Last she had recalled, a solar eclipse had blackened the sky. She had been deathly ill, looked after by an unlikely person. When finally she had opened her eyes, it had taken her days to regain enough strength to even stand or walk any distance. The skies had darkened once more, thunder deafened and lightening arced across the sky. Her cousin had curled up in her arms to hide from the sudden downpour of rain. Winds whipped and lashed at anything it could catch. Still too weak to pull on her magic and exposed to the elements, Jaliza was at the mercy of the storm.

When she woke, the first thing she saw was autumn leaves scattered everywhere. Wasn't the forest green just moments ago? Weakly, she pulled herself into a sitting position. Everything was unfamiliar. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the far distance. "Elata? Elata!" Silence left her feeling quite empty. Where was her phoenix? Alone and in a strange land… She had traveled all across Minya Amar, and this was nothing like anything there. Everything she had discovered just days ago threatened to drown her once more.

Behind her, cascading water caught her attention. Hoping for just about anything, Jaliza made her way that way. Nothing seemed to be broken, she noted. Though damp, her clothing was in tatters. At least I wasn't stumbling around in my better clothing. She thought to herself. If this is a new land, perhaps her master isn't here. And if he isn't here, then could she start over? Be the free, powerful woman she has been yearning to be? A new life could be just what she needed.

As she approached the now rushing stamped of aquatic equines, she began to shiver. Pulling on her mana, Jaliza tried to summon some warmth. Her steps halted as a new horror descended upon the phoenix. Lifting a hand, she began to concentrate her pale blue eyes on her palm, nothing happening, and frustration grew.

Somewhere, there was the sound of someone humming to themselves while footfalls from boots were heard treading the golden grass. Cymbel had been given a few days off while the owner of the flower shop he worked at went to visit relatives and closed up early. He took the opportunity to test out an idea he had thought of while cleaning his enchanted boots from Horae. When he had used it to create meadows of flowers, most of what had sprung were native to the region. Thus, he wondered if the same would happen if he tried it in an area like Jasumin, where it was eternally autumn. What kind of flowers would come forth there? Would they bear the same golden hue as everything else did?

"The ash grove, how graceful, how tis' plainly speaking–the harp through it playing has language for me. When over its branches the sunlight is breaking, a host of kind faces is smiling on me. The friends of my childhood again are before me, each step wakes a memory as I freely roam. With soft whispers laden the leaves rustle o'er me–the ash grove, the ash grove alone is my home…" He sang to himself as he paced slowly in circles watching the plants push up through the earth behind him. It was easy to see him walk about near the lakeside, standing out from the waves of golden grass. He had a glamour spell on, as he usually did when he was not at home. His disguise made his silver-white hair black, and it was tied back in a loose hanging braid reaching down above his waist. 

He wasn't aware that he wasn't alone today, so focused was he on the blooming black-eyed susans and lupines that it was easy to slip by him–or take him by surprise. A basket was on his arm, for the flowers that he would pick and bring back to study. Jasumin lake was the closest place for peace and quiet, naturally having an aura of serenity.

Panic was rising, it's cold hands clamping hard against her heart which raced, beating wildly against her ribs. Her effort was exhausting her, still weak from the solar eclipse in her home land. Was her connection to the mother of flame still too weak? To avoid hyper ventilation, Jaliza screamed. "Fenehdis!!"

The phoenix did not take well to failure, would not allow herself to be so weak as not not even conjure a wisp of smoke, a spark of flame. How long had she been tortured to learn to control the shadows? This was easy, should be a breeze, since she was a creature of flame. What was wrong with her? Infuriated, Jaliza turned her emotions into a seething red hot anger, raging and terrible in its might. Yet, she was powerless to use it.

With a frustrated, wordless scream, Jaliza swung at the nearest tree. Had it been a human, surely his jaw would have been knocked out of socket. Sing after swing, punch after punch, Jaliza poured her anger upon the unflinching tree. No more thoughts were coherent, and the phoenix took off running. When the sound of soft humming reached her ears, Jaliza stopped, pulled her dagger out of her boot and launched it at the hummer.

It missed, stabbing the ground in the middle of his circle of plants. Yet, she did not even notice them or him in detail. No, she crumpled to the ground and began to sob, cradling her now bleeding knuckles.

How unfortunate…

From the obscurity of the grove surrounding the lake, a man watched the two figures that roamed at the shore and would likely cross paths. A wild, dreadlocked mop of dark hazelnut hair, earthy attire, and an olive skin tone blended well with the perpetual autumn surrounding him. Even his eyes made him a chameleon at this lakeside - the golden orbs in his skull that observed intently seamless with nature. His only mistake was freely wandering in the open in a place where he would be known. Parchments bearing the man's likeness, and multiple warnings of the dangers the murderer posed were posted up at the nearby wheelhouse.

The girl, who was nearest the man, had begun to abuse herself, recklessly giving over to a fit of pugilism upon a tree. Upon seeing the other, a would-be bard, she directed her inner rage and turmoil at him instead, only to have her coordination fail her miserably. It was at this time that the man chose to reveal himself to the pair.

"Such a pity," his gravelly voice coaxed whilst he stalked barefoot out from the trees. "Power, ohhh how it surges…but just beyond one's grasp. 'Tis written that there is sophistication to be had in simplicity, and power to be attained in lack of effort. What we have seen is not nearly as important as what is overlooked. Nothing is as it seems…"

Listening to the odd rambling of this strange vagabond, one could easily dismiss the complexity as utter nonsense; though, at the same time, there seemed to be something to what he was saying.

Reaching out to touch the girl's injured hands, probably fully knowing she would pull away, a drop of her essence was nonetheless deposited upon his finger as their hands briefly met. Much to the probable horror of his present company, the man brought the drop up to his lips and savored it. As he did so, the sounds of footfalls…six….three men, to be precise quickly approached the trio. As they neared, the tell-tale clinking of chain mail was heard. Guardsman…they had spotted him. Two of them trained crossbows on him, while the third approached with sword drawn.

Well….that hadn't taken long…

"Halt!" the guard's stern tone reverberated through the full helm he wore. "Citizen," he said, addressing the girl with no small amount of concern. "You are injured. Is it this man's doing?"

The sound of something whizzing came too late, narrowly missing Cymbel and beheading several stalks of black-eyed susans. When he saw the knife he immediately began to look around in a panic, all while taking care to maintain his glamour spell. Where did it come from? Was he being attacked? Then there were footsteps, several. Whirling around he saw several armed men coming after a wild man who looked even more beastly than the animals themselves, and a woman sitting on the ground sobbing. His natural instinct was to run, to hide–like he had always done. In Feeorin, hiding was usually safer than charging head-on in confrontation. He crept to the side and crouched behind some trees, watching what was taking place. He shouldn't have been so careless–what if that dagger had hit?

From what he gathered from the circumstantial information, it was likely the woman had tried to defend herself from the wild man, and the guards had been trailing after him. If guards were after him, then that meant he was a criminal–a murderer. Most criminals wouldn't let themselves look so unseemly. Then they would be easily caught. Perhaps that was why he had fled to the wilds, where his wildness would give him the advantage. Cymbel's heart was racing as he strained to hear what the people were saying. Anything for a clue as to what the situation was.

Watery eyes lifted to take in the rough voice speaking to her. He had barely made any sound as he walked, yet that sound of rocks grinding against each other grated upon her ears. Still, he was an odd sight, not having seen anything quite like him back home. Jaliza returned her gaze to her hands, watching the crimson liquid seep from the self inflicted wounds, running down her skin.

"These last two years I've lived by those words. Nothing is as it seems. Now, power seems dependent solar activity. The Mother Flame has abandoned me, and taken my affinity with her." Her clear voice was grief riddled. Would she never revive upon that brief moment when oblivion tries to claim her? Olive hands reached for her own, and she did not pull away, merely watching him as he touched her.

He had caught her blood as it trailed rivulets down her fingers to swell and rain down upon the ground. Jaliza watched the stranger pull back and taste her, her eyes widening slightly in curiosity. Let this not be another vampire, who would try to force her to his bidding again! Trampling boots stole her attention, her hair, dark as a moonless night, whipped as she turned toward them, eyes narrowing.

New lands, unknown rules. What in the Flame's name did she get herself into? Yet, when the guards addressed her, an eyebrow cocked as a sense of calm descended upon her. This is what she was accustomed to, dealing with arrogant men clad in armor. Her entire demeanor changed as she stood, wiping away the tears and smearing crimson across her face. "I would be a fool to allow such a man injure me, and a fool I am not." Jaliza had found her mask, and pulled it back on, hiding her inner turmoil behind a cold and calculative voice. "My injuries are none of your concern. Tell me, do you belong to someone, some king or lord, or shall none miss you if your head rolls under that bush there?" One hand now gripped her hilt, as she nonchalantly threw that threat out there. May she bury her confusion in the ever flowing chaos of violence.

"Flame is a fickle thing," Adema observed, wholly ignoring the guardsmen for a momement, and focusing on replying to the troubled girl. "Like knowledge, that it is so often equated with in antiquated symbolism, it moves from place to place, from person to person. No clear successor of what it deems worthy discernible…Simply, all seekers only wind up singed."

When the girl had become hostile towards him upon her reply to the guard, Adema chuckled darkly.
"And is this what defines importance in this world? Status, or some form of subservience to it? By such standards, most would fall short. By any standard, however, I will be the first to tell you that I am nobody."

Adema's deep, gravelly tone had suddenly lost its tell-tale mirth, becoming rather grave at the last comment. He paced carefully to the guardsmen, hands in the air as he continued to speak. "I do understand your predicament, to be sure. Rebirth is not only important to you, but to every sentient thing. When we cease to be reborn, to change, we stagnate…"

"…And stagnation is death."

Uttering this last word with emphasis, his body followed suit in delivering it with one swift, fluid movement. Adema had looked to be unarmed, but clearly, he carried blades beneath his loose, dirty clothing. Drawing one dagger and one sai as he blindingly whirled about to the left of the sword-wielding guard, he plunged the dagger into the crossbow user's neck. Seemingly anticipating it ahead of time, he raised the sai before the dagger had even been loosed from the guard's neck, deflecting and catching his kinsman's sword in the prongs of the weapon, wrenching it from his grasp and sending it hurtling into the waters of the lake. Just as the second marksman thought he had a clear shot, Adema had grabbed the now defenseless man in front of him - but it was too late. The bolt had already been loosed. Pushing the impaled man aside, he set upon the last one with unbridled savagery. Leaping off the back of the one he had shot, the mad fugitive plunged the sai into the man's chest, and simultaneously slashed the dagger across his throat.

So much had just happened, but it all happened very quickly, mere wrinkles of moments within a moment.

Panting, dreadlocks fallen in front of his face, Adema wiped the blades clean upon his already dingy clothing. This explained many of the mysterious stains which riddled his attire, and was often a revelation that left some people feeling ill.

"Do either of you know how to use those blades at your side, or are they just for show?" he snapped at the pair who stood watching him. "It's up to you. Shall another story end here this evening?"

"Oh gods…" Cymbel's voice was barely a whisper as he saw the murderer gut the guards in cold blood. He was quick, and armed. Not only that, the woman by his side did nothing to stop him. He wanted to help the guards, at least keep them from dying. But even if he did bring them back to life the murderer would just kill them again. At this very moment, the one most in danger was himself. What could he do? The feeling of helplessness, terror–grief of of being too weak. It was back again, that crushing despair which he had lived in day in and day out in his father's house. He was beginning to have difficultly breathing as the old fears and panic began to overwhelm him.

Squeezing his eyes shut he began to curl up close towards the ground, as he struggled against more than a century's worth of emotional damage. He had left to get away from it all, but it had caught up with him. It was here, inside his mind–choking him. His ragged breaths began to condense into fog, and under such great emotional stress a dense, unnatural fog began to envelop the area. All who were within it, should they breath it in would begin to feel their eyes dull and their limbs grow heavy as the mist's soporific properties began their work. The fog only grew thicker the more Cymbel was in anguish, to where visibility was dropping rapidly. Desperately he tried to divert his attention to something else, to something happy. Grasping at straws he tried every coping mechanism he had, trying to wait out the sudden attack of terror.

The fog was rapidly spreading around the area by the lake, even reaching out onto the water itself. Within minutes Jasumin was white, and the area clouded over.

Singed? Yes, she got singed, painfully, upon her own fire. Anyone else wielding fire was rendered harmless thanks to the Mother Flame. But she was no successor, she was a child of it. From this alone, she was sure he was spouting whatever nonsense he thought sounded good that would probably have been applied to all but a very minor percentage of population.Jaliza was going to to snap at him that his status was meaningless to her. Instead, she scoffed as she drew her sword. What gave her pause was the familiar weight being still too heavy. Was she truly that affected by a few minutes of the sun hiding behind a moon? The stranger approached the guards, and his words pierced her. Does he know? Had she given it away so easily? No, every sentient being is concerned with it. And his version of rebirth was purely that of growth, of change. When she was coming to the conclusion that he was not aware of how important rebirth was to her kind, he was a blur.So much fluidity with such speed, and she watched every second of the glorious violence. At her best, she could match him… But today? Right now? He taunted them, and Jaliza blinked as she stared into his eyes, a knowing smirk on her face. "One may know how to simply use a blade, but not know how to give it life, to let it sing. Yet, my story never ends. What the hell?"The phoenix was distracted by a billowing fog coiling around her feet, its fingers trying to swallow everything in its path. Glancing to where she knew the other person was, having never lost track of him even at her lowest, Jaliza found only the barest of outlines before the fog completely obscured him from view. A great fatigue seemed to descend upon her, and she believed it to be the effects of the fog. "Fenehdis! Don't breathe it in." She swore as she tore a piece of her clothing to use as a filter over her mouth and nose. Jaliza kept looking at where the boy was swallowed by the fog, and reached a decision.He must be saved, taken from the fog. None should be left to the sleeping spell. Sheathing her sword, Jaliza darted to his side, nearly tripping over him as she slightly misjudged the distance. Believing him to be under the spell, Jaliza tried to lift him, grunting with the effort as she tried not to breathe. "Come on… Let's… Get … You… Out…" She managed to drag him a few inches when she slipped and dropped him. Why did she think she could do this? Jaliza could barely hold her sword properly. The fog had taken it's toll on her as she slipped once more after another inch, falling all the way back. She couldn't see the end of her nose, and she was just so… Tired…. Just a bit of sleep…