[the Hills of Daeor] -- live.

[Zenith]

A canopy of watercolors blended together in the heavens above. The fusions of violet and amber, periwinkle and crimson were only vibrantly contrasted by the enormous nimbus clouds that always threatened rain, but never brought it through the plush valley. Birds of all shapes and sized flocked to this area because of the winds that raced through the low-lying river-run mountains that cascaded across these wondrous lands. Mountains of the largest sizes only seemed dwarfed by the grandiose modesty of Daeor itself -- it's ethereal peaks and surreal essence simply mocking the existence of land around it, as a pompous and arrogant structure.

Amidst this awe-inspiring beauty on the top of a mountain, a figure found himself opening his eyes for the first time. As if he was floating above the hume figure that was sprawled out in the grass beneath him, the spirit lowered and became one with this corporeality. Dazed eyes flickered in sparkling shades of argent, peering out at the world around him. A lithe, phantasmagorical hand lifted to contrast the wondrous sky above and dust white strands from his view. "W... what is this..."

Looking at his hand slowly, as it was not his own -- albeit with some confusion, he rotated the hand with his mind, as any person would move an appendage with the ease and automatically without thought. He would squint at the pale skin, curious in nature and then his other hand would arise before his face, fingers splayed against the painted heaven. "This is ... me? But ... I died. Is this heaven?"

Without a tangible answer, he knew this wasn't the case. Memories flooded his mind and his eyes fluttered in pain, digits arising to claw at his temples. Such visions, such pain. He felt so pure -- such purity and reverence. Words started coming to him through the divine texts, colliding with his once agnostic-self, and the man sat up slowly shaking his head. "This cannot be. I am ... reborn? But for all my atrocities? Why ..."

Again -- the texted scrolled through his mind, as if someone was unraveling parchment through his head and behind his eyes causing him to writhe. His back arched and shoulders planted back into the grass, he growled in anguish as the answers came to him. As he asked them, the divinity spoke -- revealing itself in unimaginable ways. Ways that would kill a human, but his celestial essence handled with only a pain, as if downloading from an eternal life source -- a celestial mind-server. Gasping heavily, he laid their exhaustedly and then rubbed the accumulation of tears from his eyes as the presence of his own being collided with his past.

"I was a murderer ... sent back for divine retribution against those whom I served, those who continue to do so much wrong. An instrument." His mind spoke and his eyes closed again with only a blurb of pain, "I am the Shield..." The pools of silver flicked open and Quinton sat up slowly, coming to the realization of himself. The lime green surrounded his hands, planted firmly in the lush grass that rolled down the hill he sat upon and into dense forestry that filled the valley, deep and wide. The feeling of being bigger than one's self, while sitting in something that was extravagant as this -- was too epic in his mind for words.

Others will come, the voice said. It whispered now, controlled by the volume at which Quinton had allowed it -- the pain lessening and flowing more latently with the acclimation of the new vessel.

[Zenith]

Whatever had been going on down in Fa'Diel didn't look to pretty from up on the hill. It had been nearly three or four days that Quinton had been meditating and the entire time, he thought, breathed, and saw the attacks on the city, in which he had no business dealing in, especially since he had nothing. Quiet literally, no weapons, no armor, or anything to his name but a new host and a lot of rummaging thoughts. He slept only when the host needed it -- this body, so much more fragile than the celestial ones that were within it; like paper in the rain.

Quinton sat silently on a rock covered in moss, his pallid fingers brushing slowly across the surface, back and forth without thinking much about anything in general. His feet dangled from the mammoth piece of sediment and the argent pools merely loomed over the beautiful city in all of it's floating glory. Such an interesting and fascinating structure that could only be built by the finest of minds, and easily torn down by the most ignorant. Flies fought over feces. Simply put -- but tacticians, masterminds, and those who declared patience could wait it out through all of the meaningless tribulation and take whatever they wanted when the end-game was at hand. Of these things, the Aegis didn't care much about anything. He would await to see the outcome; he would watch the flies and their meaningless existence; he would right the wrongs in the end.

Why step into the middle of confrontation when you care not of the consequence? Let the mindless beasts of the fields, raze their enemies, and then clean house when all is said and done. Efficient. Quiet. A name would be made of the ghosts that plagued those who've done wrong; a name would be made. Quinton knew he could not take advantage of his blessing, because it wasn't programmed into him, but the furthest thing from it. It was in his might that he should strike down evil-hearted men. "Born to wait, I suppose..."He mumbled to himself, moving to stand so that his adventure would begin. His mind told him where to go, now all he had to do was venture.

[Zenith]

At the base of the mountain during mid-day, Quinton would pause and sigh. It had been a great while since he'd thought to the celestial tap and had it respond, so he felt that it be necessary to do so, seeing as he hadn't the faintest idea as to where he was going. His mind cleared and he stood still, breathing deeply before opening his eyes and looking skyward. The sunlight reflected off the brilliant silver oculars that gleamed like pools of water. His face was emotionless, fair, stress free. "Where do you want me to go?" He questioned aloud to the nothingness and it responded, Armament. He nodded to the word and questioned again with a soft laugh, "I suppose that would be a good thing, if I am to do right in this life." A warmth would fill him, as if the celestial tap had laughed to his words and a broad, generous smile crossed his boyish face. "What direction?" West. Think and you will know. Trust.

It had been a while since he'd trusted any one or any thing in his life before this. In this life, he'd not even met anyone to trust them as of yet -- it was an odd concept, but the longevity of the issue and word, Quin understood. With that, he began to march off to the west of his present location. High stepping through the tall grass and over some of the smaller, not-yet-grown shrubs he found a beaten path that must have been often-traveled because of it's well worn face. Setting off, eventually he would make it to where he needed to be, but until then -- Quinton merely enjoyed the scenery, leaving Fa'Diel and it's odd war behind him. A purposeless war, the winds said. Without a defined cause, the grounds mimicked.

[Zenith]

The fires of war lie behind him now and only that which was before him stood: the future. A future, to be exact. His life before never had one, and the purpose of it was to make men rich and improve the quality of their lives while hurting others, which in the long run -- wasn't healthy for Quinton, or the people he used. These thoughts were negative however and clouded his mind, making him feel terrible -- having a heart now, something new to him as well. And with this new feeling, came a well of curiosity within.

West was a long ways off, and Quinton was in no hurry. He walked a ways before pausing to literally just ... smell the flowers. These plants were nothing new to him, as they were all over the world, but in a new life, a new body ... such a smell was divine. A sweet, gorgeous smell that invigorated his senses and brewed in his chest with a warmth and happiness. An excitement grew in his gut -- exponentially. Such joy from something so small, so simple -- what more could there be in this world?

The valleys across the Rosinder were gorgeous. Lush grasses and such vibrant colors that it was interesting just to take another step to see what else awaited around that corner. Down the hills and across the knolls for hours it seemed, Quin lost track of time and found himself pausing to deviate off his westward path only to travel toward a noise. The rushing sounds of thunder, however the skies were clean and clear.

Approaching the waters edge with an inched foot, he loomed to peek over the cliff side to the vast waterfalls below. The water seemed to span forever in this area, as long as he could see to the south, but due west brought him to the water's edge also. He lofted a brow, confused. "Uhm ..." Creamy lavender eyes looked about slowly, noticing the thick steam that had arisen from the base of the waterfall. The moisture in the air hid something that hovered like a gigantic shadow in the far distance. Quinton squinted, wondering what that floating giant was off in the foggy mists.

"That's west, right?"

Right.

"So ... how do I get there?"

Fly.

"... fly?"