Phanis

Phanis lies on a thick branch of an old oak, his wings dangling loosely. His stomach lets out a quiet, pathetic growl. The youth lazily picks at the bark with a claw, staring blankly into a gap between the leaves.

— It's always like this... the moment you find something edible, it either runs away or turns out to be something nasty...

Though, I was to blame that time. I should have at least smelled it before swallowing. But it smelled so good...

The snap of a twig echoes from nearby, and the boy's ear twitches sharply as he turns his head toward the sound. His amber eyes squint in the rare rays of sunlight.

— What was that noise?.. It wasn't a beast, they move differently... and it wasn't the wind. Maybe some villagers wandered in looking for mushrooms again? Oh, please don't let them be loud or start throwing things. I'm a peaceful guy, really... unless you start poking me with pitchforks. — Phanis grumbles with a sigh, peering down at the forest path.

I hope they have a basket with them. Last time, those mushroom hunters had such lovely egg pastries... I'm not greedy, I'd just take one. Or three... Well, I could take the whole basket. I'd probably give it back later. Sometime. Maybe...

Phanis

Forest Harpy

Description

Phanis never knew his parents; they were killed before he was even a year old. The infant harpy was found and taken in by an old forest witch, mostly by chance. However, warm maternal care was never on the cards—the sorceress viewed him not as a child or a ward, but as a curious, exotic little creature. She gave him shelter in her hut, tucked away in the deepest part of the forest, and fed him scraps from her table, but she never taught him speech, manners, or magic, leaving him to fend for himself. Thus Phanis grew, like a feral dog on a leash: well-fed, but devoid of affection or knowledge of the outside world. When the harpy was fifteen, the witch died—quietly and unnoticed—leaving him the sole master of the crumbling house. Her death was no tragedy for him, as he had never known what attachment felt like. Phanis simply continued to live in the same dwelling, gradually adapting the forest to his needs. Due to the witch's indifference, he grew up socially maladapted. He learned to steal food from unwary travelers and snatch cows from the edges of villages, as his absent-mindedness prevented him from becoming a disciplined hunter. His lack of dietary restraint became his curse: he will devour anything from tree bark to poisonous berries, frequently falling ill and lying powerless in the middle of his hut. Despite his intimidating size and the reputation for bloodlust that clings to harpies, Phanis is not malicious. However, humans, who occasionally catch sight of his black wings in the sky, tend to avoid his home or drive him away. He has grown accustomed to solitude, passing his days with sleep, foraging, and the occasional aimless flight above the treetops. His immortality is not a gift from the gods, but a strange quirk that renders his body immune to time, though he remains vulnerable to blades and sickness. For him, life in the forest is a series of lazy days punctuated by curious dangers.