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[center][h2][color=92278f]Harun Fakim Al-Kashir[/color][/h2]
[color=92278f]Days Since Resurrection:[/color] 0
[color=92278f][b]LOCATION:[/b][/color] The Stone Cliffs of the Isle of Bezir; Deserts of Zidel
[color=92278f][b]INTERACTING WITH:[/b][/color] Ante Magnus[@Pyromania99] 
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	The wind against the cliffs of Bezir had sounded like sobbing for thousands of years. It could have been a peculiar facet of the interaction between the stone and the constant breeze on the island, or maybe the way the sea drove against the rocks of the shore. Regardless, it was always a consistent weeping, low and wailing.

But not today.

A lone figure lay dozing on the sands, the warm sun of the South beating against the cold currents of the sea. The figure was lithe and sharp, his naked body shining in the sunlight as his chest rose and fell with a gentle rhythm. His skin was dark and his hair was long and soaked, like he had recently been swimming. Soon, the warm waters of the Southern Sea rose over the beach with a small wave, slamming into the sleeping man. 

Harun woke with a gasp as saltwater went into his nose, stinging at his eyes and filling his mouth with the taste of the ocean. Scrambling up the beach, he coughed and hacked, clearing his lungs of liquid as he tried to remember where he was. By Vis’s bountiful bosom, the Southern Sea was a bastard of an old man. He shook his head, muttering a few choice curses as he tried to remember where he was. He remembered… flying. Flying for a long time in blue, clear skies. There was water below him, but Her warm gust kept him aloft…

He blinked. He was on the Isle of Bezir, he knew those cliffs anywhere. Those were the cliffs that… his body had broken against. He remembered his vessel being crushed between the grinding boulders in the surf, a pitched storm screaming in the night sky. He remembered his love fighting for her life, strangling the breath from the Eastern Wind. His eyelids no longer felt heavy as he felt the cold grip of panic on his heart for a moment before he felt a familiar, warm breeze.

[color=92278f]“...My love?”[/color] His voice was scratchy as it came out, soon settling into his older, dulcet tones. [color=92278f]“My love, where are you? Are you hurt?”[/color] He blinked again, trying to get his bearings. His clothes were gone, his jewelry cast off before he set off on his voyage. That was one of his favorite parts of leaving, the dispersion of his belongings to the people. They were alway so overjoyed… They were his people, after all. But he was missing something, no, some one very important. The wind blew around him frantically, whipping his hair back and drying him rapidly. [color=92278f]“Thank the Goddess… No, no I’m fine. I’m fine, truly.”[/color] He smiled and spread his arms, closing his eyes as he embraced the day. She was alive and well, and that was what mattered. [color=92278f]“I know, I know.. You were worried, but it’s alright. I was… sleeping, and your father woke me, that’s all. Truly. I yet brea-”[/color] A quick gust cut him off, his eyes opening widely as his voice cut through the air like a blade in the night. [color=92278f]“...so I did die.”[/color]

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The Thirteenth Lord of Shadow breathed deeply, closing his eyes once more and relaxing his arms, his shoulders, his body. He felt the reassuring breeze on his well-muscled back, smelled the sea foam whipping against the bottom of the cliff-face. Danger from the East, though this time not from the Wind. Xil’Gurash was gone past Her reach, he knew not where. The spirits could not tell him how long it had been, only that it had been long. A smile crept from one cheek to the other, the grin splitting his face ear to ear. He hadn’t had a true adventure since the death of the Bastard Emperor. [color=92278f]“Once more unto the breach, then.”[/color]

Five hours later, a single albatross crossed the beach of southmost Zidel. His Beloved knew little of what was going on, but the spirits were restless everywhere. The minor spirits of each breeze, animals, the sea were all restless and uneasy. Something was very, very wrong and Harun was eager to stick his nose dead in the middle of it all. The bird glided across the threshold of the land, peeling off towards a small caravan he saw. The spirits kept poor time when it came to the passage of years, but people kept track of those things. Changing into a small glass shrike, he soared above the caravan for a time before screaming downward into a kill spiral, landing on the largest turban he could find. If traditions still held, this would be taken as a sign of good fortune. If they did not, well.. It would be humorous for him. 

Burying his claws deep into the fabric of the leading hat, Harun turned around to survey the caravan. He heard a few good-natured chuckles after the man he was riding exclaimed in surprise. That was a good sign. Still, he saw camels, lots of water, food supplies for at least another two week’s trek, and a child who looked as though she didn’t belong to any of the men she was with… As their daughter, anyway. Her hair was a bright red and her garb… oddly ceremonial. Between her clothes and the ring she bore, she was dressed rather nicely and wore no chains... daughter of a noble, perhaps? He could use that.

The shrike swooped over to her camel, settling on the saddle in front of her and letting out a small chirrup. If things went smoothly, he could play the part of a friendly spirit for a time. He turned to look at the girl, cocking his head and issuing a slight scree. She looked friendly. He just had to hope that appearances didn't prove deceiving... For once. Maybe then he could figure out what the hell was going on.