Her eyes slowly drifted open, a cold wind chilling her already numb body. Her clothes were torn and tattered, soaked with her own blood and the blood of those of her enemies, and comrades. With effort, she pressed her hand against the ground and pushed herself up to her knees. A groan pulled from her throat as an ache returned to her senses, the wounds from battle screaming in her ears. As she began to realize her where-abouts, taking a good look around, she felt herself grow even colder. There was nothing; not even the signs of battle. The ground felt like stone, though she could not see it beneathe a thin, though dense fog that whisped around her hands and knees. As she breathed out, she saw her breath rise in front of her. It was colder than she thought. But it had been summer on the battlefield. Where could she be?
Her ear twitched as she caught the sound of something off to the side. She turned her gaze towards the sound, taking in the strange sight of a cloaked figure standing in a small reed canoe. There was a river; that must be where the fog was coming from. She watched as the canoe ran up on the shore, and the figure stepped out onto the bank. He moved with grace, as if his feet did not touch the ground at all, approaching her much more rapidly than she would have expected. He was upon her before she could get up, standing inches in front of her. She looked up as she tried to stand, but she could not see his face beneathe the hood of his cloak. She could smell him, though, and it was a foul, terrible stench. The smell of Death.
Her eyes widened and she struggled to get to her feet. However, she felt cold hands take her wrists and ankles, and upon looking down she could vaguely see figures beneathe the fog. Spirits, reaching out from the shallowest levels of Hell. Her breathing quickened and she used more force to get to her feet, barely able to lift her hands from the hard ground.
"Where are you going?" The whisper came from no where, and Rhia let out a short cry of surprise, looking from side to side to try and steal a glimpse of the speaker.
"Don't you want to stay with us?"
"Stay a while. We'll take care of you."
"He wants to help you. Go to him."
"Come, stay with us."
"Won't you stay?"
Her heart pounded in her head as the voices continued to whisper into her ears. She then noticed the figure before her adjusting his cloak. Stepping from it would be a young girl, wrists shackled and chained to something within those empty robes of the figure before them. The child's eyes were empty, no emotion on her face, as she reached her hands out towards Rhia, beckoning to her. And still those voices continued.
"Just take her hand."
"You are so tired; won't you rest a moment?"
"You deserve to sleep a while."
"Just release yourself."
"You don't have to struggle any longer."
She felt herself weakening, the hands of those spirits strong on her limbs, pulling her back down. She was beginning to feel faint from the smell of Death and the voices at her ears. It would be so easy to give in. She did deserve to finally rest. And the arms of that child were so welcoming. She slowly closed her eyes and leaned forward, hands allowed to lift towards the girl.
"Don't make me come after you, understand, Rhia?"
Rhia's eyes snapped open, the memory of the night before the war clear in her mind.
"I'll be okay, Guardian."
"Perhaps. War is a terrible thing, Rhia; you may not be the same after seeing what you will see."
"But I have to see it. You understand, don't you? I can't just ignore the call of my mind. Even if they have exiled me for so long, they need me now. And I have my own grudges against the Dragons; I do not mind joining the Elves to ssettle the score."
Guardian sighed and reached a hand over to touch her head. "Just be careful. Don't make me come after you, understand, Rhia?"
She smiled and nodded, stepping closer to him and nuzzling up against his chest. "I understand."
Rhia grit her teeth as she lifted a glare to the girl before her. "I am not ready for you yet, my dear." With that, a new strength found her, and she began to stand, albeit with some effort. Though the voices continued to whisper loudly in her ears, she no longer heard them. She could see the cloaked figure tense. He reached around behind him, pulling from no where a giant scythe. The blade looked as though it was carved from bones, welded together with some black metal. The staff itself was black as night, as black as the emptiness within the figure's hood. "So, you are Death after all."
She was almost on her feet now, moving her arms a bit more freely. She lifted a hand and drew a line in the air beside her. It would seem to cut into the very dimension they stood in, a blinding light shining through. The line would end after about three feet, and she lifted her hand over the end she had just finished drawing. Bringing it down over the light, she would clamp her hand around something. At that very moment, the light would flash, and in her hand would be held a golden rapier, her treasured Sabre of Light.
The figure, Death, hissed, and the girl between them would dash back under his cloak. The hands binding her released her at once and retreated back into the depths of Hell, the voices instantly ceasing at her ears. She was pleased to know they were smart enough to tremble before a weapon of Heaven, the light of which illuminated the ghost of an angel's wings at her shoulders. She knew she would still be in for quite a fight to get home, but at least now she stood a chance.

((By the way, kudos if you recognize what song this description comes from.))