly – a rather boring companion, lost in his own thoughts and diverting his eyes to her every once in a while out of what seemed sheer courtesy.

Still, despite the dullness of their trek, it was proving to be fruitful from the moment they left Suravani’s Oasis. The poisoned river that they kept to their right was making certain that they kept the right heading, shimmering in the silvery moonlight like a velvety bed sheet. What stood around the river, however, wasn’t a dreamy sight. A short distance from both shores, decaying bodies of various desert creatures were arranged sporadically, caught in their final moment of agony. Some were half eaten, some were decomposed beyond edibility due to the heat, all creating a morbid path for them to follow.

“Look.” Rheawien spoke to her drow companion, pointing towards the numerous lifeless animals. Despite the disgusting sight, the half-elf’s face was reassured and confident. “It’s the same as back in the Oasis.” she added, pointing her thumb towards the town that was long gone behind their backs. “It will lead us straight to the source.”

She knew that, once again, Izvilvin didn’t understand her last words, but she reckoned that even though he didn’t know the language, he wasn’t a dumbass. He was probably able to read the signs as well as she could and no further explanations were necessary. So they kept walking, the sand gritting beneath their feet with a sound that seemed unwelcome in the tranquility of the night. Luckily, so far their stroll didn’t attract any of the wild beasts and the white-haired woman hoped their luck will serve them longer then just one night. She knew little of Fallien and even less about the wild life, but she reckoned that sticking to the river would keep them safe.

The boredom and the sand-irritation continued. Rheawien tried to get lost in her thoughts, tried to withdraw into the recess of her mind where she would find something that would lift her spirits, but the desert around her was relentless. The only thing that kept her interest piqued was Izvilvin and she caught herself thinking about him more then she wanted to. Caught herself looking at him more then she wanted to. He seemed like an able warrior – the sai demonstration back at the Oasis more then enough to clarify that for her – and at first Rhea thought is was his battle prowess that interested her. Then she realized that his weapons weren’t the only aspect of the drow that kept drawing her attention. And she had to admit that this strange mixture of alien exotism and tight black clothes made her look at him as more then just a warrior, more then just an ally. More and more she started to look at him as a woman and see him as a man.

Such thoughts probably brought blush to the strictness of her pale facial contours, but the darkness around them was dense enough to conceal it as they plodded on. Rheawien’s eyes went to the faint outline of the mountains illuminated by the moon that started its descent towards the horizon, sending a clear sign that the night was slowly drawing to a close. Despite her desire to bring the perpetrators to justice, Rhea thought the day wouldn’t come a moment too soon. Walking through sand was like walking through mud, only here they had heat working against them as well. So when the sky before them slowly began to shift towards the brighter shades of blue, Rheawien was more then glad to bring their little camaraderie of two to a halt at what seemed like a cluster of palm trees.

“I think it’s best that we rest here.” she spoke in an exasperated tone, taking off her satchel and hoping it would be enough of a sign for the drow. “We’d have some shade when the sun comes up...” the half-elf added, pointing towards the lush leaves above. “...so maybe we can get some proper rest.”

She planted herself at the foot of one of the palms, feeling the warm sand sticking to both her damp shorts and her legs, but not caring too much about it. Her muscles were aching with a dull, barely noticeable pain and her mouth was so dry, she thought she never had spittle in there. Well, that she could remedy at least. Rheawien’s fingers unbuttoned the satchel, taking out a water flask and some dry rations that she always carried with herself. They were stale, tasteless and the dry meat was as hard as a sole of a shoe, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She took a sip of water, then offered both the flask and one ration to Izvilvin with a mild smile.

[Izvilvin]

The sight of a dead animal every so often, decayed or not, did little to sway Izvilvin from his quiet contemplation, even when Rheawien pointed them out to him. Heat was returning to the Fallien sky at a rapid rate. Izvilvin hadn't realized that night in Fallien may not last as long as in other regions, and the prospect of facing the beaming sun again so soon did not please him. Still, he walked on without complaint, his dark boots kicking up sand with every determined step.

Step, the organization, had been good to him he supposed, though good was never something Izvilvin had been accustomed to, so comparing his life now to his life a dozen years ago was somewhat of a meaningless process. He lived in a warm house in Corone, paid for by the government along with any food or clothing he needed, though weapons and armor were at his own expense. In exchange for this life, the Drow was sent on missions for the organization to better the Corone government's position in the world.

So many times, especially in these past days, Izvilvin had contemplated leaving Step. But the punishment for leaving was death, and it also was the only reason he was still doing things for them. Rule number one: knowledge of Step could not exist outside of Step. He had grown to hate that dictation.

He longed to have his own life to lead, perhaps in Fallien. The people here had by far been the most hospitable to him, and Jya was caring enough to cover for Izvilvin's early loss of his parents. The Drow could help this land grow and stay strong, eliminating threats like poison on an everyday basis, instead of gathering information on some fool wizard and delivering it to a mailbox. How baffling the whole idea was. Why was Sasarai a subject of such interest to Step?

The thoughts put him in a foul mood until Rheawien stopped their journey, reminding him that he wasn't walking alone for once, and keeping silently to his thoughts wasn't necessary to combat the loneliness.

He fell hard to the sand, planting himself firmly beneath the reaching leaves of one of the trees. Rheawien wanted to rest, he could hear it in her voice before she'd even removed her satched. His eyes, calm and gentle, were on her, observing her movements as the woman removed some provisions from her bag. He smiled a little as she offered him some, taking the piece of dried meat and the flask. He bit hungrily into the food, tearing half of it away before handing the remainder back to her. A deep swallow of the water followed, as Izvilvin needed the liquid far more than food, and knew it was more important to his health.

"Dos ph' natha bwael j'nesst," he said, knowing she couldn't understand but wanting very much to express himself in some way. "Bel'la dos whol jorosin uns'aa ulu doer xuil dos."

He laughed a little then. It was a dry, melodic sound, like the ringing of a chime in the wind. It felt so pointless to thank her for bringing him along, but he felt better for doing it. He wanted to continue, to build an understanding between them, but frustration mounted inside him as he failed to think of what he could possibly say, that she could understand.

He needn't worry any longer, not about that anyway.

A loud shriek pierced through the sky, from high above. The two allies had taken a moment to rest in the sand, among some trees, but they were not far from the mountains at all. Izvilvin looked up toward the peaks, seeing black figures in the distance as he strained the pierce the night sky with his vision.

The Drow snapped to his feet in a hurry, plucking two sai from his belt in a flash. He didn't know the names of the creatures as they descended into their makeshift campsite, but they were Harpies. Black wings granted them flight, making their surprise attack on the two travelers easy to accomplish, and their limbs were tipped with thick claws.

Izvilvin thought he caught a glimpse into the eyes of one of the creatures, but he was leaping to the side to avoid a strike. There were many of them, too many for any two warriors to possibly handle, and yet there was no choice but to fight.

He thought to cry out to Rheawien, but saw no point in doing it. Even if they coordinated themselves, the fight would be a desperate one, and the only way to survive was through sheer skill. Izvilvin hoped Rheawien possessed a great amount of it.

[Rheawien]

When Izvilvin spoke in his peculiar dialect that seemed so rough and brutal to Rhea, she understood how he probably felt every time she spoke something without further elaboration. It was like trying to read a book written in runes you never saw before. She nodded with a mild smile though, hoping that it was an appropriate manner in which to respond to whatever he said. Whether this was the reason for the laughter that followed or was it just his reaction to his own words, Rheawien didn’t know, but she had to admit that it was nice to hear him laugh. The sound wasn’t as mellisonant as the laughter of her father – that was a pureblooded elf – but there was something enchanting in it that made the half-elf smile a bit wider despite her weariness.

He was a good person, there was no doubt in Rhea anymore. It wasn’t because of his laughter or the fact that he accepted to join her in this mission or even because he delivered the lifesaving remedy for the poison. It was his eyes and everything she saw in them. She saw... sorrow, a touch of it always present in those lavenders, but there was also kindness and it twinkled ever so gently, concealed ingeniously behind this rather rough untouchable exterior. Despite the difference in constitution, it was this twinkle that reminded her of Letho Ravenheart. Perhaps the Corone Marshal and Izvilvin would never be at terms with each other, but they had the similar core within them. It made them fulfill their duties, it made them intrepid, and it made them eerily impressive.

Rheawien would probably mull on this realization for some time, maybe even start a one-sided palaver with the drow about some aspect of it, but the shriek that ripped through the constant murmur of the adjacent river froze her to the bone. It was a malicious horrid thing, high-pitched and followed by what seemed dozens and dozens of others. She sprung to her feet like a frightened cat, her right on the hilt of her katana, her left feeling one of the glaives. Her eyes were all over the fading dark blue sky, scanning it in search for the source that announced obvious enmity with those shrieks.

And then he saw them, man-sized creatures with wings descending from above in a black swarm. Like locusts the harpies came, plummeting down with their fanged mouths agape and their clawed extremities aimed to rip the par apart. “Too many.” was the first and only coherent thought that she managed to conjure before the first sweep of the beasts begun. Rheawien rifled one of her glaives, clipping one of the wings off efficiently and sending a harpy into the river beyond. Her right already produced her titanium katana, the half-elf rolling under the numerous claws that passed above her head, slicing a pair with a couple of measured slashes.

But there were just too many. Even though some of them had their vision obscured just enough to crash into the palm trees, Rhea still got a claw slice marring her back and another just catching her left shoulder. Skin wounds, no doubt about it, but she took three of the wretched beasts down and there were at least fifty left. “STAY UNDER THE TREES!!!” she shouted to Izvilvin as the harpies finished their U-turn and started to gain speed for another flyby, her pale hand frantically pointing towards the palm trunks.

No time for explanations anymore. Shrieks once again filled the night, this time twice as strong, as the atrocious bird-women came at them again. Rheawien flung the second glaive, then the third, one of the chopping one of a head, the other striking somebody in the swarm. This time the leading creature came right at her in a suicide plummet and the only thing Rhea was able to do was to place her katana in a defensive position. The two bodies collided, the katana stabbing itself into the neck of the harpy, sending both the monster and the woman rolling through the sand uncontrollably. The overpass of the shrieking beasts this time produced another claw cut, this time on her right thigh and pretty damn deep too. Deep enough for the white-haired woman to utter a scream that got muffled by the sand in which her face was buried.

The harpies ascended, shrieked and got ready for the third flyover and the half-elf was already too weary to go on. The long trek exhausted her and this strife was pushing her over her limits. Her hands pushed against the warm sand, lifting her body to her knees as she collected her katana. This time, however, she pulled out her longsword as well. If they were going to die here, she’ll go out guns blazing.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin could scarce harness a thought as the first of many harpies came at him, claws brought to bear and malicious shriek ever resonating. The sight was frightening, but he was composed enough to fight off his fear and leap away, rolling in the sand to dodge. Another was upon him instantly, but a measured duck helped him avoid impact. His sai flashed, and the harpy went down screaming into the sand.

Two harpies were closing in from the sky, barely lit in the fading night. The flashes of maleficience in their black eyes gave them away, and Izvilvin threw a well-aimed sai to catch one of them in the throat. Another weapon was in his hands right away, but he could not hope to dodge the second harpy as it swooped in, violently slashing with its claws.

Rather than hope to dodge, Izvilvin plunged forward with both sai, tearing deep into the flesh of the creature. It did not die instantly, so the Drow had to endure a few slashes to his back and shoulders. Painful as they were, he knew a few wounds were much better than being dead.

But not even a moment was allowed to reflect on the minor victory.

Even with this third kill, the numbers of the harpies did not seem to diminish, nor did their resolve. Another harpy was coming at him already, and Izvilvin had to wonder if there was any hope. He looked over to Rheawien with a forlorn expression on his face, but it was replaced with one of fear as he saw how desperate she seemed. The look upon her face was something akin to finality, he perceived, and she was wounded.

He had been outside of the trees, despite her warning, but now he abandoned the incoming harpy and bolted toward the desert flora, his light frame helping him to run along the sand. The soaring beast struck, but he ducked just in time to avoid the tearing talons of the God-forsaken creature. Rheawien needed him, and he would come, just like he would if Khalxaen was in danger. It was a deeply embedded value in him, to protect his friends. Were they still just allies things might have been different, but to put it in plain words, Rheawien was not just a simple traveling companion to Izvilvin anymore.

Izvilvin arrived just in time to interrupt a harpy's charge, as one of his sai was hurled into the flesh of its neck. The harpy made a gurgling, sickly sound before falling awkwardly to the sand, where Izvilvin promptly retrieved his bloodied weapon and ran to Rheawien's side. He didn't bother to speak; there was no time for it, as another harpy was coming.

The same bloodied sai was once again thrown, but this one missed and soared high into the night sky. The Drow plucked another one of the heavy, pronged weapons from his belt, but the attacker was too close. He dove to the side, and the harpy got a claw on his right thigh before it flew past. Painful though it was, Izvilvin hopped up almost immediately, just in time to meet the charge of another one of the winged demons. This one came right at him, but the dark warrior dropped to his knees quickly enough to avoid those reaching limbs, and a reaching slash put the main prong of one of his sai through the harpy's leg.

Panting, he forced himself to stand.

He thought of Vordutin again, nay, forced himself to think of the General, who had taken Izvilvin's father from him at a young age to join the military, where he undoubtedly died. The young Drow had been purposely kept in the dark about Vordutin's death by Step, but until he found out about that, Izvilvin would be forever motivated to live by his undying need to 'kill the already dead man'.

The thought of plunging his weapon into the General's throat brought vitality to the warrior's limbs, and it was with some renewed vigor that he side-stepped a coming harpy to drive his weapon aggressively into its back.

[Rheawien]

There was no order in the attacks anymore. The first two sweeps were focused, organized, like a cavalry charge that moved in unison and plowed the enemies. But now the harpies caught the scent of drawn blood and their flock modus opernadi gave way to the pandemonium of individual attacks. What used to look like a swarm of locust now scattered around them like bees around a usurped hive. The united shriek that ripped the silence apart now transformed in a chaos of fluttering wings and blood-thirsty screams that seemed to be coming from everywhere. Rheawien thought that being assaulted by wave after wave was bad, but being swallowed in this tide was even worse.

They came at her flanks, from behind, from above, their fangs hungry for some flesh, their claws snatching at her from every possible direction. Before she even got a chance to land a blow, Rhea had to duck twice and roll sideways before swinging her blade horizontally, clipping off one of harpie’s wings. The thing shrieked, made a roll around its axis before crashing into the sand. Even as that happened, one of the creatures came at Rheawien head-on, and this time she rolled forwards and beneath the descending beast. The maneuver managed to save her from clashing with the harpy, but her back got rewarded with another slash that almost went to the bone and the white-haired woman was once again on her knees.

“No way. No way out. Too many. Too fast.” her mind spoke, screamed, fighting to get its pessimistic message through the pain that now originated on more spots on her body then she could count. What she could feel was that her right leg and her lower back were sticky with a disgusting mush of blood and sweat and sand.

Rheawien’s body wanted to give up. Even her mind suggested that this was a dead end. But then her eyes caught a glimpse of Izvilvin. His determination was staggering, his movements strong, his resolve unyielding. His white hair glittered as his weapons flashed in the moonlight, executing his heroic effort. It was something that she never could do, something that only the truly great warriors could achieve in the heat of the battle. “The brave are brave when the chips are down and there are no cards left in the deck.” her father liked to say, paraphrasing the battle effort with the game of cards he enjoyed during his drinking days. She never quite understood what he meant until today. She could fight, aye, and better then most. But when the situation became desperate, lost even, she could never turn the tide. Letho could, Izvilvin could, but not Rheawien. She wasn’t a leader. She couldn’t inspire people to go above and beyond, not with words and not with actions either. But she could follow. Aye, that she could do well.

Her eyes closed for a fraction of a second and during that short snippet of time the world around her became distorted and almost slowed to a crawl. Every sound in her vicinity seemed to be filtered through a layer of water, every detail caught by her enhanced perception, every movement registered, every follow-up anticipated. In that fraction of a second the chaos around her slowed down just enough for her to chart it all out and prepare herself for the carnage. In reality, it wasn’t the world that slowed down, of course. Rheawien’s entire body was instead quickened, elevated to a level on which she could think and move and react twice as fast. And she did.

Rhea moved almost in a blur, her hasted feet uplifting the sand as she moved her swords in a flurry. She sidestepped. Sliced. Ducked. Sliced through the underbelly. Leapt into mid air. Stabbed both of her blades into the back of another harpy. Landed and scudded of to the side in the same instant. Decapitated a harpy with her left and plunged her sword into the flank of another with her right. Launched her foot in an upwards kick that sent a feathery beast trashing through the air. And she did all of that in mere seconds.

Her hands were caked with dark blood of her foes, her face frowned and covered in the same combination of sand and blood that clung to her right leg. The leather string that held her hair in a ponytail was untied and her white strands were tousled and messy. Her clothes clung to her figure, but not in the comforting manner in which they did back in the Suravani’s Oasis when she took her shower. No, this was an altogether different shower, a bloody christening that they had to go through. And once she came to a full stop and slowed her body down, Rheawien was satisfied to see that they indeed succeeded in making through this hell.

She smiled towards Izvilvin.

And then she was gone.

From behind of one of the palm trees another harpy came, blindsiding the half-elf completely and burying its claws into Rhea’s shoulders. The pain was excruciating, making the half-elf drop both of her swords and scream from the top of her lungs, and it only got worse when the beast yanked her upwards and flew away. For the first couple of seconds of forced flight Rheawien struggled and screamed from the pain that seemed to be tearing her body apart. But after the harpy tightened its grip on her shoulders, ripping her tendons and flesh as if it was butter, Rhea uttered another cry and with bitter tears flowing down her sand-crusted cheeks she fell unconscious.

[Izvilvin]

The flesh of the beast did not hold against the brutal iron weapons, bringing a shrill cry from the horrible monster. Izvilvin took some joy in the pain he was inflicting, drawing his sai back and slashing quickly at yet another menace closing in. The strike was avoided by the quick harpy, but it served its purpose in driving the flying thing away. Before the Drow could do anything more against the horde, he was slashed across the back, the sharp talons of an unseen harpy tearing easily through his linen shirt and the skin beneath.

So badly he wanted to fall to his knees and scream in pain, but the adrenaline of battle bade him to fight on. Another harpy came in before he had a chance to compose himself, but a desperate dive to the sand saved him the torture of another attack.

He glanced quickly toward Rheawien to check on how she was doing, but did a double-take as he observed her movement. She was a blur, dancing with incredible speed as a throng of harpies fell to her blades. Grim as their situation was, the scene put a stoic smile on his face.

What happened next wiped the smile away.

It was all so fast, and was possibly the last thing he'd expected to happen, but a harpy had swooped down from the darkness and plucked Rheawien off of the ground like a flower. Izvilvin screamed out and leapt up, running as fast as he could toward the fleeing creature, throwing a sai with as much strength as he could muster. The weapon fell far short of its mark, and the Drow fell to his knees. The harpies were retreating; evidently they were not as willing to die as he was beginning to think.

But there was no joy in the Drow, despite the fact that they had left him alone after taking Rhea. He felt rage and regret for not somehow preventing the abduction and cursed, a sound that took the musical tone of his voice and mangled it into something ugly.

He knelt there for some time, eyes half closed as his mind raced. His back stung with every whip of the wind, but he hardly noticed. The harpies were either taking Rheawien back to their nest to feast upon her, or... Well, there really was no other possibility he could think of. Even with a full sprint the entire way, Izvilvin could not hope to catch the beasts and their shapely cargo.

The only option, the only realistic one, anyway, was for him to turn back toward Suravani's Oasis and reach the town before he collapsed from his wounds. They had the antidote now, a surefire cure for the poison that had ravaged the place, and with Jya knowing it worked as well as it did, the oasis didn't have anything more to fear.

Rheawien remained in his mind, overcoming his survival instincts. Maybe he did have some time.

The Drow stood, fighting the urge to fall back to his knees and remain in a position where his back did not throb so much. The two sai in his hands were placed back on his belt where they belonged, and he started a search for his lost weapons. One was in a harpy corpse's throat and two were in the sand some distance away, glimmering in what moonlight remained before sunrise. These, too, were put where they belonged.

He stepped toward the mountain range, where he was fairly positive the harpies might keep their nest, but didn't get far before some items in the sand caught his eye. Soaked in harpy blood, Rheawien's blades represented her undying determination. Izvilvin took them in his hands, and would have marveled at the craftsmanship if he had found the time to care. He had no scabbards to place them in, but could deal with carrying them in his hands.

After all, if Rheawien was alive, she'd certainly need them.

[Rheawien]

Rheawien’s consciousness flickered on and off like a horrid nightmare as she was carried by one of the harpies. Every time she came to, she did so with a scream because the pain in her shoulders was unbearable. And every time she passed out, it was because she couldn’t summon enough strength for another scream of sheer agony. In between those two events – that were usually no more then a couple of seconds apart – she could see the river swiveling below her like a dark purple snake, reflecting the pale light of the morning. She could see the endless sea of sand that stretched in all three directions that she could see. She even thought she saw some of the scattered houses in the outskirts of the Suravani’s Oasis. It would’ve been a beautiful sight, one a person got to witness once in a lifetime, but two or three seconds filled with mind-shattering gut-wrenching pain and suffering forbade even a sliver of admiration.

The last image that she saw from the aerial perspective was the mountain slope as the bird-thing that ascended over it, each flap of the wings yanking on Rheawien’s wounds relentlessly. The hillside was jagged and bare, a wasteland of rocks and dry stringy bushes that sprouted through the cracks. There were no pathways that led this high, no ways to access wherever the harpy was taking her. Rhea’s last thought before fainting once again was that the inaccessibility of the mountainside didn’t really matter. It’s not like somebody – Izvilvin, her subconsciousness remarked – would be able to come to the rescue in time.

The next time her consciousness returned – due to the pain, of course – was when the harpy unclasped its claws and removed them from her flesh. Rheawien’s vision blurred at first, then exploded with bright fireworks when a solid punch connected with her cheek and sent her on the floor. And then finally, after what seemed days of being carried around like a helpless pray (which she basically was), the half-elf felt solid ground. It was cold and smooth, chilling her spine as she lay calmly, afraid that even the slightest motion would break the stalemate and bring the excruciating pain back. So for a while she just lay on her back, her crying eyes shut tight as her shoulders oozed with warm blood.

“You got a live one, Engra?” a voice, raspy and as dry as gunpowder said, rousing Rheawien from her moment of relative relief. Even though she was severely fatigued by the battle and the blood loss, the half-elf opened her eyes and searched for the origin of the voice.

The first thing that white-haired woman saw through the strands of her own tousled hair was that she was in a cage. It was a rusty, robust cubical thing, just large enough for her to stretch on its moldy floor. The room around the cage was heinous. The rugged stone walls were brown with stale blood, the adjacent iron coops containing what seemed like remnants of humanoid beings, half-eaten and rapidly decaying. Only then the putrid stench struck her, the disgustingly sweet-and-bitter malodor of rot. There were no torches illuminating the interior, but the ceiling was perforated with numerous round holes, large enough for a one of the bird-women to fly through.

Next to her cage, a pair or disgusting winged creatures stood on their clawed legs. Their black wings flinched occasionally, an instinctive animalistic motion, as they looked at their catch. Their faces were repulsive masks, distorted and malformed, with crooked fangs emerging from behind their lips. Their pitch black eyes were abysmal and utterly emotionless. They wore no clothes, but their bare skin was so crisscrossed with dark blue veins that it seemed their entire body caught a bad case of gangrene.

“Yar.” the larger of the two spoke in an even croakier voice, first looking at Rhea with what seemed like a toothy smile, then diverting her eyes to her companion. “Would’ve gotten a pair of them, but yer fuckin’ bitches ain’t worth a phoenix dung.”

“You got her all bloody though. We can’t take her to Mistress Aghra all messed up.” the more eloquent of the two spoke, her arms folded over her bare bosom, her eyes studios as they peered at the crumbled half-elf. Engra’s wings fluttered and she uttered a guttural laughter that echoed faintly through the room.

“Nuthin wrong with some blood. Mistress likes’em pretty damn bloody.”

“Don’t we all? But you know as well as I do that she likes to make them bleed herself. We have to clean her up.”

Rheawien’s watery eyes looked at the exchange in a mixture of desperation and disbelief, her bloodied body motionless on the floor of the cage. Is this how she was going to end up after going out on a limb to help some poor folk? A meal for these abominations? No, if they wanted her dead and chopped into steaks, they would’ve done it already. But what was the interest of this Mistress Aghra was beyond the half-elf and all she could do was wait and see.

[Izvilvin]

The sun was rising slowly in the distance, casting an orange light against the river and onto the warrior drow. His bright eyes were cast upward, looking along the sheer surface of the mountain for some peak or ledge, where he thought Rheawien might have been delivered. The prospect of climbing the mountain did not appeal to his sensibilities, for a single mistake at a high altitude could usher him swiftly into death.

Izvilvin's shoulders dropped as a deep sigh escaped him. He was behaving so little like the solitary warrior he had been trained to be, concerning himself with the well being of a single human woman rather than getting to safety as soon as possible. He shouldn't have been thinking of her as a person, not if he wanted to be at the full potential of his ability. That was what he had been taught growing up in Alerar, that emotional attachment was foolish and weakened the strong.

"Sevir dosst abbanen ka ultrinnan zhah naut wun ml'aen," he declared, paraphrasing the old drow diction, suggesting a warrior abandon his allies if victory was not possible.

It was just that sort of drivel that made him despise his homeland and the way the drow people thought of camaraderie and friendship. He spat in disgust. Newly strengthened by his resolve, Izvilvin drove one of Rhea's swords into the stone, easily forcing it into the mountain. He tested the stability, and then leapt up to stab higher with the other weapon, holding himself from the ground.

Putting his feet flat against the stone, Izvilvin found that it was possible to scale the mountain using this method, though it was difficult. His back burned with the necessary stretching as his wounds were newly aggravated, but he didn't feel stopping was an option. His mission was clear, and no simple-minded lessons from his youth were going to stray him from it, no matter how sensible they seemed from the drow perspective. He was running on emotion and power of heart, and that's the way he liked it.

It only took a few minutes for Izvilvin to tire. For all his determination and strength of spirit, the climb was becoming more and more impossible to resume. He pulled one of the blades out of the mountain and held fast to the other, praying it wouldn't slip out of the rock and send him plummeting. Stabbing the freed blade once more, the cycle continued.

The wind was strong, and often Izvilvin had to pull close to the stone and hold as tightly as he could, knowing that if the gusts picked up he could be plucked into the sky like a feather. There was no place to rest below him, but the constant grey of the mountain disappeared at one point above. He was hoping there was a ledge there, if only so he could be granted a few minutes of rest.

Just when he felt as if he could not go on, his hand reached the ledge. Using one of the swords as a step, he pushed himself up, lying against the flat surface offered by the resting point. Reaching over the side, Izvilvin retrieved the blade.

The Drow turned to survey what was on this plateau, and what he saw brought him to his feet immediately. Before him was a large clearing with cave mouth carved into the mountain, but in between the Drow and the cave entrance stood a bird of golden flames, wings swaying in the wind in the way a powerful blaze would. It was the grandest of creatures, in terms of sheer beauty, gleaming in the morning light like statue of gold.

His initial instinct was to draw his weapons, intimidated by the Phoenix, but the lack of response from the bird showed him it was docile. Perhaps not docile, no, but intelligent. Its golden eyes seemed to scour him, looking over the battered Drow's body and clothing, paying special attention to his wounds as its eyes lingered.

"Drow, why do you come here? Have you come for hunt, to slay a Phoenix and reap the rewards of our feathers?" Asked the majestic bird, using some form of mind speak Izvilvin could not grasp the concept of.

He shook his head in response, moving his hands away from the weapons. The words were not in Drow, nor were they in common tongue, but Izvilvin could understand the concept of them, as if the understanding of the questions were put into his head.

"Nau," said he. "Usstan lac ussta abban, vel'uss zhahus sila've nindol i'dol a tiu aterrucen. Vel'klar xun nind ulnar? Usstan z'klaen ragar ilta queelas."

A look of recognition came over the Phoenix; at least that's what Izvilvin thought it was. He was not accustomed to palaver with such creatures of the sun. He had explained that he did not come to hunt Phoenix, but to seek out a friend that had been captured by winged creatures. The golden bird had understood perfectly, and began to approach slowly, in a manner that did not make Izvilvin nervous.

"Those infernal creatures live higher up the mountain. They have been bringing humans up for days now, though for what purpose, I know not. The evil beings do not belong here, though you do not either."

As the Phoenix approached, the scent of morning came wafting over to Izvilvin's nose, as if the bird itself somehow harnessed the essence of the day. The scent lifted his strength in some spiritual way, and made his fear of the creature die immediately. The flames of the Phoenix lowered, revealing golden wings that were soft and cool to the touch.

"The goodness in you is prominent, dark elf, it pushes past the darkness that lingers in your heart, forcing itself to the front. I will take you to the nest of the harpies."

Izvilvin nodded, he understood what the Phoenix meant. The rantings of his former instructors -- and drow like Arawn who roamed the lands outside of Alerar -- had not swayed him from his innate sense of rightfulness. He quickly gathered Rheawien's blades and held them awkwardly in his hands.

There was still hope for the woman who called these swords her own.

[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.

[Rheawien]

Rhea wasn’t certain when exactly they stopped – or rather, were forced to stop on account of utter exhaustion – their unhinged lovemaking, but she remembered the scent of their mixed sweat as their moist bodies finally collapsed on the crumpled bed sheets. She remembered her nails digging into the skin of his back and the “vengeful” bite of the drow that left a mark on her shoulder. She remembered fulfillment that she didn’t feel for years – she couldn’t remember the last time she had a man and that spoke for itself. And she remembered wanting more, wanting for their passion to carry them through the evening and last throughout the night. Because by giving herself to Izvilvin she was thanking him not only for his selfless actions, but for the sheer pleasure he was giving her, the pleasure she needed after months and years and even decades of suffering.

Alas, while their hearts and minds burned for more, their bodies simply lacked the fuel to make this sensation to last indefinitely. So as the sun extinguished its scorching of the Fallien land, so did their passion yield to the needs of their human bodies. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, with content smiles on their faces and the pleasurable soreness in certain regions of their bodies. Rheawien thought that she could sleep forever like this. As it turned out, that wasn’t the case.

With the first beams of moonlight, the breeze that snuck through the open window passed over her naked body and roused her from the sweet slumber. It wasn’t a particularly harsh or chilly whiff, but it still managed to give her goosefleshes all over her suave skin, as if foreign, unfamiliar hands roamed over her. Her eyes shot open, went to the dark-skinned elf at her side, but she found him completely dormant, breathing steadily and spilling his every breath over her bosom. Rhea’s first thought was to wake him up, maybe with a bite at his neck, so they could restart their little sexual escapade, but even as that thought passed through her mind, the invisible fingers passed over her once again. This time she shivered and untangled herself from his arms, creeping out of the bed with an intention to close the window.

And out in the moonlight, standing in the middle of the open field, way Yves, with her piercing eyes looking straight at the half-elf. For some reason, Rheawien felt the need to cover her privates, but the incisiveness of those eyes made her attempts look pitiful. Yves’ lips moved and though not a sound could be heard, Rhea could hear her voice in her head.

“It’s time to go, Rheawien.” she said, her tone amicable and endlessly patient.

“Why?” the half-elf whispered in return. “Why can’t I stay with him?”

“Izvilvin is but a first step on your journey. Can you honestly look at him and tell me that you love him?”

Rheawien turned slowly, watchful not to cause a sound, and looked at the drow. In the moonlight, his face looked majestic, encompassed by his silvery white hair. But while the figure of his athletic body evoked genuine sexual arousal in the woman, she couldn’t see it being anything beyond that. He could be her friend, even her occasional bedfellow, but now that her mind has cooled off and the fire in her loins was extinguished, there was a negative answer brewing inside of her. And she could see the wisdom in Yves’ words. They both jumped into this blindly, not mindful of what stood beyond the first-impression façade. And while she was certain that she would find a kind man behind his mask, Rheawien was uncertain what would she find beneath her own surface. No, Yves was right. She had to go. She had to find herself first before she could give herself to someone fully, regardless of whether they were a man or a woman.

Given the fact that her clothes were gone for good, Rhea had no other choice but to take Izvilvin’s. She doubted he would mind a lot, but just in case, once she was fully clothed in his black clothes, she took a piece of paper and scribbled a note. She knew that he wouldn’t be able to read it, but he could always get somebody to decipher it for him. She jotted down the several words, signed herself at the bottom and dropped the note on the pillow beside him. And with that, she collected her weapons and disappeared in the night.

On the note, written with what seemed a mixture of elven neatness and much more rugged mundane writing, stood:


“Thank you, Izvilvin. And sorry about the clothes.

Rheawien


((SPOILS: Phoenix – Rheawien was given a Phoenix feather which enables her to summon her familiar whenever she desires. The Phoenix is currently unnamed, although when it contacts Rheawien through her dreams, it is represented by a warrior woman, Yves. The Phoenix is some twenty feet long, fifteen feet high, with the wing span of some twenty five feet. Currently it has only one ability.

Restoration – Phoenix can use this ability on either herself, Rheawien or on any of Rheawien’s allies. When used, the injured/dead person would recover with all their wounds healed. Currently, this is usable once per battle or once a day in a quest.))

[Izvilvin]

The note was held firmly in the dark elf's hands, and though he could not read it, his lavender eyes were locked on the writing. It was the last piece of Rheawien that he had, the last indication that what just went on between them was not some elaborate meeting of lusts, but maybe something a bit more than that. Regardless, she was gone, and he was naked on top of the bed. She'd taken his clothes, that much was obvious, but he wasn't angry about it.

It was all very confusing to him, though. What was so important that she had to leave without a simple farewell? Did she feel ashamed about what they'd done? Izvilvin certainly didn't. He was revitalized, feeling stronger than ever before, as if an afternoon of sex was just what he needed.

At least she'd left his weapons.

Izvilvin rose from the bed and slowly made his way to the lone window. It was the middle of the night, only a few hours before sunrise, so cool air was flowing into the room, making his hair sway about his face. A sigh escaped him. He'd wanted something more than just a physical romp with the woman who had impressed him so. He wanted a deep friendship with her, the kind of bond that goes deeper than simple conversation and travel together.

Perhaps he'd been a fool to want something like that so early on. Maybe he'd see her again some day, in a circumstance where they could sit and talk... As much as the two could manage conversation, anyway.

Behind him, the door opened and someone spoke. The light, raspy voice was not Rheawien's, but that didn't squelch the little hope in the elf that she was the one who had entered. It turned out to be Erak, the little old human man who had given them the room in the first place. He repeated whatever it was he had said, which sounded like a question, but Izvilvin could merely shrug in reply. Neither of them seemed to care that the drow was naked. Maybe he was too difficult to see in the darkness of the room.

He moved to the human and handed him the note. Erak needed to move into the light of the room behind him to read it, shaking his head as he did. With a simple nod, he headed off.

Izvilvin once again moved to the bed, where he could still smell the vaguest impressions of the woman's sweat. It was almost a sweet smell. Again he sighed, his eyes dancing about the bed where they had lain. Maybe he was taking it too hard. Things like this happened all the time between a man and a woman. And yet... He couldn't quite come to grips with it.

The Drow wasn't sure how long he stood there in comtemplation, but it was Erak's return that snapped him out of it. The human came into the room with a pair of black pants and a smooth black shirt, handing them to the Drow and patting him on the shoulder. They spoke to each other in their own languages for a moment, then Erak was on his way.

Izvilvin got dressed in his new clothes-- which fit rather nicely considering Erak had just gone off to fetch them-- and strapped on his belt. All the while his mind was on Rheawien, so his movements were slow, leisurely.

The warrior made his way through the town, so beautiful in the moonlight, and stopped when he reached the front gate. The desert looked eternal, and he was in no mood to cross it, even if it meant getting home to his own comfortable bed. All the same, he took that first step into the sand and began his walk. His mission was complete, but he had done so much more than simply deliver the antidote. The poison was gone, and Suravani's Oasis was safe.

But no reward could be as great, nor as disheartening, as the one he'd just recieved.

((Spoils: Gold please.))

[Sighter Tnailog]

Sorry it took me a while to get to this -- I moved into the dorms over the weekend, and had a fairly rough time as my computer adjusted to a new internet security regime implemented by my university. But enough excuses...I have a judging to do.

This was a good, solid quest...I haven't written out the numbers yet, but I expect you'll come close to a judge's choice. One quick note -- at the beginning, I was certain that I was reading a judge's choice. Towards the end, though, the writing slipped a little bit -- maybe not by a lot, but perhaps by enough. We'll see as I do the numbers.

Quest Judging
Body withered, body died...

INTRODUCTION ~ 10. I've heard an ancient Chinese proverb about happiness: "Happiness is when the grandfather dies, then the father, then the son." I thought your introduction, specifically Rheawien, did a great job of using powerful writing -- writing about sorrow, about suffering -- to draw me in. And Izvilvin, too, did precisely what introductions are about; he situated his work as part of a larger picture. This was almost a textbook introduction.
SETTING ~ 6. You did a good job, on the whole, of describing your setting, but it felt like you sometimes forgot to mention certain elements or only discussed them when you remembered. Be consistent: is it hot? Is the sand gritty? Is it difficult to see against the glare of the sun? I noticed all these things mentioned, but you need to work at making the setting fill your writing. I don't mean write longer...I just mean write more. There is a difference, and the key to good setting is figuring it out.
STRATEGY ~ 8. For the most part, this was great. I loved the way you worked together despite language barriers -- although more of this writing might have been interesting. Very often we just assume that Althanians all speak Tradespeak, but you did a good job of showing what happens when it doesn't work that way. I didn't give full marks, though, because I must say...that phoenix feather at the end, while it made sense with the storyline, seemed VERY Final Fantasy-esque: Rheawien falls...FENIX DOWN! Rheawien is revived!
Writing Style ~ 7. The first sentences both of you wrote will serve to illustrate why I gave you an 8. Rheawien: "There was nothing sadder then seeing the eyes of a child that came at terms with the fact that death was inevitable." Why not: "Nothing is sadder than a child who knows he is dying." 22 words becomes 11. Izvilvin: "The desert sun was unkind to the Drow, pouring heavy heat down upon the thick white hair that topped his head." Try, "The desert sun poured heavy heat upon the thick white hair of the Drow." When you pour, you obviously pour "down." And we know that hair tops heads -- why not remove what is understood? It takes you from 21 words to 15 and removes a rather clunky mid-sentence comma.

This isn't just me subjecting you to my personal writing theory. People read and enjoy tightly crafted, precisely worded sentences. Sentences with many words are harder to read. They are unwieldy. They can be confusing. Try this the next quest you do. Every sentence you write, ask yourself, "Can I say the same thing in fewer words?" If the answer is yes, REWRITE! I promise you, your writing will be better and more accessible.
Rising Action ~ 8. I will admit you really got me going. The poisoned well, the antidote, the trip to the source of the poison, the attack...it was all well written and finely crafted. It kept my attention and got me excited. It felt perhaps a bit formulaic -- problem occurs, heroes journey to solve problem, problem caused by monster, monster defeated, problem solved -- but you threw enough kinks in the formula -- getting captured and then defeating the monsters without having to be all kickass -- that you deserve good marks.
Dialogue ~ 9. Like I said before: good job with the language barriers. But I would have liked to see more of it -- sometimes it felt like you treated the language barrier as an obstacle to the plot, not a theme to be explored. Sometimes the obstruction to your character can actually be the source of good writing.
Climax ~ 6. Eh, it felt like it came a bit too soon -- Rheawien was getting tortured, we didn't know what was going to happen, and then bam, Rava showed up. Next time try to give a little bit more build-up before releasing it all. Even with the slight spike in tension as I didn't know what Rava was going to do, it wasn't enough to make up for the loss in suspense following his arrival. The climactic echo, therefore, only served as a rising point of the falling action.
Character ~ 8. You did a good job with characters -- once again, let me mention language barriers. I would especially like to credit Letho with continuing to build Rheawien as an interesting, dynamic character with lots of different aspects to her persona, and Izvilvin has an interesting sense of innocence about him that gives a decided depth to his character. One thing, though...the Phoenix. While it is understandable that an imminently wise being would be able to see into you, it is like an extremely good weapon in a single-player RPG -- sometimes you don't want to use it because it makes the game so easy it isn't fun anymore. The Phoenix so quickly sees that Rheawien is "White," that the reader isn't permitted to judge the character on the merits of her actions. We are immediately prejudiced into viewing the character one way, and may fail, as a result, to see the diversity of interpretations in a character's actions. Just because it's permitted -- I'm not saying the Phoenix is powergaming -- doesn't mean it necessarily helps your writing. Keep your readers in the dark sometimes...using wise characters to reveal too much is dangerous business.
Conclusion ~ 7. It may have been a bit too fast. You know what I mean.
Wild Card ~ 8.This was a great quest with only a few flaws. Be proud of it.

TOTAL ~ 77.

This score is just shy of the 80 required for the automatic requirement that it be recommended for a Judge's Choice. However, because of a few elements within it that I feel are worthy enough to merit reading by the general public, I am going to recommend that this quest be considered for the reward anyway. Congratulate yourselves: you did a great job.

EXP Rewards

Rheawien gains 3477 EXP
Izvilvin gains 2681 EXP

GP Rewards

Izvilvin, as a reward from Jya for delivering her antidote and saving Suravani's Oasis, receives 1250 gold.

Jya was also impressed with Rheawien's bravery, so she rewards her with a smaller stipend: 500 gold.

OTHER SPOILS

Rheawien's spoil is approved. Reprinted here with some minor edits, and one major edit in red. This familiar/ability is approved temporarily as written, and may be used as the author wishes. At Rheawien's level 5 profile, she will need to post an update in order to make this approval permanent.

Phoenix – Rheawien was given a Phoenix feather which enables her to summon her familiar whenever she desires. The Phoenix is currently unnamed, although when it contacts Rheawien through her dreams it is represented by Yves, a warrior woman. The Phoenix is about twenty feet long and fifteen feet high, with a wing span of about twenty five feet. Currently it has only one ability.

Restoration – Phoenix can use this ability on either herself, Rheawien or on someone Rheawien picks. When used, the injured/dead person will recover with all their wounds healed, although quite sore in the healed areas. Currently, this is usable once per battle or once a day in a quest.

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

EXP and GP added! Izvilvin leveled up! Rheawien leveled up!