There was a small commotion as several armored warriors of different beastly races made their way into the jewel of the Harena. Clad in his finest regalia, a tall figure with flowing golden hair set foot on the snow-covered streets of the Castle District. "So this is the grand city of the crimson sands–Sularia! The weather is much more temperate than I was led to believe. The rays of the midday sun are far gentler than the Sandawe at noon." Crossing his arms over the braided gold ornaments and obsidian fangs hanging about his neck, Mithras surveyed the land before his crimson gaze. "It would seem that the snow is unnatural for the city. The people still wear garments like ours, bwana." A Mankone warrior dressed in dyed cloth and chitin plate explained. An obsidian polearm rested in the reptilian man's right hand. "You speak the truth, Kitwana. Does the cold cause discomfort for you?" Kitwana placed a scaled hand against his chest, lowering his head. "It does not, bwana. Such a chill is nothing compared to the darkest night on Mount Qala."

"It was said that the oasis kingdom is a land of queens and where sons are coveted. Since they have so graciously welcomed us, we should seize the opportunity to see it with our own eyes." Mithras spoke as the small group under his command followed his steps through the bazaar. "You have my permission to do as you see fit, provided you do not violate the laws of the land or stir up conflict." With a wave of his hand the lion-headed lord dismissed his warriors and they dispersed throughout the crowd. As for himself, he was planning to walk the entire breadth of the city. Snow crunched beneath his sandals as he strode towards the Castle District again to admire the fortifications which housed the Empress. A land where women ruled was nothing new to him; many tribes in Onnen were matriarchal for only they could bear children. 

In his absence the members of his scouting band began to partake in the festivities in their own ways. The Maasi juggernaut Kgabu was watching sleighs race across the snowy ground, Eket berserker Dikembe was aggressively gnawing away at a meaty bone from the tables laden with a bountiful feast, and Kitwana was conversing with another Makone about what they had seen in Sularia. Mithras heard the ringing laughter of children playing in the snow, some building crude sculptures from it and others throwing lightly packed chunks at each other in a mock fight. Reaching down, he scooped up a handful watching it melt away between his fingers. A smile crept across his face as he wondered if fate would allow that masked stranger to cross paths with him here. A splash of cold hit his neck as a boy gasped standing a few feet away. Turning to look, the lord grinned at him as he brushed off the snowball and joined in with one of his own. 

Cold.

Genesis's eyes drift around the enchanted square, content for now to watch. She had arrived not long ago via airship to observe the revelries. A shiver, accompanied by the appearance of thick downy fur along the hems of her faux cloak.

Warm. Satisfactory.

She came all the way Canelux to learn. She had seen parties before. Small gatherings, nothing more a dozen or so, watched quietly from the safety of a window sill or the eave of a nearby rooftop. Nothing like this. It was cold here. Colder than the airship. Not so cold as home. But cold. Ice everywhere, but not natural. Genesis did not understand, but wished to. Just didn't know where to start.

Genesis takes a deep breath in. Her eyes narrow, nostrils widen ever-so-slightly. The vivid detail of the world sharpens and all manner of scent floods her senses. People. Chemicals. Food. Like a moth drawn to a flame, her feet begin to move of their own accord, avoiding the direct path of others though still bouncing against them now again. There were just too many for a clear path, but she was focused, oblivious to the fact that she may appear lost or separated to one unaware she was no child.

An impact. Ice and water. Genesis trips, stumbling and catching herself by bracing her hands. In a state of adrenaline-induced panic, she looks around herself for would-be assailants. The ice balls are being cast by children, but none seem to be aiming at her. All running about, attacking others. She scans the environment again, but this time settles on the abnormal factor. A golden man. Subtle hints of feline influences. Bestial instincts scream predator, but others are unable to pinpoint way and try to calm her. Genesis freezes in place, unsure what to do next.

While the strange creature was unable to decide what to do next, someone else had spotted her. "ABAMI! ABAMI! SAN PELU EJE RE!!!" Screeched the badger berserker Dikembe, charging at the chimera with rabid fury. Two hatchets crudely crafted from massive jawbones were raised high as the beast warrior prepared to sink them into Genesis' flesh. In the next instant, a golden blur intervened–the primal lord blocking the frenzied fighter's attack by grasping Dikembe's weapons with both hands. "Oloye! Why have you stopped me? It is there–the abami which took the lives of my blood brothers!" The badger snarled, suspended in the air by Mithras' strength. "What is the meaning of this, Dikembe? Did I not order all of you against stirring up conflict?" Dikembe gnashed his teeth, furious that he was unable to attack. Yet he held his tongue and chose his words carefully when the crimson-eyed man questioned him, for he knew the lion-headed lord was far stronger than him. "I have obeyed, oloye. But that thing–there is no mistaking it! I can never forget the shape and eyes of the cursed creature who killed my kin with trickery! You cannot let the abami go, or it will escape! You must never show your back to it for it cannot be trusted!" 

Mithras turned his head to the strange creature which had Dikembe frothing at the mouth. "And what say you about this? What do you have to say about these accusations?" Dikembe had once been part of a band of mercenaries from the same tribe. The Eket lived and died by the sword, fierce and tenacious despite not being the biggest of those in Onnen. They fought like madmen and few could survive them once they went into a frenzy. And so they often traveled across the continent selling their martial prowess to those who needed their savagery. Yet one day something terrible befell their group. When they went to fight in a skirmish over tribal land rights, an evil shaman from the enemy's side sent a monster who decimated the badgers. Dikembe barely survived, but what he saw left him humiliated with a burning desire for vengeance. The creature was strong, but what made it most fearsome was its ability to change shape. It slaughtered the mercenary band by first disguising itself as a leper to attack one of them when they were unaware, then it wore the skin of the first dead mercenary to approach the rest. By the time they realized what they were fighting, it had shed its disguise and assumed its true monstrous form. Dikembe had gotten trapped under the bodies of his kin and it left when it appeared everyone had been killed. With injured limbs and terrible wounds, he burned the image of his enemy into his mind, swearing revenge. 

Whatever the shaman had sent happened to bear a great similarity in appearance to Genesis, which had the Eket warrior convinced his nemesis had shown its face once again. And if it were not for Mithras' aura of sheer power, he would have killed the chimera without hesitation. Dikembe was snarling between clenched teeth, eyes locked on her. Even if his chief did not believe this was the monster, the badger refused to be convinced otherwise. He had been haunted by that bloody massacre for the past five years.

Dikembe's lunging assault was enough to snap Genesis out of her stupor. Flinching, a number of spine-tipped tendrils erupt from her back and anchor to the ground, pulling herself out of the way even with the golden haired man's intervention. The action is not without cost, however. The pang of hunger resulting from both this transformation and the previous sparks in her gut, eliciting a wince from the chimera in response. 

A scene has now been caused. Others are looking. Some with fear. Some with confusion. The children are running. Her first instinct is to seize the opportunity - the weak, the elderly, the young, chaos like this would make them prime targets and easy meals - and yet she stayed herself, thinking better of it. The area was to populous. Armed warriors were present, and she still had not quite learned effective means of combating them. The golden one looks at her, a query. She pauses, glancing between Mithras and Dikembe, a bewildered expression accompanying the movements. Her eyes linger on Dikembe. She did not have memory of his face nor his scent, though neither could she deny she had not been responsible. There was a great period up until recently where she lacked the capacity of developed thought, relying entirely on instincts and ancestral memories. Slowly lowering herself to the ground and huddling to make herself as a small a target "… I … do not know. I do not know this individual."

She averts her eyes. Thinks aloud. "How best to proceed …" Her eyes snap back up. "Honesty, perhaps. I cannot say I was not involved. I have no way of knowing. Conscious thought is new. Long term memory is new. Instinct and hunger still influence most decisions, but not as much as once before." Focus back on Dikembe. "If I was responsible, then it is good you survived. Survival means growth. Growth means strength. Strength means survival. The cycle continues." Her stomach audibly disrupts her stream of consciousness, bringing her attention back to the now-unattended display of foods. She inhales deeply through her nose, and as if forgetting the predicament she now found herself in, shifted the entirety of her focus to the buffet and resumed her single-minded approach. "Hungry …"