An incessant bashing on the door of my room roused me from my sleep.

'Get up! You're going to mine for me another five hundred kilograms of iron ore, lazy slave!'

I roll over in my bed, putting my pillow over my head. I hated the way he always came in every morning, hammering on my door; it's not even dawn yet, the sun's not even above the horizon.

That click. He's unlocked it…do I really have to work this early?

He grabbed me roughly off the bed and thrust the old iron pickaxe into my hands, cackling afterwards as he slapped me across the cheek.

'That might help you wake up, worthless thing,' he sneered, watching with cruel disdain as I rise up, clutching the red mark on my face, 'I should've bought a slave who was more willing to serve. Come now, and don't be late,'

'I'm starving, and you don't even care,' I mutter to myself with hatred.

'What's that? You're hungry?' he laughed, thrusting a piece of stale bread into my open, yawning mouth, 'Eat that, it might keep your mind off things,'

Saradomin, I hate him…treats me like a dog. I wished I knew where he sleeps each night; then I can kill him in his sleep.

I chew on the hard crusty bread for a moment, knowing it would provide at least some nourishment. Even if it's not much, I wouldn't be able to get anything better; without any money in my pockets, I can't even buy a piece of burnt meat.

Not another soul was awake yet in the city of Varrock. I look up at the clock hanging on the bar's wall, then tore my eyes back to the floor. Five in the morning. An ungodly hour to begin work.

'Come on, are you going to work or not?' my master hissed in my ear, prodding the small of my back with a sharp dagger, 'If you're not, then I'll force you to,'

'Yes, master,' I said, moving quickly away from him. To disobey him…was worse than working from midnight till midnight in the next day. Lashes and beatings he'd give, all the time shouting in my ear to get me working faster. As if I could; with this rotten iron pickaxe it is impossible to compete against those with rune.

By midday, I was drenched in sweat, grime and dust. All others have stopped working as fast as they came; the glaring sun on the barren mine was almost unbearable. The handle was as hot as a pie dish straight out of an oven, and my gloves were thin and worn, not at all the right kind to keep the intense heat off my blistered hands. My parched and cracked lips stung with every breath, the moving air burning the open cuts.

'Keep working you lazy worm!' my master hollered, lashing my bare back with a nine-headed whip, while drinking wine from a goatskin. Drinking in front of me, laughing as he saw the thirst in my eyes.

I want to kill him, the uncaring brute…if only he didn't have his personal bodyguard at all times…I would strangle him in his sleep, or poison his food…

I felt the tip of my pickaxe glance across something hard. Something other than ore. Seeing my master occupied with a beautiful maiden, I quickly shove my hand into the crevice, extracting a magic rune from the rock. Hastily I stowed it away in my pocket, not bothering to examine it.

'Is anything wrong, slave?' my master questioned me, leering out of those horrible dark eyes.

'No, sir,'

'If that's the case, then get moving! I want that ore by the end of the day!' he roared, bringing down his whip again.

By the end of the day, my back was covered with bruises and hundreds of whip scars. I threw the last load of ore into the banker's open hands again, took the note that he held out in his hand and dumped it into my master's waiting palm. I snatch the moneybag out of his hand and glared at him, before leaving for the inn once more.

At least the rune is safe…I must have it examined by the rune-shop keeper. Who knows what it is; as far as I know, nobody's ever found a rune in a rock yet…

I open the rotten wooden door of the rune shop, a decaying, tiny building in the corner of the city. A horrendous smell surged out of the open doorway, forcing me to pinch my nose as I entered the dark chamber.

'Is everything alright?' the shopkeeper asked, 'What would you like here,'

'Ah, I'd like to have this examined, please,' I mumble to him, almost unable to speak; the stench of the pickled…whatever…in the jar on the shelves was overpowering. Almost like a dead body. Until I realised it was a hand in the jar, covered in some green fluid.

Disgusting…I'd get out of here as soon as I can…

'What have we here? A rune that I have not seen before,' the shopkeeper sighed, putting on a pair of glasses. He pulled out a thick, leather-covered tome, dusting it with his hands. Turning the age-worn pages carefully with one hand while tracing the grooves and patterns carved into the rune with the other, he seemed almost like a learned scholar from the Library of Varrock. Almost. If it weren't for the spider-web dangling from his ear and the skull on his desk, I'd say he was.

'You've a Time rune here, young lady. A piece of an ancient puzzle to open new dimensions,' he concluded, shutting the book and spraying me with dust, 'If you'd like, I'll teleport you to the Rune Essence mine, to see how the giant runestone responds to it. Yes or no?'

'Yes, I'd like to go…'

Anything to get out of this stinking hole…

'Then let's go. Serventior Disthine…' he chanted, 'Mole—Ah…ah…achoo!'

I felt as though an iron ring had gripped me about the middle, forcing me through a pipe too small for me, while spinning around madly. More than once I felt something hard hit my head. An unpleasant trip indeed…

I landed face first, into a thick, disgusting pile of mud and dirt. Wiping the muck from my eyes, I see a giant stone circle, with a small recess exactly the same shape and size as the rune I held. Thick, white mist billowed all around; if anything was near me, I couldn't possibly see.

The stone circle was inscribed all over with an ancient writing I could not read; the letters were faded and worn, but their intricate curls could still be indistinctly seen.

Well…? What am I waiting for? I'll insert this…here. There.

A flash of white light, a rushing sound. I was hurled down into the ground, finding myself facing a clear blue sky instead of the gloomy mist. Groaning as I picked myself up, I notice a strange figure in front of me.

There was a wounded female...not-quite-human in front of me. Her ears were far too long to be human and yet…there was something mysteriously familiar. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't the green of goblins that made me feel so. Dressed in glistening knight's armour, she appeared to be formidable, much larger than her actually slender figure. I marveled at how she could hold a two-handed sword almost as high as she stood.

I stood silently watching her in awe, when I noticed her stagger forward. Three arrowheads stuck out of her back, with bits of viciously torn flesh and skin still stuck to the serrated silvery tips. She leant on her sword for support, evidently gasping for breath.

She may be a stranger, but whoever this is, she certainly needs help…Where am I anyway?

I look frantically around for a sign of my whereabouts. A few sheep, a few trees…and a pair of white skulls painted on signs. I was in the wilderness—and she was further in. The monks in the monastery would be able to help, but for a simple miner like me to carry a fully-dressed warrior that far…?

There was no room for questions. Already a pair of marauding murderers started to approach the wounded warrior from the back, raising their scimitars for the kill. I had no choice but to help.

I charge out, roaring and swinging my pickaxe at them, taking them by surprise. That was all of my luck, however; my pickaxe buried itself in the ground with the first swing, partly due to their dextrous dodging and also my inexpertise at fighting.

'Get out of here!' I yell to the wounded person, 'You're injured, seek some help!'

'Help?' she said, in an almost musical voice, 'This shall be my fight, they have attempted to slay me from the back. Now I shall return their cowardice with vengeance!'

Flames seemed to light within the sapphire blue eyes of the blonde woman, causing her attackers to flinch backwards. Seizing the handle of her sword with both her hands, she roared in rage, oblivious to the pain that was apparent (to my eyes, anyway). Her opponents raised their rune-plated shields in terror, a futile defense against the woman, who cleaved apart their shields into broken shards of metal and scraps of leather, leaving their arms dangling limp and broken at their sides.

'Flee from me, worthless insects!' she roared. The grace and beauty I saw in her did not exist in her blazing eyes, replaced by a burning rage matched equally by a destructive power that my master could never hope to rival. She was a whirlwind of destruction, ravaging everything her blade touched. Seeing her opponents fleeing, the woman grasped a bow which was slung on her back and let off a volley of arrows, sealing the fate of the murderers.

I ran towards her, grasping her shoulder as her knees buckled. She looked at me, smiling; I was shocked to see the fire in her eyes gone. Was it a mere trick of the light? In any case, she needed immediate treatment. Her bleeding was severe, and the arrows that have pierced her chest seemed all the more lethal with the blood trailing on the shafts and feathers.

'Are you alright?' I asked, feeling foolish. Of course she wasn't!

'No, not really. But I will be fine, thank you,' she replied, still with the warm smile. It was incredible how she could endure so much pain and still be able to speak like this.

'I'll take you to a place where you can get help,' I offered her, 'You can't possibly last long like this, especially with those arrows in your chest,'

'Thank you very much,' she replied, one hand using her sword as a walking stick, 'I…I must hurry back to Gludio,'

Where is that? She must be…wait…

Didn't that rune-shop keeper say that the rune I got was a key to another dimension? Or something like that? Then…

She must be from another world.

'Gludio? Where is that?'

'A fortified town on the fork of two great rivers, with a castle on the mountain opposite. It is under attack by a band of orcs and rogue humans, and if the town is unaided, all will be lost,' she replied, coughing onto her hand; a spray of crimson smeared on the ivory of her hand.

'Ok…' I reply, trying to seem as though I understand. She didn't seem too convinced though, somehow…

I caught sight of a brown-robed man standing over a garden wall, tending some flowers.

It must be a monk…and if so, they should be able to help us heal this poor woman.

'Good gracious me,' the monk whispered to himself, dropping the hoe in his hand, 'Another injured traveller. Hold on there, I'm coming,'

After we had eased the woman into the closest sick bed in the monastery, the monk left to obtain some boiled water and herbs to heal her wounds. Left alone, I lifted the heavy metal pauldrons pinned to her breastplate. I would have never expected anyone so slender of build to carry so much weight; let alone to carry so many weapons. Her bow, an exceptionally sturdy one made out of metal and bone, leant against the wall; her dagger, two-handed sword and twin short swords were placed on a table, where they shone in the sunlight. A quiver of arrows was still attached to her armour, and this I duly removed.

'Thank you,' she spoke, smiling weakly at me. I could almost feel the pain and weariness within her, though she did not show it one bit.

'You're welcome,' I replied, trying to sound cheery in the hopes of cheering her up, 'My name is Helena, Helena Suzette. What's yours?'

'Lionna Blackbird, an Elven Royal Knight of Gludio,' she said, grasping my hand in a firm handshake. A wounded warrior she may be, but great strength she still possesses.

'Nice to meet you. Oh, the monk's here to wash and cure those horrible wounds,' I hastily say, extracting my hand from her grip and rubbing the throbbing pink skin. She probably didn't mean to hurt me, but it still does.

I turn around to face the monk, who brought in a basin filled with cool, clear water sprinkled with cuttings of various herbs. Passing me a cloth, he nodded to me; I understood what to do.

'Lionna, please understand,' I whisper into her ear, grasping the shaft of the arrow that protruded from her back. It had to be pulled out, no matter how much it hurt.

'Bite on this if you need to,' the monk said, passing her a strip of leather, 'So you don't bite your tongue,'

She placed the leather in between her lips and bit down, closing her eyes as if bracing for the pain. I pulled at the arrow; it shifted but an inch. Its serrated edges clung on to her flesh and skin, refusing to let go.

Forgive me, friend… I thought to myself, as I listened to her agonised whimpers after I had pulled out the arrow. Not a tear did she shed, even while in this much pain; she has incredible endurance…even I cried a river when I was being whipped by my master, begging for reprieve.

Two more arrows and the terrible job was finished. Copious amounts of blood stained the sheets that the elf sat upon. Only one more thing was left to do. I unclasped the link that held her breastplate together, lifting it over her head, while the monk readied his herbal mixture. Dabbing a little at a time, I stood silently watching as Lionna bit down on the leather. Whether it was the wet cloth stinging on the open wounds or just the wounds itself I wouldn't know; I had never seen anyone in so much pain before.

'There, we're done,' the monk said, leaving the cloth in the basin. The water within was red by now.

'No, we're not yet done, I think, the wounds are still open,'

'Oh dear,' he mouthed, 'That I forgot. Even the monastery has run out of thread and needle, such is the volume of adventurers that pass through this place every day,'

'I'll buy some,' I tell him, reaching in my pockets for some coins I hoped were still left.

'No need,' Lionna groaned, sitting up, 'Please, I need a glass of water,'

The monk hastened to provide a jug of water for her, which she gulped down in earnest.

'Spirits of the water,' she chanted, addressing an invisible being, 'From the friendship we have forged through the beginning of time, lend me your power. Heal my wounds to seal the flesh that was once whole, just as the oceans of time mend them,'

Lionna seemed to fall into a trance as she completed the spell by drawing a magical symbol in the air with a finger soaked in water. Her wounds glowed with a brilliant light several times brighter than the sun; I was forced to look away in fear of blinding myself. When the glow had ceased, her wounds were no longer visible, not even a scar left behind.

'That must be one of the fastest recoveries I have ever seen,' the monk gasped in awe, 'Still, you must rest here for at least one night, lady Lionna, if that is your name,'

'Thank you for these courtesies,' she smiled back, 'It is not every day that I meet such pleasant company. For these days are consumed in war, and not many trust one another,'

'She comes from another dimension,' I whisper to the nonplussed monk, who shrugged his shoulders and resumed the maintenance of the monastery garden.

I noticed a strange marking on both her shoulders, something other than ancient battle scars. It was drawn in coloured inks, in intricate designs that few could hope to craft.

'Lionna, if I may ask,' I said, pointing to the red design on her left shoulder, 'What is that?'

'This? It is a symbol of strength. By mixing dyes of magical potency, masters of these drawings, this art, can change the substance of the body to their will—increasing the fighting abilities of one while pushing the body to its limits. In this sense, this essentially destroys one part of my body, to increase the ability of another part,'

'Errh…alright? That sounds…grotesque,' I mumble, raising an eyebrow, 'But do continue,'

'Ah, I understand now how you interpret what I have just said. It is not about physically destroying my body, such as an arm or leg, but it is to increase my power in the place of stamina, or so to speak. Such little things as that,'

'Right,' I said, clicking my fingers, 'That would make sense, you don't seem disfigured or anything. In fact, you're about the most beautiful person I've seen,'

'Thank you,' she grinned, 'If it weren't for my Elven blood, my visage would have been quite destroyed through the scars of battle I have endured for hundreds of years,'

Hundreds…of years…? She looks no older than twenty-one, at the most.

'Uh…excuse me? Did I hear correctly? Hundreds of years?' I stutter, raising an eyebrow.

'Yes, you heard correctly my friend, hundreds of years. I have been a warrior for a little over one thousand years, to be exact,'

'And you're…how old?'

'Hmm, I wouldn't say old,' she said, propping her head up with a hand, 'There are elders of my tribe who are more than thirty millennia old, and they are the survivors of the Endless Winter. I am one of the younglings, only one thousand, two hundred and fifty years of age,'

'My god…and you say you aren't old. If you're young, then I'd be a newborn baby,'

'Maybe so,' she grinned, 'You're as pure of heart as one. To help a stranger such as me in the first place, you deserve a reward of some sort,'

'Oh, it's alright, I don't need any reward. I'm just a simple miner,'

'A miner? Like a dwarf?' she asked, 'It is rare for humans to want to be one, where I come from. They'd rather fight and conquer, killing each other for land and treasure than to do such productive deeds,'

'Sounds much like my master,'

'Your master? You're a slave?'

'Yes,'

'No matter. I will visit you someday, perhaps to free you from your shackles,'

'Thanks,'

I ease her back down onto the soft bed, my mind straining to process the boggling information she gave me. One thousand two-hundred and fifty years old? She must be insane. As I turn to leave, she suddenly uttered the words I had least expected.

'In fact, I'll come with you. Perhaps I can speak to your master about the price to purchase your services, so that I may later liberate you,'

'Uh…alright…I guess?'

I thought about the messy room I had in the inn, and perhaps I had better rent a better room fit for a royal guard. Oh, had I more money in my pockets.

I lifted all the pieces of armor back onto the female warrior's back, like a squire would to a knight. To work for a real one would definitely be a better life for me; so much better than mining in the hot sun all day, if only my status would allow me. Only those of noble birth could do so, and I was one of the peasants.

'How do you even use this thing,' I grunt, straining as hard as I could on the bow that she had, 'It's not even bending one bit,'

'You'll learn how to eventually after you use the softer-stringed ones,' she patiently replied, strapping her many-sheathed leather belt back on, 'That one consumed much of my time in training trying to learn how to use it,'

Lionna and I strolled along the lawns of the monastery, descending the marble steps and into the evening beyond. It was nearly dark, and we would have to pass through the Barbarian Village soon; I hope they wouldn't give us much trouble. After all, we were two women, and they weren't always noted for their hospitality.

A/N

How was the chapter? Read and Review please, need more help on how to better improve this story.

Lionna Blackbird is NOT a character of my own creation, she is mentioned in the Chronicles as a royal knight of Elven descent. Using her beautiful voice as a morale-boosting weapon, she was also skilled in using all weapons, though her allies were few. A touchingly tragic character, most of her fellow allies were slain in a siege, and she left a dishonoured knight.